Page 12 of Just for the Holidays
“Okay, querida. I took a quick look at the cottage—”
“You didn’t have to do that. It must be freezing out there and slippery,” Perla said with concern, but Veronica waved her off with a smile.
“Gaelito built a covered walkway from the main house to it. Always so smart,” she told her son, pushing up to kiss him on the cheek. “You’ve got fresh blankets and towels in there and I brought some almond creamer. I know you can’t do regular milk in coffee.” If she’d had any doubts about staying they were laid to rest in that instant. Veronica was positively beaming at the prospect of having Perla stay with them. She couldn’t be selfish, not on this. “If I would’ve been informed about my son’s new relationship status...” She offered a wink to soften the admonishment. “I would’ve made sure I had all the things you like, Perlita, but someone was keeping his secrets extremely under wraps as usual.”
Despite Veronica’s attempt to chastise them, Perla felt her throat tighten with emotion at her words. How did she remember? Perla had not had a cup of coffee with these people in at least six years, and still they knew how she liked it. Her own mother would probably be hard-pressed to list even two of her favorite foods, let alone details like what kind of creamer she liked.
“That’s so kind of you. Thank you. And this relationship status change is very recent.”
“Like supersuperrecent, veritable breaking news,” drolled Gabi, making Perla’s face heat.
“Of course, mija. And don’t be embarrassed about staying with Gael. We’re a modern family,” Veronica assured Perla, with a peck on the cheek. “Gabi’s girlfriend stayed with us for Thanksgiving and we were so happy to have her here. I just want my kids and their partners at home with us.”
The wordpartnerlanded like a punch to the gut. She looked up at Gael and saw that he wasn’t faring much better. This white lie was turning into something perilous, and Perla was very aware that the biggest casualty would be her heart.
“Vamos, let me get you settled in,” Gael said as he tugged on her hand. She should pull away. She should be furious with him, but he was looking at her with concern and with a tenderness she craved more than she would like to admit. She let him lead her to the mudroom, where she donned her coat and slipped her feet into too-big rain boots. They stepped out to find the wind howling all around them. The covered path protected them, but not completely, and it was freezing. The drive to the airport would’ve been terrifying in this. Even a thirty-second walk felt like a battle against the elements. But Gael’s big body was right behind her as they made their way up the path, and no matter how things had been with them recently, she knew in her heart that if she stumbled he would catch her.
“Welcome to my casita,” he announced without a hint of irony in his voice as they reached the red door with a circular window that let her see into the place she’d be spending the night.
They left their boots outside and stepped into the small cottage. The fire was roaring, making the space warm and toasty. The furniture was all designer. Lots of dark wood and soft, supple leather. Still, it looked inviting, like everything in Gael’s home did. Except here there were not colorful cushions or knickknacks on the mantel. This place was more subdued, more masculine.
This was Gael’s private space.
It was an open floor plan, just like the house. A small kitchen to the side, with stainless steel appliances and glass-front cabinets. A small table for two was set, there was an armchair with a reading lamp by the fireplace, and right beyond it he’d installed a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. That was when she noticed the two paintings above his fireplace, and butterflies started flying in circles in her belly.
“You got the Jorge Meriño pieces,” she said in surprise.
“I did.” He was so nonchalant about it, as if it was no big deal for him to have two paintings by her favorite artist prominently displayed here. To be fair, Gael liked Meriño, too. He also knew the artist was her absolute favorite. This had been another thing they’d had in common, after all.
Perla always loved art; one of the few good things she’d gotten from her mother was her eye for it. When she and Gael started seeing each other, she’d discovered that he was also an art lover. They’d loved to go down to the city for shows and art gallery openings, especially ones displaying up-and-coming Latinx artists.
Their shared passion for art was something she hadn’t thought about in years. Unlike the books and movies there was a difference in access to art for them that made it less real somehow. Back then Perla arrived to the shows like a collector, ready to buy a piece if she liked something. Meanwhile, Gael had only been an admirer, and on the occasions she offered to buy him something as a gift, he’d turned her down. But now he was a movie star, a man who could have anything and anyone he wanted.
Seeing one more thing they’d shared just made the fact that he wasn’t truly hers, that he’d never be hers, again more painful. She held her breath and let it out slowly as she took in the pieces. She loved Meriño’s aesthetic. He painted beautiful women with skin the color of graphite dressed in flowing gowns. They always wore white and had bright red hibiscus flowers in their hair. One of Perla’s most prized possessions was one of his paintings. “When did you get these?” she asked, a little breathless, trying and failing not to read too much into this.
“The Luna Gallery in Tribeca. They just had a show of contemporary Ethiopian artists—I got a painting for my place in LA. I’ve bought a few pieces from them over the years.”
That Ethiopian artist exhibit had been for VIPs only. She hadn’t been able to go, but heard that the pieces all sold within a few hours. That meant Gael had been there on opening night. She’d taken him to Luna years ago when they were dating. But she had no idea he’d continued to go there on his own. This was...she didn’t know what it was.
He was looking at her with that coy expression she remembered. It usually meant he knew he was about to get called out on something and was thoroughly prepared with a smart-ass comment. And Perlahadquestions. Why did he have these paintings in particular? Why did he keep going to the gallery she’d taken him to so long ago? What did this all mean? But as much as she wanted to ask, the truth was, none of it was any of her business anymore.
Gael Montez was not her business.
She returned her gaze to the two paintings and admired them for a moment, before offering him the sincerest smile she could muster. She needed some distance from Gael before she said something that would make the next twenty-four hours a lot more awkward than necessary. “They look really nice. I think I’m going to go back to the house,” she said with a casual shrug she was not feeling. “I told your mom I’d come back to play dominoes with her, Gabi and Abuela. I also have to call Esmeralda.”
She expected him to feign indifference, to let her walk out like he didn’t care what she did. Instead, he answered the questions she hadn’t asked out loud. “I got them because they reminded me of you.” There was a tightness to his voice that she wanted very much not to read into. She had to get away from him before she said something she could not take back.
She stopped right by the door, reeling from the emotions she’d felt in the past couple of hours. She should probably confront him. Remind him it had been because of his choices that he’d lost her. Tell him how much it hurt her when he cast her aside. But she wouldn’t give him any more of herself. Gael would never get any more of her tears. She just walked to the door instead. Before she walked out, she looked at him over her shoulder and said, “I never took you for the sentimental type.”
She didn’t feel an ounce of satisfaction in finally getting the last word.
Seven
“Ican’t believe the planes are grounded for the next day and a half,” Perla lamented, tossing her cell phone aside after her call with the crew. She picked up the domino she’d been about to use for a play and tapped it on the table. She looked worried, upset. And he wished it didn’t hurt to know that it was because she didn’t want to be around him.
“You can stay with us as long as necessary, mi amor,” his mother said sincerely. “It’s been a delight to have you here.” Veronica’s comforting words only seemed to sink Perla into a deeper misery.
“I can’t impose on all of you like that,” Perla protested as his mother, sister and grandmother plied her with words of encouragement.
