“Yeah, is that a problem?”
“No, I’m just…surprised, is all.”
I look over at Valentina’s outfit. She’s wearing black leggings, probably from Lululemon, and an oversized Gucci hoodie.
“You’re wearing a Gucci hoodie on a hike?” I gasp. “That’s risky.”
“What else would I wear? It’s all I brought, and I don’t even want to go to this stupid bridal brunch. Besides, we’re changing at the top. Luciano was supposed to set up several small changing tents and portable showers for the guests.”
“Are you serious? That seems excessive,” I say.
“That’s Sofia for you. Never misses an opportunity to dress her best, even after a hike,” she laughs.
I open my closet and pick out a lavender slip dress and a pair of strappy flats to put into a bag.
Valentina’s Chelsea boots will not be a good choice for the terrain, but what do I know about hiking? Nothing other than that possibility of seeing Sasquatch at any given moment. At least, that’s what I was always told growing up by pop culture and the internet before it was monitored better. The amount of cryptid urban legends I read about as a child has probably directly contributed to my anxiety in some way. Anyways, the point is, how could she possibly have an opinion on my outfit when that’s what she’s wearing? And I hate that I feel silly now wearing my corduroy pants. Sure, they weren’t pricey, but at least I look like I might be going for a hike. They’re brown! Brown is the color of dirt—and cuddly bears.
“Should I change?” I finally say after inspecting myself in the mirror of our cabin, twirling back and forth, trying to see if there’s a patch or brand on my clothing that says “POOR” on it.
She smirks. “No, I like it. You look cute.”
“Oh.”
I don’t know what to say. A warm feeling bubbles up inside my gut. Valentina must sense my awkwardness, because I hear her chuckling softly. I watch as she grabs her brown cross-body bag and slings it over her shoulders and across her chest.
“Have you ever been hiking before?” I ask.
“Not even in my imagination,” she groans. “I’m not excited about this. I’m just not much of a ‘let’s go camping in the middle of the woods with no electricity and surrounded by bugs’ kind of girl. Neither is Sofia. Anymore, at least. She just wants everyone to relive her childhood with her.”
“Well, I personally don’t mind,” I say, grinning. “I want to live these dreams for the first time.”
“Fair enough.” Valentina smiles.
I pull my father’s journal from my bag and set it on the dresser. We need to find another clue. I open the book to the rice pudding recipe and turn the pages until something stands out. There could be clues anywhere, but I need something obvious. As I flip through the pages of recipes, journal entries, and random photos glued inside, I stop at one specific page. There’s a yellow note taped on it with a lipstick stain, as if someone kissed the paper.
“Whoa, look at this.”
Valentina walks over and inspects the note.
“Do you think it was from your mom?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, shrugging. “I don’t remember her wearing makeup, let alone red lipstick like this. I think…it’s from someone else.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah. Who do you think it could be? Maybe someone here?” I look up at Valentina, suddenly realizing how much taller she is than me. Maybe it’s just her boots. I feel dizzy.
“Could be Maritza. She wears lipstick all the time. We’ll have to bring this with us and see if she’s wearing lipstick when we get to the brunch. Then we can compare.”
“Oh, God. What if my dad had an affair with Maritza,” I groan.
“Maybe it was more than an affair. Maybe…it was love.”
“Stop. Please. I’m begging you.”
Valentina laughs, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. But the way she’s teasing me—there’s something almost playful about it, as if she’s enjoying the mystery as much as I am.
We have our next clue, and it’s not something I would have wanted to find. I’m not sure exactly what my father is trying to show me, but I really hope it’s not some “one that got away” type of love with my aunt Maritza. I slowly rip out the note, trying not to damage the page.
