Page 90 of Careless Whisper

Some afternoons, we’d break for lunch in the Mercado, eatingchile rellenoswrapped in wax paperand cold horchata, her ankles brushing mine beneath the table as we talked about everything and nothing.

In the evenings, we went on long walks through cobblestone streets strung with papel picado, past street musicians playing soft boleros, and lovers pressed into shadowed doorways.

We’d stop for pan dulce and coffee or sit on the edge of the square, watching stars above the Parroquia like the sky was celebrating.

She let me in, inch by inch. I didn’t push. I didn’t ask for more than she offered.

But I stayed as I had promised I would, as she had asked me to.

We had dinner with Anna and Ignacio a couple of times a week.

Ignacio cooked. I brought the wine and Mezcal.

Dinner at the Sanchez house was warm and noisy, with a table crowded with food: Ignacio’s roasted chicken with lemon and rosemary, black beans simmered all day with bay leaf and garlic; and Anna’s salad of fresh jicama and oranges.

We ate on the terrace under strings of lights, the night balmy and still.

Laughter floated in the garden as Ignacio told a story about Reggie’s childhood attempt at running away—with only a flashlight, a granola bar, and her stuffed otter who she’d named Ignacio Junior.

“I made it four houses down,” Reggie said dryly. “It was a personal best.”

“You told the neighbor you were fleeing injustice.” Ignacio’s eyes twinkled at the memory.

I couldn’t stop watching her. The way she tipped her head back when she laughed. The way she leaned into her mother when she brought out dessert. The way she fit here—withthem. And, somehow, the way they had made room for me—not judging my past behavior but accepting me as I was now.

Later, overcafé de olla, Mexican spiced coffee, Anna told me how Reggie hadn’t told them about what happened in Boston until recently. “She let us think she made a mistake. We, of course, could never believe that.”

“Of course,” Ignacio agreed. “Mi reinais perfect!

“Why didn’t you tell them?” I asked since it was obvious that they’d support her no matter what. I’d known them a few months, but I could see the Sanchez-Lancaster family were not the Grahams, where silence passed for approval.

“Because some part of me believed it too,” Reggie revealed sadly.

My breath hitched. “You carried all that alone?”

She hesitated before responding. “And it got heavier…until finally I just couldn’t carry it anymore.”

“You should never do that again,” Anna admonished.

I wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple. “You never have to go through anything alone again, Gigi.”

That night, she walked me home—which was code for spending the night—though we still hadn’t had sex. And yeah, I was walking around with a permanent case of blue balls, but that wasn’t the point. I didn’t want to muddy the waters with intimacy before we were truly together.

What happened between us in the on-call room all those months ago wasn’t just sex. It was real—and still, we fell apart after it. This time, I wanted her with no confusion, no regrets—just us, with everything finally in the right place.

“Why did you become a nurse?” I asked, the thought coming suddenly to me.

“I love the work. I wanted to be a caregiver. I like the urgency of it. I like…taking care of people, helping surgeons like you save lives.”

“You didn’t want to be a doctor or a surgeon?”

She chuckled. “G’Mum flipped when I said I wanted to be a nurse. You know how she is—‘We’ve given so much to the Harvard endowment, they’ll grab you in a heartbeat.’”

“My career was never a choice,” I told her then as we walked in the warm night. “It was destiny pre-written in Harvard alumni directories and Ivy League donor rosters. Ultimately, it was easier to do what was expected than figure out what I actually wanted. You are so much braver than I have ever been.”

We stopped in front of my building under the lazy glow of a streetlamp. She linked her hands around myneck and went on tiptoe. “Bravery is not a contest. You arehere. You had the courage to come find me. I ran from love and from you, too scared. If you hadn’t fought for us…there would not be anus.”

Her generosity, as always, baffled and humbled me. “Thank you, Gigi.”

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