Page 59 of Every Step She Takes

Mal

“Are you watching porn at work?”

I slam my phone face down on my desk and look up to see Gloria standing in the open door of my office. “No, Mother , I am not watching porn. But you’re welcome to change the parental controls on my phone if you don’t trust me.”

“If it’s not porn, why are you grinning like that?” She sits down on the chair across from my desk. It’s one of Sadie’s chairs, with the wood painted deep sky blue, and the upholstery an old tapestry depicting wildflowers.

“I have so many questions. Do you grin while watching porn? And do you think porn is the only reason a person might be happy?”

Gloria primly crosses her legs at the ankle. “This is workplace sexual harassment.”

“It’s the weekend! And you’re the one who came in here talking about porn!”

Gloria tilts her head to one side and studies me for three seconds before she deduces the truth. “You were talking to her again, weren’t you?”

I shuffle around some papers on my desk. “We should really get down to business.”

Without another word, Gloria flips open her iPad and slides a manicured finger across the screen.

A series of charts and tables come into view, and I immediately lose interest. “I had accounting send over a summary of our first two quarters, along with projections of the tax breaks from starting the foundation, in preparation for our meeting with the board on Tuesday. Maelys, put down your damn phone and pay attention. You’re thirty-nine years old. ”

I reluctantly put my phone back on the desk, face up this time. “I mean this with all due respect, but I do not care about your charts. That’s why you’re the CEO, and I’m very much not.”

She snaps the iPad closed and glares. “If the board approves the final plan for the foundation, then everything will be in place for you to leave Portugal.”

So, it turns out I do care a little. I’ve been (for lack of a better term) trapped in Portugal for three months, bouncing between my office here, at the vineyard outside of Porto, and the corporate offices in Lisbon.

At first, I was here to deal with the excruciatingly tedious process of naming Gloria as the official CEO of Quinta Costa, and then I stayed for the equally tedious process of establishing a corporate foundation within Quinta Costa.

As it turns out, Gloria was telling the truth at the funeral.

My father followed my so-called career as I jumped around between nonprofits and NGOs, and the company gave millions to the causes I cared about over the course of twenty years.

With generous tax benefits, of course. Which got me thinking…

I don’t know shit-all about how to run a company, but I know some shit about how to run a nonprofit. Or how to work for one, at least.

The idea came together over a long weekend trip to La Rioja for the Batalla del Vino in June.

Gloria and I had our own wine battle as we killed multiple bottles of red and hashed out a detailed business plan for starting a corporate-sponsored foundation that the company would fund and I would run.

A foundation that would offer grants to existing nonprofit organizations locally and globally, especially those focused on uplifting women, children, queer people, and the trans community.

When we first presented our proposal, the board shot it down with excuses about overhead costs and bottom lines and fiduciary responsibilities to shareholders.

We compromised: the board agreed that if I could provide the start-up capital to get the foundation off the ground and prove it was a sound investment, then the company would allocate ten percent of our overall earnings after the fourth quarter.

I suspect they thought I didn’t have the follow-through or funds to make it happen.

But selling the Lake Como house more than covered it. As for the follow-through, well… I’ve been learning how to exist in this boring middle part.

The meeting in Lisbon is the final hoop to jump through before I’ll be set up to run the foundation remotely from wherever I want in the world. I just have to figure out where that is.

The problem with figuring out what I want to do with my time and money is that it means listening to Gloria for thirty minutes while she goes over every chart, table, and graph her little heart desires. “Do you have any questions before the meeting?” she asks as she closes the iPad again.

“I think you covered it, Mommy Dearest.”

Gloria sweeps her hair out of her face with the back of her hand.

Every movement, every gesture, every word out of her mouth speaks of money—the kind of money that demands a childhood of etiquette training and an exacting emphasis on appearances.

I see my own childhood mirrored back to me when I look at Gloria.

She’s who I would’ve been if I hadn’t rejected the Costa part of me, and when Gloria looks at me, I think she sees a hypothetical version of herself too.

“I have reservations at O Paparico tonight at eight,” Gloria says, still elegantly posed on Sadie’s chair. “Would you like to join me?”

