Grapes Upside Down

42. Calzones rotos

~Madisen~

I awake the next morning, eyes swollen shut, a web of dried tears weaved through my eyelashes.

There are two new text notifications on my phone.

An apology from Ignacio, saying I was right and he was wrong.

And a link to a song from Noah: Charlie Puth's "One Call Away." The song I'm currently obsessed with and play on loop whenever I'm hanging out here at home, often singing along.

I click the link to figure out the point of his text—to see if it connects to a meme or funny video. But it merely takes me to a generic YouTube video of the song lyrics against a sunset background.

"Madicita," Graciela croons lovingly from the other side of the door. She enters with a tray of tea and honey.

Suddenly, I feel ashamed and do everything I can to hide my swollen crybaby face from my host mom. I'm sure the last thing she wants to deal with is an emotionally fragile American in a constant state of relationship drama.

Judging by Ignacio's text, I've once again overreacted.

He has been through deep and constant trauma in his life; I need to have an ounce of compassion when he reacts volatilely to a situation instead of assuming the world is imploding. Because he always moves past it quickly, apologizes, and things go back to normal between us.

"¿Cómo está tu... cuñado?" I ask, hoping I've gotten the word for "brother-in-law" correct.

"Mejor, mejor..." She gives me an update, letting me know he ended up with nothing more than a broken arm.

Graciela sits at the side of my bed, assuming a serious expression. I imagine she is about to scold me for having Ignacio here while she was gone. Did Noah tell her that he came by?

"I'm worried about you," she says sternly. "You've been upset a lot lately."

"I'm okay," I assure her hurriedly, cheeks burning. "I keep having misunderstandings. This is my first real relationship, and the first time I've ever been in love. I'm overly sensitive to everything."

Graciela appears unconvinced but doesn't press the issue. She urges me to shower for breakfast.

I meet up with Ignacio between his shifts, and we stroll along the beach. A golden sun is pasted into the clear ice sky. Fears that tormented me all night long—the notion that Ignacio storming out of the Mendez house last night represented his permanent departure from my life—evaporate when he tells me he spent the night researching VISA laws for traveling to the United States.

We spend an hour in deep, interconnected brainstorming, moles digging a maze of paths and possibilities in our imaginations as our feet drag lines, curves and zigzags through the sand. Our dreams for the future lace our hearts together in fanciful stitching.

"Te quiero," he tells me for the dozenth time today, kissing me on the forehead, as blurred rays of afternoon sun obliterate my vision.

"¿Cuál es la diferencia entre 'te quiero' y 'te amo?'" I ask him, in order to clarify which kind of "love" he continues to proclaim.

His response is a bit convoluted. But about ten minutes later, he leans against a tall, jagged rock, pulls me against him and hums against my lips: "Te amo, Caperucita Roja."

"Te amo también."

I mess up the grammar again, but there's no room to care as he sucks the breath from me, his teeth gently capturing my bottom lip.

We snap a million selfies, and when I flip through them, I'm struck by how happy I look—my cheeks rosy and radiant. Because there's something else brewing below the exhilarating, bubbling fizz of all the plans we just made. A murky swirl.