Page 86 of When We Believed in Mermaids

“Have you been there?”

“Mm. It’s a strange and haunting place.” He pauses, looking at the tomatoes. “Delicious. Have you tasted them yet?”

“Yes. Have you tried the rice?”

He nods, moving things on his plate with the tines of his fork, admires it all. “Miguel told me this place was wonderful, but I did not expect it to be...so perfect.”

A wave of emotional weariness passes over me. I want to let go of all the heaviness of finding my sister, the heaviness of the past, and look forward instead. I suddenly wish that I could sit with him like this many times, over many years. I can almost see a ghostly version of us, sitting in this same place, a decade or two out. His hair will silver by then, but those long lashes will still frame his lovely dark eyes, and he will still eat like this, reverently.

Cool it, Bianci,I tell myself, and shift the conversation. “Miguel is your ex-wife’s brother?”

“My brother now; it has been so long.”

“Does he play with you often?”

“No.” He inclines his head. “We are...not in the same circles.”

It’s my turn to smile. “You’re being modest right now, aren’t you?”

He lifts one shoulder. “Perhaps.”

Helping myself to more of the carrots, I invite, “Tell me about your ex. Were you married a long time?”

“No, no. We were young when we met and very good together in bed, you know?”

Jealousy, green and hot, ripples down my spine. Weird. Jealousy is not usually my thing. “I’m sure all women are good in bed with you,” I say, aiming for something light and realizing only as it falls out of my mouth that it’s quite the opposite.

His eyes glitter. “I will take that as the compliment you have so graciously offered,” he says in a low voice, “but it is unfortunately not true. The chemistry must be right with lovers, or else—” He makes apsshtsound, spreads his hands.

I nod, pretending that I’m not feeling the heat of my cheeks.

“We married, and it was good for a while. She liked to travel with me, liked all the crowds and celebrity, you know?”

I take another bite of succulent, exquisitely seasoned chicken. “Mm.”

“In the end, I think she only wanted an ordinary life. Children and a dog and trips to the plaza to see friends on summer nights.”

“A nice life.”

“For some.”

“Not you.”

“Not then. That was a long time ago.”

“And what about now?”

“Now? Do I want that life?”

I lift a shoulder. “That life. That woman.”

His eyes narrow faintly. “Not the woman. Sometimes, yes, maybe the life.” He picks up a slice of bread. “You do not strike me as a jealous woman.”

“I’m not,” I say, and admit to the rest. “Usually.”

“My marriage was long ago. It’s to me like a story I read once.”

On the table, my phone buzzes, and I glance at it in alarm. “My mother is the only one who’d text me, and it’s the middle of the night there.”