“She,” Judith corrects, narrowing her eyes at Gladys. “And she was protective.”
Dorothy snorts. “She was four pounds. What was she going to protect you from?”
“My grandson is getting a dog for Easter,” Gladys admits. “But not a Chihuahua.”
“Ooh, is the bunny bringing him?” Dorothy claps her hands together.
Gladys nods, grinning. “I wonder what he’ll name him.” She turns back to Álvaro and practically yells. “¿Qué nombres?” She jabs her fingers at Álvaro’s cats.
He jerks back, his head snapping to me.
“Gigi? Coco? Caramel?” Gladys continues to ask at top volume.
“Why don’t we visit the cathedral?” Ale tries. “We can do some sightseeing.”
Judith wrinkles her nose. “Sweetheart, if you’ve seen one church in Europe, you’ve seen them all. What else you got?”
“This is different, Judith,” Dorothy says. “This one has the chalice from the Last Supper in it.”
“Ooh, really?” Gladys asks excitedly. “I’d love to see that!”
Judith looks up to the ceiling, as if asking God, or some higher being, for patience.
“There’s also the central market,” Ale adds.
“If you can help me with the ingredients, I can bake some nice, simple treats for Marlowe,” Gladys offers.
“My daughter says I need to try a…agua de Valencia.” Dorothy squints at the screen of her phone before looking up. “What’s that?”
“And does it have alcohol?” Judith presses.
I stifle my laugh.
“Um, sí. Yes.” Ale nods.
Judith beams. “Let’s start with that. Then, we can go to the cathedral.”
“Have fun,” I murmur under my breath.
Ale drops his head and nods. “Vale. ¡Vamos, chicas!”
Judith giggles. “He called us girls.”
“Oh, those were the days,” Dorothy agrees.
In one synchronized movement, the three women turn to Álvaro and unleash a stream of instructions, dropping to kiss his cheeks in farewell. They pass me in a single-file line, reaching up to cup my cheek, pat my arm, or, I swear, one of them even pinches my butt.
“Ah,” I jump, not expecting it.
“Lint,” Judith whispers, her eyes sharp.
Ale snorts. “I’ll call you later. Gracias, tío.”
“Buena suerte,” I reply. Good luck.
And then, as quickly as they arrived, the Sewing Circle departs and silence falls over Álvaro’s flat.
My old friend tips his head back, closes his eyes, and murmurs, “Menos mal que se han ido.” Good thing they left.
