Page 59 of The Night We Became Strangers

Valeria

T ío Bolívar was waiting for me in the living room, cigarette in hand.

He’d barely reacted when I told the family that morning that I’d just canceled my wedding with Félix.

The most outspoken and disheartened had been Tía Marga.

She’d shaken me by the shoulders, tried to persuade me to call Félix immediately and take my words back.

When she realized nothing was going to make me change my mind, she blamed it all on the pearl ring Félix had given me.

(“I knew pearls were bad luck!”) Graciela had followed suit with a disappointed air and questions pertaining to her complicated chignon and her brand-new dress.

(“When will I be able to wear a dress this nice again?”) Germán had uttered a “ chucha ” to which my aunt had responded with a slap on his face as he wasn’t allowed to say such a foul word in front of her, whereas Joselito had happily removed his tie and continued playing with his soccer ball.

All along, Tío Bolívar had stared at me in silence.

What had followed was a series of phone calls to all the guests, split between Graciela and me, telling them the wedding had been canceled due to a family emergency—not entirely a lie.

But I couldn’t avoid my uncle any longer.

Matías and I crossed the room, holding hands.

We decided not to hide anymore. There was no point, no reason, as the two of us were already adults, and my own father had given us his blessing earlier today, when we’d all realized that my mother had been unfairly judged all these years.

I remembered seeing the photograph of Beatriz with the scarf the night of Juliana Isabel’s show, so after ice cream at the plaza, Matías and I had gone to the radio station to grab the photograph and show it to my dad at the hospital.

After visiting my father, Matías and I went to dinner together for the first time to a nice restaurant, but we couldn’t delay my return home any longer.

My uncle didn’t react to Matías’s presence. He simply took a puff of his cigarette and pointed at the couch in front of him. We both sat down.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

“I have to apologize to you, Valeria,” he said, appreciatively looking at his cigarette. “It was wrong of me to try to shape your life to my convenience. First by sending you to that boarding school in Riobamba, and now by pressuring you to marry the Recalde boy.”

Before I could answer, my uncle spoke again.

“And my apologies to you too, Matías, for being so obstinate. I should have realized, a long time ago, that the two of you were meant to be together. I used to watch you two when you were little. You were so close, always playing together. We even joked about it, your parents and I, how the two of you would end up marrying one day.”

Mati slid his hand into mine.

“I appreciate it, Don Bolívar,” he said.

The phone ring startled me. My uncle answered it, frowning and nodding at whatever it was they were telling him. His seriousness, his silence, was making me nervous. Had my father had a relapse?

“Are you sure?” he said to the caller. He nodded a couple more times before he hung up the phone.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t about your father.” He remained pensive, and didn’t offer any more.

“Then what was it about?” I said unable to control my eagerness.

He tapped his chin with his finger. “Oh, just about a woman who was going to work for me in a radionovela .”

I glanced at Matías. “What woman?”

My uncle leaned forward. “Do you remember Beatriz Lara?”

I couldn’t believe I was here again after so many years, after so much hatred—formally invited to tea with none other than Alicia de Montero.

Unlike the owner, the house had aged significantly.

The hardwood floors creaked as we stepped inside the foyer, where a crystal chandelier I remembered well hung low.

Paintings from emerging local artists plastered the walls, and in the ample living room was my mother’s former best friend.

Alicia was standing by a grandfather clock in a green taffeta skirt and a white satin blouse, her hair in a simple updo. She was so effortlessly elegant.

“Sorry we’re late,” Matías said. “We went with Valeria’s uncle to the police station.”

“That’s all right, corazón ,” she said, hands inside her side pockets, and turned toward me. “ Hola, Valeria .” She smiled sheepishly. Had I not known any better, I would’ve thought she was nervous. But confident women like her didn’t get nervous.

“Good afternoon, Senora Montero,” I said.

“Call me madrina .”

Godmother?

Matías squeezed my hand, initiating a smile.

“Please come in,” she said, leading us into the dining room. “Everything’s ready.”

The food had already been set. A teapot sat in the middle of the table, surrounded by a tray of pastries and another one of cheese empanadas.

The cups and saucers were made of fine porcelain, with moonflowers hand-painted on the side of each piece.

The ornate embroidery in the tablecloth must have taken hours to complete—and the strain of some patient woman’s eyesight.

“Please, have a seat,” Alicia said.

I did just that, dumbfounded. I’d never been invited to tea before, so I didn’t know what was expected of me. Before we walked in, Mati had confessed that he’d never partaken in this kind of invitation, either.

As soon as I sat down, Mati’s mom filled my cup with tea and offered me some sugar.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, clearing her throat, her eyes set on the water being poured into her cup. “I want to apologize for the way I’ve treated you. There’s no excuse for my behavior, but I will make it up to you.”

I nodded. It was all I could do.

“Matías says the two of you are in love.”

I nearly choked on my tea.

“I think that’s wonderful, hija. Have you given some thought to when you would like to get married?”

Matías cleared his throat. “ Madre , that’s a little soon, don’t you think? We haven’t even talked about that ourselves. Besides, Valeria just got out of one engagement.”

“Of course, my love. I just wanted to make it clear that I’m fine with whatever the two of you decide.”

My cheeks must have been bright red—I just knew it. But this kind of pressure didn’t feel anything like my earlier engagement. In fact, the thought of marrying Matías—whenever that might be—was exhilarating.

She then served her son. “What were you two doing at the police station?”

“I meant to tell you this morning,” he said, “but you were in such a hurry, I didn’t have a chance. Last night, a news man from Radio La Voz called Valeria’s uncle to tell him one of his sources at the police station had said they found Beatriz Lara dead at her house.”

Alicia lifted an eyebrow. “Beatriz?”

“Yes, the actress who worked with my mom. You know her, right?” I said.

“Yes. We met several times, but we weren’t friends.”

Matías studied her. “But you know about her relationship with—”

“Yes, Valeria’s father filled me in last night.” She took a sip of her tea. “So why did you go to the police station?”

“They wanted my uncle to identify her body since he was one of her employers. Apparently, she doesn’t have any family left, at least not in town. Matías came with us to cover the news as she was a minor celebrity, I suppose.”

“I’ll be done with the article tonight for tomorrow’s edition,” he said.

“Good.” Alicia served herself a moncaiba . “And what happened to her?”

“They think it was a suicide,” Matías said.

“She left a note,” I added, “but the police wouldn’t tell us what it says.”

Alicia swirled her tea for a long time. Then, she set the spoon on the saucer and took a sip. “Well, that’s unfortunate, but I’m glad justice has finally been served.”