Grapes Upside Down

41. Anticuchos

~Madisen~

"¿Me llevarías contigo, Caperucita Roja?"

The heavy scent of Escudo wafts from Ignacio's breath, fusing with his intoxifying cologne as we sit face-to-face next to the crackling firepit. His eyes are red from alcohol and exhaustion, but his speech is crystal-clear. Intentions unimpaired.

Asking me if I would really, actually take him back with me to the United States.

"¿Sí?" I breathe out, scooting my chair closer until our knees touch. My words slice, bone-dry, into the frozen midnight air. "When would you come? For how long?"

Ignacio mirrors my need to increase physical contact, sliding his chair in further until our legs weave together. The blacks of his irises flicker intensely with the reflections of red-orange, jagged flames.

"For however long as they'll let me. I'd have to get a VISA."

Not far from us, Josiah rotates the shish kebabs on the grill with deep concentration; I can tell he is focused on our conversation, though he doesn't look our way.

"Really, even just to visit? How do you get a VISA?"

"I have no idea. Should we research it?"

I stare at him, my heart pounding, hands trembling against his velvet palms.

"Is this conversation scaring you?" He presses my hands flat against the top of his thighs.

"No, it's not scaring me. This whole thing is just a little... intense. Are we crazy?"

"Maybe a little." He grins, the creases at the sides of his mouth dissolving my insides into numb prickles. A sensation heats through my chest—a yearning for this little spark of a fairy tale to kindle into reality. I want it so bad.

"I guess we don't lose anything by researching it, to know the possibilities.," I say, attempting to disguise the tremble in my voice.

Ignacio fiddles with the tips of my fingers as I inhale a long breath to steady myself.

"Because in August, I go back home. And our options are either to never see each other again, or figure out a way for you to come back with me." I scour his face with my gaze, searching for affirmation, and our eyes lock. "Right?"

A fleck of bright orange wood whips past Ignacio's head with a sharp crackle that echoes in the dry night air.

"That is the situation. Unless you stay in Chile."

My chest tightens before a teasing smiles spreads over his face.

"I'm joking; I'd never ask you to move to Chile."

"It's just, I still have one more year of university. And I could never move that far from my little sister."

"I don't want you to stay in Chile," he reinforces. "There's nothing for you here. Everything's unstable here--the economy, general security traveling through the city..."

"¡Anticuchos!" Juan proclaims, serving us each a massive stick of juicy, scalding-hot chunks of meat seasoned to perfection. His phone begins ringing with a blaring Reggaetón beat.

"Bianca." He heads inside, spilling a stream of incomprehensible Spanish.

"Ignacio," I insist, grabbing his hands with intensity. He tugs my arms, scooping me into his lap. "Are you serious, though? Would you really go back with me? Or actually move there someday?" I touch the side of his face, pressing my other hand into his chest.

"Honestly, I never saw myself living in the United States. The culture is so different, the people so closed off. But if you're there, I want to be there with you."