My cheeks gradually return to normal colour as we move through the house. It’s completely chock full of people, and I didn’t think the party started for hours. I’m hugged by everyone, often twice. Even the little kids. What did Tiago say? They won’t notice me?Mentiroso.
The house was certainly built for twelve children. There are oversized sofas with too many cushions, and the most enormous dining table commandeered by older men talking with their hands, voices stacking on top of each other. Family photos areeverywhere. For a kitchen that will have paid staff, three older ladies decked in mouthwatering jewellery are arguing over bubbling vats of stew. If I’d known what I was entering into, I would’ve been overwhelmed, but in reality it feels… homely, which is crazy because my home couldn’t be more different. I’m on edge constantly, but I kind of like it.
The garden looks like Bermuda with lush greenery, an enormous pool, and a resort-style pool house with open sides. I spy Trey getting beers out of the fridge. Karol G blares from the DJ booth by the hot tub. An enormous superyacht’s moored on the end of their jetty, and I know for certain that’s the ‘boat’ Tiago’s taking me on tomorrow. He made it sound like a dinghy.
‘Jules, this is the birthday girl, Maleja. Don’t worry, she’s pretty normal,’ Tiago adds.
Maleja’s like an older, taller Isa, looking exquisite in a fringed maxi dress the colour of a sunset. It’s hard not to notice her boobs are even perkier than mine. She smells like Acqua di Parma as she wraps me in a warm embrace.
‘H-happy birthday,’ I say.
‘It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jules.’ She grins, revealing a perfect set of veneers. ‘I’ve heardsomuch about you.’
‘No you haven’t,’ Tiago snaps.
Her eyes shimmer with enjoyment. ‘Tiagoneverbrings girls home.’
‘She’s not a?—’
‘How are you enjoying Miami so far?’
I adjust my tiny sunglasses, the ones more skilled at letting light in than deflecting it. At least they look cute. ‘It’s great, thank you. Very hot.’
‘I’ll bet. You’re from London, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Amazing city, but a little chilly for my taste. Did Tiago tell you? Colombians are famously afraid of the cold. Our mom’s cousin walked outside in seventy-two-degree weather and just dropped dead. No reason, just cold. Mom swears it.’
Seventy-two degrees? Isn’t that over twenty in Celsius? As in, sunbathing weather in the UK? I decide I like her anyway.
‘I was your original fan, you know,’ she goes on, swirling her cocktail. ‘I told Isa about your podcast. She was having identity issues some time ago and I told her you have some great episodes on how to be authentically yourself.’
Wow, I had no idea. It’s a joy when anyone says they like my work, but this is personal. Often I feel like I’m speaking into the void so it’s surreal knowing I had an impact on someone who’d become so important to me in the future. ‘Thank you for sharing. I really hope they helped.’
‘They sure did.’
Why do I get the impression it was her who forced Tiago to watchGilmore Girls? She gives bossy older sister vibes in the best way.
‘Santiago!’ someone barks from the house.
‘Oh shit, it’s Mom. Come meet her. After all, you love her. You said so,’ he jests, reminding me of our lunch in Barcelona. That was a throwaway comment. I didn’t think I’d actuallymeet the woman.
Terror flares bright in my chest. Sisters, I can handle. Cousins, fine. Aunts who don’t speak English, whatever.
Butmum?
The woman who climbed from poverty to obscene wealth, who birthed twelve children – including the man I’m currently having sex with, and whose brother wears snakes and was involved in an armed robbery? Could she soundanymore terrifying?
Tiago’s fingertips run down my arm and capture my hand. ‘C’mon.’
I might wee myself.
She’s standing in one of the side doorways, dressed in a flawless fluid linen blend. Her jewellery’s simple and unflashy. No one would ever believe she’s had twelve babies – there isn’t a millimetre of fat on her. Her dark hair’s shoulder-length and blown smooth, despite all the humidity and wind. As we get closer, her immaculate facelift is unmistakeable. Literal Kris Jenner grade. She could be anywhere between thirty and fifty, though she must be older. Tiago’s eldest brother’s nearly forty. She’s what I want to be when I grow up, even though I’m currently quaking in my slingbacks.
Her stiffness dissolves when we reach her and she pulls me in for a tight hug. Long, manicured fingers grip my shoulders and she holds me at arm’s length while her eyes peer into my past,present, and future.‘Yools,’she declares.‘Gracias por cuidar de mi hijo.’
Smile. Just smile. Maybe nod.
