Love, in English

It all made sense with what Mateo had said, that he’d just been oblivious to the whole thing. Eight years of oblivion. No wonder that soccer match, his injury, had evoked such a response from him. I had just assumed that he was reliving the pain and humiliation of the injury, not the moment his whole life had changed and he had become something that he wasn’t.

I suddenly wanted nothing more than to go find him. I don’t know exactly what I would have said or done once I did so—I certainly wouldn’t have told him what Beatriz had told me. But I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. That I knew who he was and that was more than okay. I liked the real Mateo with his jeans and boots, the businessman Mateo with his slick suits, the soccer star Mateo in his jersey and shorts. I liked the calm Mateo, the witty Mateo, the lusty Mateo, and the hot-tempered Mateo.

I liked all of him.

No. I loved all of him.

I loved Mateo Casalles.

With my eyes now brimming with tears, I slowly looked up at Beatriz, Claudia, and Polly, who had been watching me lapse into silence, their faces bunched with concern.

I didn’t have to say anything.

Claudia soothed, “Oh, honey,” and came over to my side, embracing me in a hug while the other two girls did the same. I let a few tears fall in anticipation of losing a love, an opportunity that never had a chance to be realized, while Claudia and Polly both cried knowing that they’d have to say goodbye to Ricardo and Eduardo too.

The clock started ticking louder. The countdown to the end had begun.

“I don’t want to go home,” I wailed into the phone.

“You say that now, but you’ll change your mind when you get back here,” Josh said, apparently munching on an extra crinkly bag of chips. “Besides, if you don’t come back soon, you’ll sound even more stupid. I thought you were teaching English over there, not losing it.”

“They warned us that would happen,” I said, conscious of how I’d started pronouncing words since I started talking to him.

I took the phone away from my ear and checked the time. I was sitting in my bedroom and talking to Josh while wearing the nicest dress I had packed, which happened to be the boobalicious maxi dress with the smocked waist. It was the night after the gossip magazine incident and corresponding tears, and all of the Anglos and Spaniards were being treated to a di

“When you come back,” he said, “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“When you say pick me up, you mean I’m sitting on the handlebars of your bike, don’t you?”

“Nope,” he said proudly. “I’ll pick you up in a three-year-old Volkswagen Golf.”

“And where did you get that? Stealing cars on the east side?”

“Nope again. I bought it. I have a car now.”

“What?” My brother had always wanted a car—sometimes it was crucial for our city—but he never managed to save up enough with his job. “How did that happen?”

“That contest I entered?” he said smugly. “I won it.”

“Holy shit!’ I cried out. “That’s amazing. And fast! And what the fuck, how much money did they give you?”

“One thousand dollars. And I had been saving some money, so I used that too.”

My smile faltered a bit at that. I knew he had some saved up, but I was about to suggest to him that he use that money to travel. I knew Josh felt as trapped and listless as I did, or at least close. I wanted to tell him to come here, do the program, or just backpack. Find life, inspiration. Even love, since all the picky, yoga pants-wearing girls in Vancouver didn’t seem to be impressed with his tattoos.

“Well I’m very happy for you,” I said. “This means I get a car too.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“Because I don’t want to go home!”

“Aw, Vera…”

“I don’t! And you can’t make me!”

“You have no money.”

“I can turn tricks. Spanish men seem to like me.”

“Nasty. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m serious, Josh. I don’t want to go home. It will kill me to leave here.”

“You’re such a girl,” he chided me.

“I mean it.” I sighed and peered out my window at the glowing sunset. People had started to gather in front of reception. My heart twinged a bit at the sight of them all, my friends. “This place changes the way you think, the way you look at life, the way you look at people. It teaches you…that we’re all the same deep down. It doesn’t matter your age or where you’re from. We’re all human, suffering from the human condition.”

“I’m going to be honest with you, you sound like a loon right now. Who is this and what have you done with my sister?”

“I know I sound loony. A girl here, Becca, you’d like her—she told me the same thing during the first week and I didn’t believe her, not really. But everything she said would happen did. You bond with people here, like you never would otherwise. They become your life, your…universe.” I shivered over my last words.

“Okaaaaay,” he said slowly. “I think I’m going to hang up now.”

I grumbled, feeling like I was a foreigner speaking a strange language. “Fine. Love you.”

“Yeah. See you Tuesday. I’ll be the hot guy in the fucktastic car.”

“Ew.”

I hung up, shoved my phone in my purse, and went ru

This time instead of taking three vans, we all piled into a charter bus similar to the one that brought us here from Madrid. It couldn’t go all the way into the town, but the restaurant was supposed to be on the outskirts anyway. The lucky Spaniards (sans Mateo) were brought there last week for their football victory di

I hadn’t gotten a chance to sit with Mateo on the bus because Mark or Marty was with him (I guess they’d grown closer since the whole injury thing), so I sat with Becca and endured the raucous atmosphere. I felt like I was going on a pub crawl and everyone else seemed to have a head start at drinking. Regardless, everyone was in an excellent mood, eager to get out of Las Palabras for the night and celebrate the program coming to a close. We only had two nights left after this.

I guess Mateo and I didn’t really get a good look at each other until he was slowly coming off the bus, being extra careful with his knee. I hadn’t really seen him all day, with the way things had pa

He looked…amazing.

For the occasion, he was back in one of his suits. Black, sleek, sharply cut. White shirt with first two buttons undone, no tie. Messy, wavy black hair and a neatly trimmed beard that bordered on stubble. I wanted to run my fingers down his face, down his chest, down his stomach until I was undoing his fly. I wanted to drop to my knees and give him something sweet to remember me by.

Of course, at that salacious thought, he looked up and saw me. My cheeks burned and I gave him a quick, giddy wave.

“Vera,” he said throatily, his face brightened in awe. “You look beautiful.”

He came toward me with his arms out, and for the first time ever, he grabbed me by the shoulders and leaned in, planting a kiss on each cheek. I was overcome by desire and lust and gilded happiness just from his body being so close. His rough cheek pressed against mine, his scent making me weak, his lips so warm and soft on my skin that I closed my eyes and took it all in.

This wasn’t like the greeting I got from the other Spaniards. This one lingered.

When he finally pulled away, I knew I was totally blushing. He squinted his eyes at me, smiling gracefully. He took his fingers and brushed my hair off my shoulders. “With the sunset, you look like you are on fire.”