Page 31 of The Night We Became Strangers

Marisa

I ’d never been so vexed with Alicia before.

Did she not have any self-awareness? She was being so forward with Agustín, who most of the time looked uncomfortable with her advances.

She thought that because she was rich and beautiful, every man would fall at her feet, helplessly in love with her.

But what else was there? What could she possibly have in common with a man like Agustín?

Their mutual love for blackberry soda?

Please!

She was still in secondary school, for God’s sake.

She didn’t know anything about the real world, whereas I had been working—a productive citizen—for three years already.

Agustín and I had a lot more in common. We both worked for the media.

We’d had so much to talk about the day he’d dropped me off at home.

He was currently the advertising director at his father’s newspaper, and I’d been doing commercials for years. We understood the business.

“What’s wrong?” Raúl said, driving Agustín’s sedan, his gaze alternating between the road and my legs. Ugh.

“Nothing.”

“Be honest. You’re not … interested in Agustín, are you?”

I turned to him, shocked. Had I been that obvious? Then, how was it that Alicia didn’t notice—or did she not care? More than anything, I was stunned at Raúl’s frankness.

“Why do you ask?”

“For one, you watch him all the time.”

My cheeks burned.

“Listen, you seem like a nice girl. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

I’ve known Agustín since elementary school, and he’s always had this—how should I put it— gift with women?

” He accelerated and shifted gears. “He’s not a bad person.

He just doesn’t take women seriously. He’s focused on his work.

When his dad passes, he’s going to have to run the newspaper on his own, so that’s where all his attention is. ”

“He doesn’t want a wife?”

“Eventually. But he’s only twenty-two. He’s not ready for a commitment.”

“Men his age marry all the time.”

“He says he’s not going to bring a wife to his parents’ home. He wants to have something of his own before he gets married.”

His words stung, but I wouldn’t show it.

“Who says I want to get married?” I said defensively. I was, of course, bluffing. I wouldn’t mind getting married to someone like Agustín. He was handsome, smart. We even worked in the same building!

“You don’t?”

I shrugged, looking out the window at the pastel houses stacked next to one another, balconies, geraniums, trees.

The only marriage I had observed up close was my parents’, and it was definitely not the best example.

And yet, I couldn’t conceive a life without marriage.

What would it be like to be single forever?

How would I even support myself? The money I made at the radio station wasn’t enough, and I didn’t want to depend on my father for the rest of my days. He had an impossible temper.

“I, for one, am ready to get married,” Raúl said. “I just bought a small apartment and I’m looking to settle down.”

I studied his profile, with his fine chin and tiny ears. Had he just said those things about Agustín so that I would pay attention to him ?

“Well, thanks for letting me know,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The next time I saw Agustín, he was standing behind a bouquet of gardenias.

“Happy birthday!” He extended the exquisite flower arrangement toward me.

“How did you know it was my birthday?” I could barely hide the excitement in my voice. He’d just rung my doorbell, and I’d been stunned to see him through the window.

“Have you forgotten I work at a newspaper?” he said. “I have my sources.”

I took the bouquet and inhaled their sweet aroma.

“I figured you liked gardenias since they were splattered all over your dress the other day,” he said, looking behind me, and then added as an afterthought, “I haven’t been able to think about anything other than that dress in days,” he said in a grave, low voice, followed by a sideways smile.

The comment was so unexpected I didn’t even know what to say or do, other than to make a mental note that I should wear that dress every day.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked him.

Fortunately, my dad wasn’t home. On Saturday mornings, he had coffee with his musician friends at Heladería San Agustín, which gave us a couple of hours.

“Sure,” he said.

He walked in, examining every corner of the parlor and dining room.

I was self-conscious that my home may not be up to par.

Our furniture was old, and we had to mix and match chairs from a couple of different sets.

On top of it all, our walls were bare because my father had been so upset after Mamá left that he took down all her paintings, which at one point had adorned every corner of our house.

If Agustín’s family owned Crónicas and he paraded in such an expensive car, he probably lived in a mansion. But if he noticed something odd about our décor, he didn’t say. He only commented on my dad’s upright piano.

“Do you play?”

“Not in years. My dad tried to teach me and my siblings, but the only one who’s any good is my youngest sister, Tatiana.”

He ran his palm on the polished wood. If my dad would’ve seen him, he would’ve lost his mind.

Agustín’s innocent touch was going to leave fingerprints all over the instrument’s surface, for sure.

Nobody touched my father’s piano, unless you were practicing arpeggios, and you had washed your hands thoroughly first. I made another mental note: wipe piano with flannel after Agustín leaves .

Our furniture might have been humble and run-down, but we kept our things spotless. My dad wouldn’t have it any other way.

Agustín sat on my dad’s rocking chair and stared at me. “So how old are you now?”

I sat in front of him. “Eighteen.”

It gave me a small satisfaction to finally be the same age as Alicia. She often made me feel as if I were her younger sister, especially when it came down to matters of the heart.

“No longer a child, huh?”

I resented the comment. “For your information, I’ve been working for the last three years.”

“Have you, now?”

I lifted my chin. I resented the condescending tone.

He stopped rocking. “Did I offend you in some way?”

“Well, Agustín, I’m not a child. I’ve been running this house for the last year and also working. And before you hear it from someone else, my mom left us a year ago.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel bad.

” He got out of the chair and squatted in front of me, holding my hands.

His touch gave me a chill. “I was just trying to tease you, but of course I had noticed that you’re a grown woman, and you have the most melodious and soothing voice I’ve ever heard. ”

Before I could answer—to thank him for the compliment, probably—he cupped my face with both hands and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. As he slowly pulled back, I grabbed his face and brought him back to me for more.

After a couple of minutes of glorious kisses, which had the effect of weakening my limbs, the creak of the front door interrupted us. Agustín stood up abruptly and turned toward the entrance.

My brother walked in with a paper bag under his arm. Fortunately, it wasn’t my dad, but I was still disappointed by the interruption. Every morning, Gabo brought us a loaf of French bread and if he had extra cash, he would buy moncaibas , my favorite cookies.

He stopped his humming as soon as he saw us.

“Gabo,” I said, somehow recovering from my first kiss ever. “Come meet my friend Agustín.”

The two of them shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

I didn’t even hear what they were saying as I was so flustered.

I’d been curious about what it would be like to kiss a boy for years and now I knew: It was wonderful, and I wanted more!

I kept glancing at Agustín, but he seemed unperturbed, as if this was something he did often.

I gathered that he was asking my brother what he did for a living.

“I’m studying architecture,” Gabo said.

“And he’s a wonderful cartoonist!” I added, knowing my brother was too humble to mention it. “You should see his work.”

We ended up taking Agustín upstairs so he could look at Gabo’s drawings.

He was particularly fascinated by the caricatures of politicians, so much so that he said he’d mention him to Raúl, who turned out to be the managing editor of Crónicas.

The position was impressive for someone so young since, according to Agustín, Raúl worked directly under the editor-in-chief.

No wonder he was “ready to get married,” as he had told me.

Upstairs, Agustín also met my sister, who had become nearly a recluse.

Agustín agreed to have breakfast with us, but he had to leave immediately after.

I was not sure what our kiss meant. Were we officially boyfriend and girlfriend now?

The thought delighted me. This was the best birthday of my life.

There was only one thing disturbing my bliss: Alicia.

I couldn’t postpone my conversation with her anymore.

I had to face her as soon as possible and tell her Agustín and I were in love.