Page 21 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
“Alessia, baby, come here,” I tell her as I extend my arms and wrap her in an embrace. Alessia, although older and taller than me, shrinks to my height and presses her cheek to my chest. “What are you fighting about?”
“Zeke and Adam got the time of the party mixed up and now, the surprise is ruined.”
Dramatic as ever, and possibly influenced by the swirling emotions of her special day, I steal a glance at Zeke. His gaze is captivated, lingering on her with an intensity that betrays the depth of his feelings. I know for a fact that Zeke and Alessia fit each other; two people who are tremendously bright and witty, even through all the hell they have lived. Nevertheless, they find themselves in a state of unease during their match—a delicate balance between choosing not to spark any fervor and refusing to allow the flame to extinguish completely.
“If you truly didn’t know about the surprise, you wouldn’t have dolled yourself up,” I tell her, planting my hands firmly on her shoulders before looking at Adam. “You had one job.”
“It was my fault.” Olivia, Adam’s wife, admits from her spot. She’s too gorgeous to stand my brother, truthfully. Adam enjoys causing chaos around him, but he values his marriage. It’s no wonder she looks so happy next to him, rich brown hands interlocked with his, dreads falling in long trails down her back, her small face, pierced nose and long eyes wrinkling at the weight of her smile. “The spirits told me that secrets were bad luck this month, so I couldn’t keep my mouth closed.”
Olivia has as much trust in her tarot cards as she does in her husband. I, sometimes, want to have that so-called ‘third eye’ that she prides on.
“Can't blame me for listening to my wife, right?” Adam bats his eyelashes with ease before taking a long sip of his beer bottle.
Yes, the night that Mom and Dad made Adam, they must have hated each other enormously. Nothing good ever comes from him.
“Happy wife, happy life.” Zeke retreats and this is my cue to roll my eyes, turning to him with one finger up.
“You had a job, too!”
“I did my job!”
“I haven't seen this place decorated yet, and people will arrive soon.” It’s not like I told them that Nathan will come to the birthday party. None of them truly knows about his existence; I’ve remained silent about him because I understand how Alessia and Zeke are. Alessia will probably directly hunt for him to tell him my intentions—which are not clear to me yet—, and Zeke...I don’t know if he’d get angry at me considering just how supportive he was of what I had with Lorenzo, or if he would just shrug it off.
“Alright, bossy pants. We’re decorating this place.” Zeke puts the package filled with balloons on top of his shoulder before tossing a look towards Alessia. His eyes diverted to every piece of her face, from her eyes down to her mouth, before saying: “Put that mouth to good use, and instead of fighting with me, could you help me fill these balloons up?”
A faint blush spreads across her cheeks, the warm hue contrasting with her usual complexion. It could be the suggestive undertones of the conversation that have ignited this color or perhaps it’s the mounting frustration at the prospect of having to endure Zeke's presence any longer. “It’s my birthday, dumbass. I shouldn’t have to do anything.”
“Boo-hoo,” Zeke trails, puckering out his bottom lip in a pout. “I didn’t ask you to get here early; now, let’s get to work.”
As Alessia celebrates another year in this unpredictable universe, we embrace her spirit by letting her playlist fill The House of Lopez with the vibrant sounds of Taylor Swift. Zeke, despite his love for Latin American beats, hasn’t complained at all. They make a great team while working with the balloons. He got on a chair to hang them on the walls because she had her party heels on and didn’t wish to end up plastered on the floor. Meanwhile, Alessia was the one blowing them up.
I arranged the snacks Adam had ordered from Aseré on plates, putting a variety of Cuban snacks with a few burgers and cheese sticks here and there for maximum collision of cultures. The scent is marvelous; spicy and raking caramelized onions, making me salivate through the roof of my palate. Olivia has been a lifesaver with the cake. She placed it on a platter elevated by small plastic columns that she had kindly brought along. Then, she arranged the letters she had cut out to read, "Happy Birthday!"
It was my idea to have a few pictures of Alessia throughout her life hanging from a few sparkling veils falling from the roof behind the snack table. I gathered enough embarrassing pictures from Facebook, edited them into Polaroid photographs, and added some memories of our own. Our engineering graduation. The first time we got shitfaced together. The first time she tried Cuban food back when we were in Texas, and the first time she triedrealCuban food because the other one sucked.
Alessia means more to me than I’d ever admit. She was the only person I had when I arrived at university. We shed tears together, hugged through the pain, and wished for the other to grow.
People enter the pub late. People around here often arrive late to parties, but Alessia has wiped away all signs of stress—as she felt with Zeke—and is now smiling at the groups of people. Teeth bared, head tossed back, glowing in the same shade that the sugar at the corner of her cocktail has. I can’t say that I’m not happy for her.
It’s only when ten strikes the clock that I have some time to sit back. Olivia had been considerate enough to braid my hair after I had sweat it out while trying to decorate. Tight and steady, I wish I could remove the blouse I had carelessly draped over my shoulders, like a jacket to cover the bralette underneath. I knew that Alessia would ask for pictures, so I rummaged through my closet until I came face to face with a bralette thatsheinsisted on buying me when we were back in Texas. From the weight gain that comes with adulthood, I doubted it would fit me, but lo and behold, my tits hadn’t grown the slightest. Hence, I paired the shimmery blue top with oversized mom pants in a darker shade of blue to match the blouse I had put on.
I felt...too heated to be in this clothing.
Besides, the heels are killing me.
Blue has never been my lucky color, either.
I pick one of the spoons by the table up, for my phone isn’t doing me justice as a mirror in this lighting, but I fail at that, too. I’m about to give up on looking great when I see a figure walking through the crowds of sweaty, dancing bodies. Celia Cruz is playing in the background as Nathan makes his way between masses of people and God, I don’t know what to do at the moment.
As I start to panic, my first instinct is to get off the stool and turn around. I begin inspecting the plates of food as if they are the most interesting things in the world. I could be watching the Monalisa be painted by how harshly I glare at the table. From what I had seen, Nathan had come to this party tonight to have all eyes on him.
To differentiate him, his brown strands of hair are locked inside the yellow beanie he has tossed on his head. Dark eyebrows furrowed when inspecting the dance floor, his eyes squinted as if he was out in the sun. Draped over his shoulders is a vibrant jacket adorned with floral patterns, its colors echoing the exuberance of spring. He pairs it effortlessly with tailored beige pants that accentuate his long legs, while a sleek black t-shirt underneath adds a touch of understated elegance. What truly commands attention is his imposing stature—he stands tall, exuding confidence and strength. The broadness of his shoulders gives him a striking silhouette, and there's a playful curve at the corner of his mouth that captivates those around him, making anyone irresistibly drawn to the thought of sharing a kiss.
Matters that I had just seen seconds before I decided to hide.
However, as my fingers twitch against the cloth on the table, wondering if he had seen me, a presence stands beside me. Tossing one look over my shoulder, I see Nathan looking down at the plates in front of him. He grabs a guava cake bar, plopping the small treat inside his mouth before adding:
“Doesn’t work.”
