Page 33 of Portrait of A Lost Artist

VERONICA

“We lost what we had and now I want it, now I want it back...’cause you’ve still got it.” - Still Got It by Troye Sivan.

T WENTY ONE MONTHS LATER .

THE SHEER DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE STATES AND FAMILIAR CUBA STRIKES ME IMMEDIATELY.

Even the streets, a blend of soaring high-rises and vibrant palm trees, hum with a forgotten quality, a story murmured as the taxi carries me toward Zeke, our long-awaited meeting finally unfolding after months of planning.

Ezequiel’s fame had grown like a pimple on a teenager’s face before prom.

It was a stark transformation. One moment, he was the familiar kid I’d grown up with, the one whose teenage dreams crumbled under the weight of adulthood.

The next, he was a burgeoning Latin music sensation in Los Angeles, seamlessly blending reggaeton and pop, a phoenix rising to dominate Spotify playlists.

A far cry from his youthful ambition of being a mambo singer, yet his success was undeniable, more than I could have ever wished for him.

Someone is not so happy about me travelling to Zeke’s new hometown for his birthday, and that just has to be Alessia.

Speaking of, she’s roaming around the bed, her blonde hair falling slightly on the screen of her phone as we FaceTime.

The taxi driver can’t understand what we are saying, thankfully, because she has been arguing with me for what feels like an hour.

“You shouldn’t have gone to California for him.

” And the truth is, I genuinely don’t know if I should be here.

For the longest time, a desire to hide away in Havana consumed me, shrouded in shame for my estrangement from my family and for falling for a man whose life mirrored the one Zeke is currently building.

Yet, the strength of our friendship outweighs my fear of judgment for loving someone else.

“Zeke hasn’t visited Havana in over two years.

I imagine he has changed who he is entirely.

What are you going to do if he’s not the same man you were best friends with? ”

I know for a fact there is a history behind my two best friends, though I would never know who is the one who should take the blame for the shredded pieces of their hearts.

However, Alessia has a point. Zeke and I have only kept in contact through the phone, and with his busy schedule, it is hard to meet up like we did before.

For all I know, he could be an entirely different person.

Or he could be the friend that I have grown to adore since plenty of years ago.

“It’s his birthday. He has no one to spend it with.” I tell her, only to have Alessia scoff. Instead of palm trees, brilliant golden lights illuminate the scene, and expensive convertibles are a rare but striking sight along the sides of the street we’re now on.

“Keep telling that to yourself.” She rolls her pretty eyes. “He must be spending it with his new friends.”

“Alessia!”

“What?”

“There is nothing wrong with him having a new life. I support him.” I hide my nervousness about this reunion; it’s only natural to feel uneasy when someone you know has become a celebrity.

He’s become very well known. “...Your distaste for him shouldn’t stop me from travelling and seeing him, if that’s what I please. ”

Alessia’s lips pucker, like a child who is being scolded and doesn’t like it one bit. “Alright, there’s nothing I can do if you want to be friends with assholes like that.” She says, sitting up straighter to take a sip from her minion mug. “You told me he was taking you to—”

“A restaurant that is, supposedly, the best he’s ever had.

” He always said that about Aseré, but even thinking about the family restaurant makes me nervous.

I’m still not allowed to go in there after the fight with Mom.

Seeing Adam and Dad outside is normal now, and they say the business is doing great, as always. “I should get there any minute.”

“Yank away all his money in food to honor me, will you?”

“Oh, I’m starving after the flight. Of course, I will.”

My best friend’s eyes soften, inspecting me through the screen as if I was there with her before sighing loudly.

“Have fun, okay? If you’re ever feeling alone over there, call me.

I’ll be by the end of the phone, I swear.

” Her promises bring a smile to my face because, coming from Alessia, they feel more believable.

After all, this is the woman who has given up her life to be with me—she’s like my sister, another part of who I am.

“I love you.” I admit, though, Alessia is knowledgeable about such matters.

“Me too. Now, go have fun, you.”

These past two years have been difficult for me.

In a sense of growing, both in my career and as a person.

For the longest while, I thought there was no point in trying to get out of the void I had carved for myself, but coming to visit Zeke is just one of the many steps I should have given.

