Chapter 49

Malena closed her eyes for a moment, soothed by Alejandra’s tender hands pinning her hair up. Growing up, she’d always dreamt of having her mother fix her hair like this—maybe if she had, her hair wouldn’t have been such a royal mess all the time. Now she wanted to prolong this warm sensation for as long as possible.

“There!” Alejandra said.

Malena opened her eyes and glanced at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. They were in the opulent sitting room of the Madreselva restroom, preparing for Mamá Blanca’s birthday dinner. Malena’s heart soared at the sight of Alejandra’s warm smile.

“They shouldn’t come off now,” Alejandra said. They, of course, were none other than her curls.

“Let’s hope so.” Malena ran her hand over her fresh chignon.

“Thank you for baking my mother’s cake,” Alejandra said. “And thank you for mine, too. I regret never trying it.”

Malena patted her mother’s hand. The cake she’d baked with Javier seemed like a lifetime ago. “It was the best kind, too. Pineapple. My father used to love it.”

Alejandra’s eyes seemed to lose their shine.

Malena stood. “Don’t get sad, Mamá.” She crossed the thick carpeted area and stopped at the restroom door. “I’ll make you another one for your next birthday.” She looked back at Alejandra shyly; this was the first time she’d called her Mamá. “We should go back. Everybody is waiting for us.”

Alejandra smiled through the tears and took her hand.

Together, they headed for the parlor, where Javier, in a black tuxedo, stood behind a large microphone singing “Volver.” Behind him, a bandoneón player, a pianist, and a violinist performed.

On the dance floor, Joaquin led Amanda into the molinete step, and she managed beautifully—stiff leg and all. There was no other couple who danced with such feeling and poise as they did.

Malena and Alejandra sat with Ana and Mamá Blanca. Malena never imagined seeing Ana in the Madreselva. Yet somehow her aunt seemed to belong there, among all of them, in her gray satin sleeveless dress, absently holding a glass of red wine in her hand, looking around the nightclub.

This was also Mamá Blanca’s first time at Amanda’s nightclub. She’d been so excited about coming that she’d asked Ana to take her to the hair salon for an updo and was even wearing her dentures—despite how uncomfortable she said they were.

Onstage, Amanda was beaming. Joaquin didn’t have eyes for anyone else, as usual, and occasionally winked at Amanda. Malena only wished one day she would find a man who loved her the way Joaquin loved Amanda.

Her mind drifted back to Sebastian. Why did this always happen to her? Why couldn’t she just be happy and forget about him? She had her mother, her family, everything she’d always wanted. It was clear the Platas women were unlucky in love, and she was one of them. So she needed to stop being ungrateful, stop thinking about what was missing in her life instead of what she had.

Yes, she would do that. She focused on Amanda’s dancing, mentally counting her steps, analyzing the grace and ease of Joaquin’s moves, but she couldn’t get Sebastian out of her mind. This music and Sebastian were interconnected. She glanced at the door. If only she could see him again. But he was gone. And nobody knew if or when he was coming back. The rumor in town was that he had taken his mother to Quito, to some sort of specialist or clinic. His absence was obvious. El Heraldo had only been four pages long this morning and it featured a wedding on the front page. God only knew who was running the paper now (the secretary?).

As the song ended, Bernardo carried Mamá Blanca’s birthday cake to the table. The musicians played “Cumpleaños Feliz” while Javier sang. Mamá Blanca clapped when she saw the gigantic chocolate cake with seven candles lit on top, one for each decade.

The Platas sisters gathered around the table, singing to their mother.

“Make a wish!” Amanda said after the song was over.

Mamá Blanca took a moment before she blew out the candles. Malena suspected her wish had something to do with the television sets that had finally arrived to San Isidro and that Mamá Blanca mentioned daily. The salon broke into a loud applause.

Malena watched the faces around her. How very different from the people she’d met when she first arrived, back when Rafael dictated their every thought and action. Back when everyone seemed to be trapped in her own lies, in her own secrets. She was so grateful that the truth was out, as painful as it might have been, and that they’d accepted her. She had a sudden—and stupid—urge to cry. This was ridiculous. She needed to get out before anyone could see her, before she would ruin this moment with her newfound sentimentality.