The funny thing is, I really would. “I can’t tonight. Inez is in town before she leaves for a tour tomorrow morning, and I’m meeting up with her for tapas.”

Gloria’s smile is tight but polite, and I quickly add, “You’re welcome to join us, though.”

“You should enjoy your time with your friend.” She rises from her chair as she smooths out the creases in her black dress. “I’m sure she has much to say about that .”

My phone buzzes with another WhatsApp message, and I try to hide the notification. But Gloria has already seen it, and she’s already giving me a knowing look before sashaying out of my office.

“I do have much to say about it.”

I take another sip of my Verdelho, lean back in my patio chair, and resign myself to the inevitable. “Hit me with your best lecture.”

“No one said anything about a lecture.” Inez sweeps her Afro into a puff, like she’s ready to get serious. “I simply want us to examine the facts of the situation.”

“Uh-huh.” I reach for the plate of pasteis de bacalhau.

“Do you still text Sadie every single day?”

“Not every day .” Sometimes the time difference means we talk every other day.

But ever since her final blog post, we’ve been talking consistently.

Most of our messages are about boring, everyday things: updates about her fledgling furniture restoration business and my ever-evolving plans for the foundation; anecdotes about her mom’s pitiful attempts at meddling less and Vi’s even worse attempts at respecting Sadie’s privacy; stories about my regular lunch dates with Luzia and my unexpected friendship with Gloria.

I message her my reactions to episodes of various Property Brothers shows, and she messages me about her morning walks around Discovery Park.

We only talk about our time on the Camino with oblique references; we never discuss the kisses we said were for practice.

“Every day?” Inez repeats, and I slowly, sheepishly nod.

“Yeah, every day. But!” I hold up a finger. “I also get daily voice memos from Stefano about his training, and daily photos of Ro’s dogs, and I don’t hear you attacking me over that .”

“You didn’t have sex with Stefano or Ro,” Inez says plainly.

“Fair point. Carry on.”

“Did you furnish your entire office with pieces from Sadie’s Etsy page?”

I choke on cod fritter as I attempt to defend myself again. “Her furniture is beautiful. And I’m just trying to support a friend.”

“And do you keep a framed photo of her on your desk?”

“It’s a framed photo of the entire tour group.”

Inez continues her interrogation. “And is it true you’ve been looking up houses in Seattle on Zillow?”

“Okay, yes, but only because that’s where Michelle lives, and I want to be close to my godson.”

“And have you refused to date at all since you and Sadie broke up?”

I sigh. “You know I have.”

Inez has been a surprising constant in my life these last three months.

I flew to Lisbon to meet her wife; she met me in the Algarve for my birthday.

We’ve both driven hundreds of kilometers to see each other between her tours.

I will miss that connection when I leave Portugal.

But I also have faith that no matter where I end up, Inez and I will stay close, the way Michelle and I always have.

“And it’s only been three months since I’ve sworn off dating, and you were the one who encouraged me to do that! So I can spend time working on myself, and focusing on my future, and becoming comfortable with the middle of things, and breaking old patterns, and blah blah blah.”

“Blah blah blah?” She eyes me over her own glass of wine. “How profound. Speaking of, how’s therapy going?”

“Horrible. Do you know therapists expect you to talk about yourself for an hour straight? The monsters.”

My therapist isn’t actually a monster. Sofia has been another staple in my post-Camino life.

Twice a week, we meet over Zoom to unpack my childhood trauma, and I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would.

I’ve been surprised by how much time we’ve spent discussing my absentee mother and her impact on my self-esteem and my issues with commitment.

But Valentim would be pleased to know he’s still the star of the show when it comes to damaging my psyche.

There’s been a lot of crying, a lot of unlearning and relearning, a lot of stand-up comedy routines in the place of genuine vulnerability, because I’m not perfect, and I’m still figuring out how to have a healthy relationship with my own thoughts.

Across the outdoor table, Inez strokes her chin like a philosophy professor contemplating the meaning of life.

“I’m so proud of you. For slowing down. For going inward.

For not jumping into the next relationship or the next distraction.

” Only Inez can say things like this without prompting a reflexively flippant response. Well, Inez and Michelle.