Grapes Upside Down

35. Watt's

~Madisen~

Noah is so upset that he finds a way to avoid me for an entire week. He wakes up early each morning and heads to La Católica before I even emerge from the shower for breakfast, and he makes sure to stagger his arrivals for almuerzo and lonche so that we never wind up at the dining room table together.

I agonize over the notion that we are causing more work in the kitchen for Graciela due to the drama I've created, but she assures me a million times that it's not a bother.

"Cocinar me trae alegría," she promises, explaining that cooking is the one thing in life that brings her true joy. With her husband away at work so much of the time, I get the impression she's lonely and needs to stay busy.

Here and there, when I allow myself to think about it, my heart aches over Noah. In moments, I'm filled with a viscous, roiling guilt over having crushed his heart. Other times, my unresolved emotions churn into resentment over his utter failure to take initiative--to simply tell me how he felt.

I can't deny the fact that I'm hyper-aware of Noah's presence in class, or that my pulse still flutters when we accidentally make eye contact during Greek Mythology seminar. And it would be a lie to claim the rejection doesn't burn when his green, stained-glass eyes harden into a sharp glare before instantaneously fracturing the connection.

As the days roll by and Noah completely removes himself from my life, however, I allow myself to disassociate from the pain over our shattered potential for a relationship.

Because the truth is that, for the most part, I'm focused on Ignacio. We see each other every day, even though Clara and Graciela have both warned me not to. Spending every spare second with him is the only thing that makes sense. I know it will be impossible to leave him in three-and-a-half months, yet I can only bring myself to care about the present.

I also know he's barely sleeping in order to make time for me, but I choose to believe his lies that he's getting enough rest between his shifts at the two restaurants.

Another downfall to Ignacio's work schedule is the fact that every one of our dates takes place in the bitter chill of ice-black night. We wind up at a variety of restaurants, bars and clubs throughout the week, but neither of us is keen to spend a ton of money. Thus, we spend a considerable amount of time roaming the streets, which bustle with life even in the middle of the night in the dead of winter. Ignacio takes me to visit his many friends, where we play cards as I politely sip the nasty, watery beer they serve.

We make out at the beach most nights before he takes me home, the passion growing between us with each passing day until I feel as though I'll combust. Ignacio doesn't reach up my shirt or slip his fingers into my jeans again, the way he did that one night when we got carried away in Graciela's kitchen at 3:00 in the morning. I keep wondering when he's going to want to take things further, but I'm grateful that he doesn't seem to be in a rush to get me into bed.

On a Monday, two weeks after we met, we are bumming around Viña on his day off. His sagging eyelids and constant yawning tell me he is seriously struggling from the lack of sleep.

"¿Vamos a mi casa un ratito para dormir una siestecita?"

My heart pounds throughout my entire body as Ignacio's question, decorated with endearing diminutives, computes in my brain: Should we go to my house for a little while to take a quick nap?

His house in Valparaíso is small with peeling blue paint in a neighborhood that, as a foreigner, I can't distinguish from any other part of the city; nonetheless, Ignacio warns me incessantly to remain alert. Inside, the place is messy, which makes me suspect he wasn't planning to invite me over today.