It was then that Rafael started to worry Grace might be right about one thing. Perhaps living with her really was a terrible idea after all.
Despite his earlier confidence, Rafael wasn’t really sure Grace’s bed would fit in the tiny room in his apartment until the moment they managed to get it in there. It was crowded, but at least she had a place to sleep, and she had a closet and a window and a door that would close and open, all the way, without any force.
When he’d offered her the room, he hadn’t bothered to picture the actual living-together part of the equation. But when she arrived in his apartment with most of the items she’d brought to Spain, he started to consider what being roommates might look like. Would she just stay shut up in her tiny room with her laptop and a stack of art history textbooks? Would they eat dinner together? Would they sit side-by-side on the couch in silence while he typed up emails to various potential clients, and she read through a list of American novels?
It was night one, and his palms were sweaty.
The last time he’d lived with someone was in college, but Rafael had never lived with a woman, and certainly not a woman he was attracted to. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter. It was temporary. She was Alma’s best friend, and he was relatively sure Grace didn’t even like him. They would keep their distance and act casual and limit their topics of conversation to Pablo Picasso, and she would probably get so annoyed about his ignorance on the subject she wouldn’t bother even trying to speak to him anymore.
“What is this?” Grace asked, pointing at a bowl of fruit on the counter. “You planning to paint a still life?”
“No,” Rafael replied. “I’m planning to eat fruit.”
Grace leaned over the bowl, inspecting its contents. “What are they? Some kind of weird apple?”
Rafael walked toward her and rested an arm on the counter. “You’ve never had a…” Rafael paused, trying to think of the word in English. “A pomegranate?”
Grace shook her head. “Never had the pleasure. I think I’ve tasted pomegranate juice. Does that count?”
“No.” Rafael fought off an image of the juice running over her lips. “Especially if you don’t even remember it. Want to try one?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Um, maybe another time. I’m not really hungry.”
“Another time then. You don’t want to miss out, especially because it’s the fruit of our province.”
Grace rested her chin in her hand, as if settling in. “What do you mean?”
Rafael held up one of the round fruits. “Granada. It got its name from this. There’s even a picture of one on the Spanish flag.”
Rafael couldn’t help but notice Grace leaning in even closer to him. “Do you all grow a lot of them here or something? Where did that come from?”
“There are different stories. Some say that it was a symbol of the Catholics—Ferdinand and Isabella using it to mark their victory over the Moors. Some say the name was given by the Romans because there was a fortress where a pomegranate tree grew. There’s also a legend that someone saw a sunset over the city that looked like an open pomegranate.”
“Okay, now that you mention it, I think I have seen these on signs around the city. I didn’t realize that’s what they were.”
“Yes, it’s an important symbol for us.”
Grace picked up one of the fruits and held it in her hand, her fingers curling around it as if memorizing its shape. “Now I’m going to see them everywhere. It’s like when you’re pregnant and you see pregnant ladies everywhere.”
Rafael’s eyes went wide. “You’ve been pregnant?” he blurted out before realizing what he was saying. “I mean, sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
Grace smiled. “No, that’s just a thing they say. I guess when you are pregnant, you’re more aware of other pregnant people in everyday life. You notice them more because it’s on your mind.”
“Ah.” Rafael nudged her shoulder with his and relaxed again. “And now that you are a pomegranate, you will notice more pomegranates. Makes sense.”
Grace laughed again, just as she had outside the shitty apartment. The sound echoed through his bones. “Yes, I will be one with the pomegranate and find all the other pomegranates all over this town. I know you said you plan to eat them, but these do really look like they’re begging to be painted.”
“I don’t know if you should paint them. They’re already a nice color, don’t you think?” His mouth lifted at the corner.
“No I meant—” Grace started, but then she noticed his smirk and her gaze locked with his. “Did you just make two jokes in a row? Who are you?”
Rafael scoffed. “What do you mean? I make jokes.”
“Nowyou do, I guess.”
“When didn’t I make jokes? I can be funny.”
Grace kept staring at him, as if trying to determine if this was some kind of trick. “You… never mind.”
