‘She said thank you for coming to my home,’ Tiago says, and I glimpse a cheeky smile out the corner of my eye.
His mother smacks him with the back of her hand in a way that makes me think his translation was total bull.
‘Eres un cansón,’she mutters, ignoring his chuckling. ‘Come.Por aquí.’
She leads us from one living room into another, towards a sideboard covered in framed photos.
‘Mami,’Tiago whines when he grasps what she’s doing.
‘Looook,’ she says slowly, like I’m the one who doesn’t speak English. It’s a photo of a sweet little boy missing his front teeth. The excitement’s palpable in her eyes – but not the rest of her face.‘Mira esto.’
I look closer. The swooping hair, the thin lips. He looks more like?—
‘That’s not even me. That’s JC.’
She scolds him in a vicious torrent of Spanish until he picks up another one, of a boy around six with a big cheesy beam in front of the Santiago city limits sign. It makes my heart hiccup. Could he be any cuter?
The universality of it surprises me. I have a photo of nine-year-old me standing in front of Juliet’s balcony in Verona.
Someone calls for Tiago’s mother and she glides off, leaving us alone – as alone as you can be in a room full of teenage boys arguing over someone called Lucho Diaz.
I take the photo from him and study it. ‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ I whisper.
‘I know they’re a lot, but they mean well.’
We’re side by side. His heat’s burning into me. The urge to kiss him is a magnetised tug.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I say. ‘They’re amazing. I didn’t know families could be so…’ I can’t think of a word that sums them up. Warm. Affectionate. Caring. Hospitable. Full. No adjective is big enough. Whole enough.
Home Tiago’s calmer, more open, more tactile. Home Tiago switches language mid-sentence and I have to clamp my thighs together. Home Tiago’s dangerous for a girl like me.
He puts the photo back on the shelf. ‘If it gets too much, say the word and I can tell them I’m not feeling well. If you say it, they’ll get in bed with you, and only I’m allowed there.’
I grin. ‘They wouldn’t?—’
‘Am I interrupting?’ asks a mid-twenties woman I haven’t seen before.
‘Yes, you are,’ he snarls.
‘That’s a shame,’ she replies, voice raspy. She offers me a platter of something smushed, deep fried, and yellow, served with avocado crema. ‘Patacones? I’m Espy, by the way. Tiago’s big sister. Two above Tiago and one below JC.’
‘They’re fried plantains,’ he explains, dunking one in the dip.
I’m quite full from all the arepas his abuela pushed on me earlier, but I don’t want to be rude. I can go on a long run tomorrow. I take a big bite when she says?—
‘I’m so glad Tiago has you. We were getting worried he’d be a slutty party boy forever.’
And the flush is back.
He descends into big, spluttering coughs. ‘Esperanza.She’snotmy girlfriend. We’re just friends.’
‘Sure, and my nose is real. Loving yours, by the way. This is why I prefer hiking to sports like tennis. I come out in one piece.’ Her gaze swivels to me, and I wonder if there’sanythingTiago keeps to himself.
‘She has a boyfriend,’ he hisses.
‘Well then, Tiago, you need to make her a better offer.’
‘What are we talking about?’Phew, it’s Trey. Someone I know. A semi-credible voice who can set the record straight.