I’m trying to prove to myself that stepping outside my comfort zone and beginning again isn’t as terrible as I imagine it to be.

Much to Zeke’s approval, the restaurant that he suggested that we go to and meet in is gorgeous.

Tall walls of reflective black dominate, shimmering under the ceramic and white lights that also throw off hints of red and blue.

The doors at the entrance swirl open in graceful curves, operated by two guards who consult a tablet—likely the guest list. I self-consciously touch the beige, somewhat transparent turtleneck I’m wearing with my wide-legged, subtly slit pants.

My black heels are already torturing my ankles, and the contrast is stark against the women in their cocktail attire and the men in their tailored suits.

I tell my name to the men in the entrance and they don’t even spare me a glance after finding me on the list. They open the gates to what feels like a lavish heaven for me, though their enthusiasm seems muted, probably because I don’t look like someone who will tip generously.

Whatever. They’re not exactly wrong in their assumption.

Rouge, the restaurant on the inside looks like, with bricked brown walls and half-lit tables.

In the center of the tables, arrangements of white roses seem to emit a soft light that illuminates the diners’ plates.

The freezing atmosphere aligns with the jazz music playing softly, and robotic smiles stretch across the faces of the seated guests.

Some briefly glance my way, but thankfully, their attention doesn’t linger.

“Veronica!”

Finally, someone recognizes me. When I turn around, Zeke is standing by the table in the corner, arms opened, one of his hands holding a bottle of bubbly champagne.

He looks different from the last time I saw him.

He has shaved most of the curls that used to frame the sides of his head, leaving only some on top, which he sleekly combs back.

The dark navy suit he wears looks tailor-made for his now slimmer physique.

His smile is still relaxed, the same as I remember.

He’s a perfect example of who he once was and who he is now.

John Lennon-style sunglasses perch on his face, only to be lowered as my whispered greeting reaches him and I walk over. My arms come around him, holding him tightly to me, while his arms find their place on my shoulders as his voice murmurs against it.

“God, you look gorgeous.”

I haven’t changed the slightest, but even Ezequiel’s cologne is different.

Something about him switched in the way he holds himself more confidently now, bathed in the glow of money.

“So do you!” He rakes the smell of orange and champagne, but he seems to be sober by now.

“I’m sorry I got here late. The flight took longer than necessary and then, I had to settle in the hotel and—”

“It’s okay. We have just started.” My friend gestures to a chair for me to join him, his smile encompassing the others at our table. We’re joined by two men and a woman, and almost immediately after Ezequiel settles in, the woman’s hand keeps finding its way to his thigh.

Oh.

Alessia definitely wouldn’t like this.

Much to what one would expect—or not—, Ezequiel seems to have hunted for a clone of Alessia and found it in California.

The bleached blonde wears her romantically curled hair over one shoulder; subtle signs of a face-lift are evident in the limited movement of her eyebrows as she greets me with a simple ‘hello’.

Her green eyes shine beautifully, mirroring the glossy sheen on her lips and the glitter of her disco-ball-like dress.

I notice several similarities to Alessia.

Quite a few, I’d say. Even the low tone of her voice is reminiscent.

“I’m Emilia. I’ve heard wonders about you, Veronica.” The blonde starts, extending her hand and giving mine a squeeze. I fight the urge to look at her from up-close, because she is definitely a good doppelg?nger of my best friend.

I want to say I’ve heard about her too, but Zeke had forgotten about that little detail.

“I hope you’ve heard good things only.” I release her hand to sit down beside Zeke, and a server hands me a menu.

Just looking at the prices makes me gasp internally, but thankfully, I’m not the one footing the bill for this dinner.

“The only reason Ezequiel would go back to that hellhole would be you.” Emilia jokes as if she’s said the funniest thing in the entire room, and the men by the table—including Zeke—laugh as so. However, I digress. I don’t think Havana is a hellhole. Issues or not.

“I can only wonder how difficult it was for the two of you.” One of the old men says. His gray hair looks like a wig on top of his head, fluffed out and a little crooked. “When I heard about Ezequiel’s upbringing, I thought he came from a war-zone.”

More laughter. Isn’t Zeke going to say something about their disrespectful comments?