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2012 (part two)
WE’RE STILL ON 2012. A LOT HAPPENED THAT SUMMER. A WEDDING IS A HUGE EVENT...
That summer, and the months that followed, were perfect, unique, and colored rosy pink. The newlyweds spent their honeymoon in the United States and enjoyed twenty fantastic days, as if out of a dream.
In the weeks that followed the trip, they chose the paint for the walls, the parquet for the floors, tiles for the second bathroom, furniture and the little things, the details that would transform their new house into a home. To say they were busy would be an understatement. Alex wanted to take care of everything himself, build their abode stone by stone so to speak, even though the stones were practically the only thing they’d saved from the original structure.
But there were fights too. More fights, all over the same thing: the redhead. Now that they were married and sharing a home, Priscila was more aware than ever that Carolina was in love with her husband. It wasn’t just the way she looked at him, or even the hugs—the phone calls and texting were continuous. It was a pursuit, in every sense of the word.
Alex was tired of hearing about it. He didn’t know how to make his wife understand that she was wrong. And how did they always end up? Fighting.
“Fuck, Priscila, for the umpteenth time: Carolina is not in love with me!”
“You can deny it all you want, Alex. She is.”
“No, she’s not. And even if she was, what difference would it make? It has nothing to do with you and me.”
“Of course it affects us!”
“How? How the fuck does it affect us?”
That’s when Priscila kept quiet. She did it because she didn’t want to admit the redhead was so beautiful, so tall, so stylish and so sensual that she felt possessive and unsure, even though Alex had never given her reason for either. Jealousy was inevitable: she was so madly in love with her husband that just imagining him with someone else made her heart tighten. But the insecurities came from deeper down. Priscila had grown up in an overly harmonious and protective environment, an environment that was working against her now. If you’ve never had to face bad things, you don’t learn how to do it. If you don’t fall, you don’t learn how to get up. And what happens then when you stumble over your first stone on the road?
On the other hand, the nights became interesting. Alex began to gain confidence. He’d sit on the floor in the dark of the living room, and Priscila would lean against the doorjamb and watch him; he knew it, he sensed her. And he felt safe.
By mid-September—summer’s end—they’d barely made any progress with the first floor. The second floor and the garden were uninhabitable, except for their bedroom. They had just rebuilt the living room fireplace—Priscila had wanted to remove it altogether (the minimum temperature in winter in this town was eleven centigrade, more or less), but Alex was determined to keep it; he was excited about that fireplace. Priscila was afraid he liked it for more than just it’s decorative effect—what if he also wanted to light it? She made a mental note not to buy winter pajamas. Or... maybe that was what Alex was looking for... no pajamas.
There was one day that was especially hard. They’d started painting the living room walls and didn’t want to stop until they were done, nine hours later. By six o’clock in the evening, they were exhausted, and covered in paint.
They took a shower, but it didn’t help much. It was just too hot. Priscila suggested Jellyfish Cove, for a dip to shake off the drowsiness. Since the cove was close, they walked—Alex in only his swimsuit, and Priscila with a short-sleeved T-shirt over her bikini.
Despite the time, they arrived at the cove under an outrageous sun and an infinite blue sky. They stripped and waded into the sea; they were alone, and they liked to bathe naked. Who wouldn’t? The water was cooler than usual, and they both appreciated it. Until the kissing and cuddling warmed them up.
They were euphoric: being married was fantastic, even better than they’d imagined. Their families, claiming it was crazy... they couldn’t believe it, just didn’t understand; it was the best.
Priscila wrapped her legs around Alex’s waist, and Alex, with the help of his hand, slid into her. Priscila held on, arms around his neck, and started moving, slowly at first, then with more vigor towards the end. An end that was almost interrupted by a sky that, in a matter of minutes, had turned gray, then black, and was about to open.
Alex and Priscila stopped their assault of each other’s mouths to look up for a couple seconds. That was what it took to keep them going, committed to their task as they were; a few weak raindrops weren’t going to stop their imminent climax. But weak rain this was not: it was a full-blown storm, thunder included. Even that didn’t stop them.
When they were done, they stayed in the water a few minutes more, enjoying their moment. The stifling heat had vanished, and the wind had cooled the atmosphere; they were better in the sea than out, warmer.
When they finally decided it was time to go, they left in a hurry, dressing as they went through the forest, and arrived home so soaked—dog included—that they left puddles on the new parquet.
Priscila went up to their bedroom for pajamas while Alex made something to warm them in the kitchen. When she returned to the living room, she found him naked and shivering near the lit fireplace. He waved her over and together they changed into the long plaid pajama bottoms—hers, blue and red; his, blue and white—Priscila had brought down.
They lay on the floor near the fireplace; the room smelled of paint.
“See? The fireplace was a good idea.”
“You’re absolutely right. I’ll never question you again,” she said, full of sarcasm.
“That’s the way it has to be, woman.”
Priscila looked at him with an arched eyebrow and Alex laughed out loud as he brought his face close to kiss her.
They spent what was left of the evening there, talking, laughing, enjoying each other, listening to Lady Gaga’s “Born this Way”; “Solamente tú,” by Pablo Alborán; “Rolling in the deep,” by Adele; Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab.”
At nightfall, Alex helped Priscila to the bedroom. They were dozy—the heat, the exhaustion and the smell of paint had been too much.
