The Fortunate Ones
Page 50

On the last day of our class, the instructor asks me out on a date. He says he’s been wanting to ask me for months, but he didn’t want to break the student-teacher code of ethics. I didn’t think there was such a thing in a non-graded community cooking course, but maybe things are different in Spain.
Olive and Luciana make kissing faces in the background as I try to think of the most polite way to turn him down. There’s a lot of “it’s not a good time for me” and “I don’t want to lead you on” before he finally has to cut me off with a tight, awkward smile. He tells me he understands, says he just got out a relationship himself. The entire way home, the girls tease me about what my life could have been like if only I’d said yes.
“You could have been his sous chef!” Olive exclaims, like this is a plausible turn my life could take.
I dismiss her suggestion with a shrug. “Ugh, and wear that dumb chef’s hat all day? No thanks. Luciana, stop touching your face! You’re wiping away your eyebrow.”
…
The cooking instructor isn’t the first man to pursue me in Spain. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t keep a harem, but for a woman who spends most of her time holed up tutoring young girls, I deflect a fair number of suitors. There’s a barista that works at a cafe down the road from where we live. He’s there every morning when I stroll in after dropping the girls at school and knows my usual order, but most of the time he throws in a fluffy croissant or pastry for free. I should probably stop leading him on, but…they happen to be really good pastries.
Diego and Nicolás are perceptive. They ask me about my personal life every now and then, focusing on the details of my love life (or lack thereof). When we first moved to Spain, I told them I wasn’t interested in dating, said I wanted to soak in everything Spain has to offer on my own. They bought that response for a while, but now, they grow more skeptical with each weekend I spend with the girls instead of going out. I’m supposed to have the weekends off. They want me to go out on dates and meet friends, but I’d rather just stay in, eat dates, and watch Friends.
Right around the time our cooking class ends that fall, I nestle into a comfortable realization. I come to the conclusion that there are no mistakes in life, just decisions. I chose to come to Spain and here I am, finding my footing. I had a goal of succeeding as a tutor and exploring the world, and that’s just what I’ve gotten to do. There’s a sense of accomplishment that comes with that, and a reminder that whoever came up with “This too shall pass” really knew what they were talking about. Sometimes things pass like giant, painful kidney stones, but in the end, they pass.
When I first left Austin, the future looked bleak. My heart was broken, my world flipped on its head. Now, looking back, it’s hard to regret my decision. In fact, I conclude that there was never a right or wrong decision at all. I didn’t make a mistake in leaving the States, just like I wouldn’t have been making a mistake in staying behind for James. I still miss him—of course I do. Maybe I always will. Maybe that’s part of the lesson I’ve learned here: some people carve their initials so deeply into your heart, they’ll always be a part of you. James and I had a tumultuous few months, and I felt more for him than I’ve felt about any man I’ve ever met. Even now, his old clothes are still the most comfortable pajamas in my dresser, and I wear them to sleep a few times a month. I sometimes scour the internet for news about him or his company, but only late at night, and only after I’ve had a little bit of wine.
During the day, when I’m busy and enjoying life, I feel whole and normal again. I’m more excited for the future than reminiscent about the past. I think Diego and Nicolás can see that, because it’s right around this time that Diego announces he’s bringing a friend for dinner—a young, handsome colleague named Alejandro.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“That’s what you’re wearing?” Luciana asks, eyeing my dress from her perch on my bed and scrunching her nose in distaste.
“What’s wrong with this?” I ask, spinning in a circle to take myself in from all angles in the small full-length mirror mounted on the back of my door. I’m wearing a simple white sundress. I’ve worn it a hundred times before, and she’s never said anything about it.
“It’s fine for any other night but…Alejandro is coming to dinner tonight!”
I nod. “And?”
“So maybe you should put something else on,” she says with a pointed glare. When I don’t make a move to change, she hops up off my bed and starts rifling through my closet until she comes back out with a slinky black dress I packed on a whim and have not worn, or even entertained the idea of wearing, even once.
“This!” she says, her eyes wide with wonder. “It looks like something a lady of the night would wear!”
I laugh and yank it out of her hand, hanging it back up where it belongs. “That dress isn’t appropriate. Also, that phrase doesn’t mean what you think it does.”
She frowns. “Fine, but the dress you have on makes you look frumpy.”
“What? No way.” I reach down to lovingly smooth out the faithful cotton fabric. “This dress is a classic.”
“Exactly,” she stresses with every ounce of preteen attitude roiling inside her tiny frame. “And it shows. There are…one…two…three gelato stains down the front.”
Oh, well, yeah. I try in vain to clear the most noticeable stain with the pad of my thumb. It’s there to stay, but it’s tiny, hardly visible at all really. I ignore her remaining reasons for why I should change and instead reach for the hair tie around my wrist and twist my hair into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck.
“Yeah, of course! Why wear your hair down, how it looks the prettiest, when you can just throw it up in a ponytail!” She throws her hands up in defeat. “You know where a pony’s tail is, right? On its butt!”
“Audrey Hepburn wore a ponytail,” I remind her.
“Yeah, but Audrey Hepburn also probably went on tons of dates! You haven’t had a single date since we’ve been here!”
It’s true, not a one. I’ve been a lone wolf since arriving in Spain and that’s the way I’d like to keep it, hence the dress and the ponytail.
I pat her on the head (which she hates) and then pass her up to start down the stairs toward the kitchen. I can hear Olive down there helping her dads prep for dinner. Luciana begrudgingly follows behind me, grumbling under her breath about my “undateable” hair.
When we step into the kitchen, Olive looks up and smiles timidly at me. “I like your dress, Ms. Brooke.”
I thank her while aiming an I-told-you-so grin at Luciana. She sticks her tongue out at me and winds around the back of the kitchen island to steal a piece of bread Diego just took out of the oven. He shoos her away, lest she ruin her appetite before dinner even starts.
My eyes widen as I scan the kitchen. Diego and Nicolás have gone all out for the occasion. The large, antique dining table is already covered in appetizers and wine. Nicolás hurries over, asking me if I’m excited to meet Alejandro.
“I’m sure if he’s a friend of yours he can’t be too bad,” I say with a casual shrug.
He steps closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “Diego tells me half the women at the university have eyes for him.”
I hum in mock interest. “Sounds like he must be one hell of a professor.”
He throws up his hands, exasperated by my lack of enthusiasm. “Forgive me for the intrusion, but you aren’t still interested in that man back home, are you?” He turns to Diego. “What was his name?”
“James, I think,” Diego supplies.
My heart leaps at the mention of his name. “Nope. Thanks for asking though,” I add with a quick, easy smile.
He narrows his eyes in disbelief then quickly changes tactics. “Right. Good.” Then his gaze drops slightly. “Hey, it’s the gelato dress!”
Luciana claps across the room. “Ha! SEE?!”
Jesus! What is it with this family and my clothes?!
“All right, if you guys want me to change, I’ll—”