She walked out of the Madreselva, taking in the humid scent of the air after a long rain, the smell of wet leaves around her, the soft breeze freshening her cheeks and lightly billowing her skirt. She stood by a light post, hugging her bare arms. Maybe one day she’d get used to this Sierra chill digging into her bones, to the beauty of the star-filled sky without the obstruction of tall skyscrapers and pollution, to the idea that she wasn’t alone anymore.

It was so odd, and somewhat overwhelming, finally belonging somewhere, being a daughter, a niece, a cousin, a granddaughter. But there was a lingering irrational fear that something—anything—could break the bond growing between them and her.

“Malena?”

She glanced over her shoulder. Sebastian stood behind her, hands buried inside the pockets of his dark coat, his head tilted down, his hair slightly wet.

“You’re back,” she said. He’d never called her by her real name before.

“So are you.”

She squared her shoulders. “Claudia is not here.”

He removed a box of cigarettes from his pocket. Then he seemed to think better of it and put it away. “I didn’t come here looking for her.”

The street light illuminated his face. A pink scar extended over his eyebrow.

“What happened to your eye?”

“It’s nothing.”

“But you have a scar.”

He sighed. “Cesar and I had an exchange of words.”

“Looks like there were more than words exchanged.”

“He got a little violent after I told him I was going to take him to the police.” He let out a slow breath.

“That coward.” She fought the urge to touch his scar.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s gone now.”

He reached out and held one of her loose tendrils between his fingers. She shivered from his unexpected touch, uncertain of what to say next. She knew she was being an idiot. Reading too much into things.

His finger traced the outline of her cheek while his eyes remained on hers for a long, unnerving moment. “I went to see you in Guayaquil.”

“What?”

“Your neighbor told me you were here. And she fed me the best humitas of my life.”

Malena brought her hand to her chest. Sebastian had been to her building, he’d met Julia. “Why did you do that?”

“Why?” His husky laughter broke the stillness in the cold street. “You really need me to tell you?” He lifted her chin up. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” He took a step closer, if such a thing were possible.

The intensity of his gaze made the tips of her fingers tingle. Only once had he looked at her this way, and it had been the most amazing moment of her life. She thought of it constantly, especially when she neared the most awkward building in town.

She forgot what she was going to say. Something about Claudia or his mother. It didn’t matter anymore. She was too conscious of his fingers under her chin, of his other hand resting on her lower back, of the smell of rain emanating from his skin, of his lips brushing against hers.

But this was a whole new different kind of kiss. It wasn’t that long-awaited, fervent encounter from the elevator. This kiss affected her on a different level. It filled her chest with warmth. It comforted her. Never had she felt more connected to another human being. Never had she belonged anywhere more than here, in this misty street. There was nothing to fear, nothing to lose.

A couple walked out of the Madreselva, followed by the sounds of the bandoneón marking the first notes of her tango.

“I want to dance with you,” Sebastian said.

“Okay.” Holding her hand, he led her inside, walking past her family’s table.

Her mother was smiling.

When they reached the dance floor, Sebastian pulled her close. She rested her hand on his shoulder. Their bodies seemed to recognize each other. Every part knew its exact place, its precise movement. Their steps were not perfect, but this dance felt right, and she surrendered to his lead without caring that the entire salon was watching.

She listened to the lyrics, and thought of her father. How much had he loved this tango, and how much sadness it had provoked in him. But somehow the memory of him didn’t hurt this time. He would certainly be satisfied to see her today. A grown woman. Whole. Fulfilled. Reunited with Alejandra, the woman he had once loved. Now she understood that she owed it to him, to both of them, to be happy. To live the life they never could. As she glided across the floor, she realized that no matter what came, no matter how the world shifted, she would be okay. She would endure, thrive even. She was part of a family now. And Sebastian would be her partner in the ever-unfolding dance.