Mature

I only peeked through the crack in the door for a second. It was long enough to brand itself into me forever, and ruin every night that came after.

She came home every morning smelling of American tobacco and new perfume. I kept silent and hid my suspicions—until the night I followed her.

I get up early so I can have the gym to myself. But for the past three weeks, there’s been a much better reason to arrive before anyone else: him, and that scandalous smile.

At forty-nine I thought I’d seen it all, until that soaked stranger took off his shirt in my patio and I knew the afternoon wouldn’t end with gardening.

She caught me looking at her while she leafed through a Cortázar. She held my gaze for three seconds, smiled crookedly, and I knew that afternoon in the bookstore wasn’t ending among books.

It didn’t matter that he was thirty years older than me. With the sway of the road, his hand found my hip in the dark and I stopped pretending I didn’t like it.

I crossed his garden every afternoon to help with the vines, but we both knew I was really there for the way that huge man looked at me.

“Want to test it before you decide?” he asked, and Mariana understood that neither of them would spend that afternoon talking only about the projector.

When the breeze raised gooseflesh on her skin, she knew that full-moon night wouldn’t end on the shore. And she didn’t want it to.

Every morning I spied on him from the window without admitting it. That rainy afternoon he showed up at my door soaked, and I knew there was no way to keep pretending nothing was happening.

I went down to the kitchen to make coffee and felt his gaze fixed on my back. I knew what was going to happen, and for the first time in months I didn’t want to stop him.

That night, while I was correcting his exercises in the hotel room, I felt his gaze fixed on me and knew I could no longer be just his teacher.

I barely knew him, but when that stranger grabbed me in front of everyone, the driver set down his drink at the bar and walked over with a calm that was scarier than any shout.

He didn’t do much for me physically, but the idea of being wanted was intoxicating. When he climbed onto the stool to fix the fan, I knew exactly how I’d pay him back.

When Sara came out of Don Aurelio’s winery her legs were shaking and she wouldn’t look me in the eye. I knew exactly what had just happened inside.

When I opened the front door, I knew that woman was going to ruin my night. I had no idea how far she’d take it, or where she’d end up kneeling in front of me.

The request came from a shy boy, my nephew’s friend. I took weeks to answer him and a month to admit I wanted him in my bed.

For six months I clung to a memory and my lonely nights. On Friday I took off my underwear at a rest stop and drove the rest of the way trembling.

She knew that every Thursday she hung the laundry at the same time. That morning I decided to step out wearing nothing at all, just to see her face. I didn’t expect her to smile like that.

When she told him she was “hanging in there,” Tino understood that word weighed the same as his own: years of cold sheets. And in the middle of the street, they decided to fix it.