Page 30 of The Night We Became Strangers

Alicia

W hat in the world was wrong with Marisa?

Since she’d gotten the job at Radio La Voz she’d been acting as if she was too good to be my friend anymore.

Normally, she had a lot to say. She would tell me every detail about the people at work, and we celebrated and dissected every piece of gossip from her co-workers.

In fact, I’d been looking forward to the inside story of La Voz since she started the new job.

But so far, she hadn’t told me anything, other than it was “fun.”

I’d heard her the night of her debut, and she’d been fabulous.

Her voice had trembled a bit at first, but by the end of the episode, she’d made me believe she was Gabriela, the protagonist of La Intrusa .

From what I could tell, the radionovela was becoming popular in our circle.

Everybody at school talked about it this week and some of the girls in my class, who’d met Marisa in elementary school, were excited that she was part of the production.

They couldn’t believe they knew a “celebrity”—even though they’d ignored her during our childhood.

Was that it? Was Marisa becoming conceited because of her newfound fame?

She’d never been vain before. Then again, she’d only been doing commercials. She hadn’t been the star of an evening radionovela such as this one.

Since we arrived at my dad’s factory, Marisa had said very little.

I had been the one doing all the talking while we waited for the guys to arrive.

I’d been bombarding her with questions, but her answers had been cryptic and incomplete.

Maybe she was tired. She wasn’t used to working nights.

I wondered, too, if her father had been giving her a hard time about her new schedule.

When Agustín and Raúl Cortes arrived, she tensed up.

Did she not like them? I would have to ask her later.

Agustín looked adorable with his glasses on and a striped suit.

I hardly noticed his friend, Raúl—as Agustín was always the center of attention—but both seemed excited for the tour.

The only one with a somber face was Marisa.

We started outside the factory, where a truck had just arrived and a couple of employees were unloading wooden boxes filled with fruit.

I’d chosen to start with the mora soda since it was my favorite and our newest flavor, so I picked a handful of blackberries from the open boxes and handed them to my guests.

I put the last one directly into Agustín’s mouth, surprising him.

Inside the plant, they poured blackberries into round metal tanks to be sorted out and given a chance to rest in water for about an hour. Once that was done, they covered the containers, and the fruit went through a special contraption that removed the pulp.

I explained each step of the process to the best of my recollection.

I hadn’t visited this place in a while, but when I was a child—before I met Marisa—I came frequently.

I was fascinated by the fact that my dad owned a soda factory, as I always had free bottles at my disposal and occasionally the girls at school wanted to come over to drink endless amounts of soda.

Now I would also be the first one to test the new flavors, according to my dad.

As we toured the factory floor, Agustín and Raúl asked lots of questions, but Marisa remained sour. She was starting to irritateme.

“After the pulp is removed, the juice is left to rest in these tanks for two days.” I pointed at a couple of gigantic, sealed tanks. “And then, it goes through a pasteurization process in this machine.”

Marisa yawned.

How dare she?

I explained to the men how the juice then had to rest for two more days in nearby tanks before it proceeded to the next room where it got mixed with water and other ingredients to create a syrup.

A couple of workers in white smocks greeted me as we walked by. As we turned around the corner, I removed Agustín’s glasses and ran away with them. He followed me all through the bottling section, which was loud. I hid behind one of the machines, covering my mouth not to laugh.

“Alicia! I know you’re in here!”

As he passed by, I grabbed his arm and brought him to me. I was wearing his glasses, and he chuckled when he saw me. I took a step forward. “If you want your glasses, it’s going to cost you.”

His smile vanished. “How much?”

I grabbed him by the collar and lowered him so I could kiss him properly. The few seconds our mouths touched felt like heaven, but he interrupted the kiss quickly as fast steps approached us.

Marisa and Raúl were coming; Marisa in the front. She was frowning. Maybe Raúl had said something unpleasant. The little I knew of him indicated that he was one of those people who were always trying to call attention to themselves by being funny, but in reality, he was just annoying.

“What are you doing?” she asked me.

I took off Agustín’s glasses and put them on him. “Nothing. Let’s go.” I held his hand and resumed the tour as if nothing had happened. I pointed at a machine spraying bottles one by one. “Here’s where the bottles get washed.”

Marisa took a moment to catch up with us. When she finally did, she folded her arms across her chest. In front of us, an inspector made sure the bottles were spotless before he sent them through a conveyer belt to a circular contraption to get filled with the soda mix and then capped and branded.

The four of us then proceeded to the next room, where bottles were hand placed inside crates that were then arranged on pallets for transportation. I uncapped some bottles and handed one to each one of my guests so they could try it, but my attention was on Agustín’s every move.

Everyone took a sip, except for Marisa.

“You’re not going to try it?” I asked her.

“I’m not thirsty.”

I shrugged, reaching under Agustín’s arm and pulling him toward me. “And what did you think?”

“Tasty,” he said.

“Well, I have to go,” Marisa said. “I didn’t tell my dad I was coming here.”

“Are you serious? I thought we were going to Teatro Bolívar after this,” I said.

“I can’t.”

“Well, maybe Raúl can take you home?” I winked at her, but she averted my gaze.

“It would be my pleasure,” Raúl said, donning his hat.

“No,” she said. “I’ll just take the bus.”

“You’re not going on a bus.” Agustín removed his car keys from his pocket and handed them to Raúl. “Just take my car. Alicia and I will take a cab.”

She barely said bye to us, and Raúl promptly followed her.

“I don’t know what is wrong with her today,” I told Agustín. “She’s usually very agreeable.”

Agustín looked after her. “Is she really?”

“Do you still want to go to the matinee? My afternoon is completely open.”

He assessed me from head to toe. I’d been very careful with my appearance today. I was wearing a cobalt-and-white polka dot dress with a red stash belt and a matching beret.

“I’d love to,” he said.