Page 15 of After the Fire
“Do you like it?” Lucía said, moving her head left and right, showing a few women her hair. I slowed down my pace, surprised by the levity of it all. Her grandmother was smiling up at her, and one other woman ran her fingers through her long locks. “It was getting too long, so I got a haircut today. It makes it easier for work.”
The women were looking at her with respect. There were no pointed comments, no criticism. Just a series ofoohsandahhsto convey support. It felt so natural, so honest and organic. Sodifferent.
“Can you guide me in the direction of the restroom, please?” I asked a man standing to my left.
“If you go out to the main hallway through that door,” he said as he pointed to a hidden door at the other end of the dining room, “it’s the second door on your right.”
“Thank you,” I replied and quickly made my exit from the dining area, emerging right at the entrance to the home through a hidden door that I hadn’t seen on my way in.
I felt agitated, out of place. Once in the restroom, I tried to calm down. Because nothing of what I had seen resonated with my experience. It was night and day.
I needed to get out of there, fast. This wasn’t a place for me. Santiago wasn’t for me. I needed to shut this down, quick. My brain was getting confused because being kind and caring didn’t equal love, right? Being kind was a basic human response, and just because Santiago and his family were being kind, didn’t mean anything else.
As I walked out and headed towards the front door, my eyes caught something that was peeking out from a partially open door. I pushed my way in and found myself in a massive library, filled to the brim with books. The far wall had floor-to-ceiling shelves and a rolling library ladder to reach the highest of heights. The walls were covered in striped, burgundy-and-green wallpaper, with wood wainscoting on the bottom half. On the left was a gallery wall of photographs and what looked like newspaper clippings, identically framed and neatly arranged.
I made my way to the first frame: a photo of Santiago and his siblings as children, probably in the backyard of this home. He looked tiny compared to the man he was today, much more similar to his sister than now. That easy smile was plastered on his face though. I stopped and looked at a few more. A photo of what seemed to be Santiago’s grandfather by a golf cart, club in hand, stopped me in my tracks. Right next to him, standing tall and looking as handsome as ever, wasmygrandfather. The man I’d never met. The man I would recognize from a mile away. His gaze was fixed on the photographer, and his eyes were sharp and dangerous. I would recognize that gaze anywhere because those same eyes looked back at me every morning. Those were my eyes too.
“There you are. You escaped me,” Santiago said as he made his way to me with a glass of red wine in his hand. “I’ve been looking for you. Granny is about to blow out her candles,” he added, with a small smile on his face.
“I just needed to use the restroom, and then I got sidetracked,” I retorted, fixing my gaze on the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked as his forehead creased and a line appeared between his brows. He looked genuinely concerned for me. He lifted his free hand and after a second, pulled it back to his side, tucking it in one of his jean pockets. His eyes drifted to my lips and quickly returned back to my eyes.
“Where’s Clara, by the way? I haven’t seen her at all today, and I thought she was attending this party,” I asked, quickly changing the subject and trying to contain the tears that were starting to form, a knot on my throat that I couldn’t get rid of.
“Eh… She went back to the city. I’m glad you decided to come. You look beautiful,” he added, a little surprised.
My nose crinkled.What?Goosebumps ran through my whole body, my spine stiffening in response.
“You know what? I’m just going to go. I’m out of place here. Please thank your parents for me, and thank you for inviting me.”
I took one last quick look at that photo on the wall, like it was taunting me. My vision started to get blurry as tears filled my eyes. I blinked, and a few made their way out, running down my cheeks. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing everything to go away.Maybe if you close your eyes this will all disappear?
I felt Santiago’s expression before I saw it. He studied me closely, almost like he was memorizing the scene. “What’s happening to you? You can talk to me, Vee.”
In a matter of days, my life had changed once already because of a photo, and now everything that I thought I ever knew about my family and my legacy was possibly a lie? How did I explain something like this to this man who had proven to be more attentive than everyone else in my family so far? Who seemed to really care about me—about everyone—but who I needed to keep at an arm’s length because he didn’t know me?Why do these things keep happening to me?
“I’m fine, just overwhelmed,” I said. “I’m leaving.” And I turned on my heels and ran through the door to the library, up the hallway, and out the front door, letting it slam behind me. I ran all the way to the hotel, climbed in bed, and sobbed like I’d never done in my life.
9
THE CONFESSION
I blinked.My eyes refused to focus, but I could see the red light from the hotel’s phone flashing to my right. My body ached for no reason at all, except that my life had been consistently crumbling down.When is this going to end?
This seven-year ordeal started with a smile and a few stolen glances. Maybe an incorrect assumption on my part that what I was feeling was love and not just a new, flashy influx of attention.
I. Couldn’t. Stop. Thinking. About. Him.
Santiago, not Manuel.Why Santiago and not Manuel?
Although Ishouldbe thinking about Manuel, definitely. I was careful and calculated and organized. I was intentional. Cool and collected, I guessed. Nothing really ruffled my feathers anymore. I planned every single step I had taken in the past decade.
And look where that got me. My relationship was over, finished in a second. Seven years, seven years of planning and wishing and dreaming and waiting—for what? For it to be over in one flash of a screen? I would never be able to get that time back. He took this time from me, and I’d never get it back. I screamed into the pillow until my throat was hoarse.
I was paralyzed. I didn’t remember walking back to the hotel after leaving Santiago standing in the middle of that massive library. I couldn’t remember if he followed me or yelled after me, but that flashing light on the room’s phone told me something. He was the only one who could contact me this way, although I was sure he still had my cell phone number and could easily text.
What just happened?
