Page 39 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘No expense is ever spared for an Álverez wedding despite my protestations that lavish weddings don’t make any financial sense and the money would be better invested elsewhere. Do they listen? No. They have the audacity to stare at me agog – agog, as if I have spouted two heads because I will never walk down the aisle.’ There, that should end any fairytales.

Zeliá stares at me with undisguised curiosity. ‘Oh … Viviane, I remember you now.’ Then a troubled shadow passes her face; I know exactly what she’s remembering. The moment that will haunt me for the rest of my days.

The woman scrunches her nose the cute way Tiago does. ‘Didn’t you announce during the vows that her husband was a selfish monster fixated on his own physique?’

Tiago’s eyes widen. This is exactly how gossip spreads in Porto, no matter that it’s factually incorrect.

I consider my response. ‘In my defence, I simply answered a question put to the guests, having no indication that it’s traditionally asked and not meant to elicit an answer, which makes no sense whatsoever.’

‘What did you actually say?’ Tiago asks, looking, what I can best describe as, startled.

I debate whether to lie, but quickly shelve that thought since I abhor lying and that would make me a hypocrite, and also because Zeliá was there and obviously remembers. ‘I said that the groom was “a desperate attention-seeking narcissist with little to no intelligence”. If you’d had the misfortune of meeting him, you’d appreciate the truth in that statement.’

Their faces reflect shock and awe. How to convince them this was an astute observation?

‘My dislike for him only escalated when he insisted on walking down the aisle with his groomsmen to “About Damn Time” while a camera crew filmed them doing some hideous dance that was later uploaded to TikTok. I’m sure it was meant to be fun and frivolous, but where was his bride in all of that? He did the same with the first dance, where again, my cousin was relegated to the sidelines as they did some scandalous performance that almost made my entrée reappear.’

Their taut expressions relax somewhat. ‘Right. Yes, now that you mention it, those dance numbers were rather odd. Didn’t he have a lighting team following him around?’

I nod. ‘For “candid” shots … of himself.’

‘I bet the wedding photos were great.’

‘Yes, my cousin Catarina even made it into a few.’

Tiago laughs. ‘I can’t wait for the next Álverez wedding.’ His mother winks at me. Oh dear.

‘Let’s hope for the best but prepare for the worst,’ I say, with a solemn nod.

‘Tiago, you get the coffee going while I chat to Viviane.’

How to survive the inquisition of a Portuguese mother who is not my own? Even though Tiago and I are strictly platonic friends, she will be conjuring romance between us, simply because we’re both single and unwed and at the magic age for marriage and babies. I steel myself for it. I must remain polite but firm, and let her know in no uncertain terms that while Tiago is adorable, like an excitable puppy, my heart is closed for business. Or for repairs. Maybe it’s under maintenance … even.

My ruminating is interrupted when a squat man wearing striped athleisure wanders in and noisily kisses Zeliá’s cheeks. ‘My love, my darling, I’ve missed you so,’ he says rather dramatically.

I sneak a peek at what Tiago’s making of this spectacle, glad for a moment that my own mother is resolutely single these days. Not because I don’t want her to be happy and adored, but because public displays of affection such as this make me squirm.

I frown when I see Tiago glowering at the man, who holds up a hand to high five Tiago, which he pretends not to see, despite it being directly in his line of sight. Interesting. ‘I’m Tiago’s stepdad, John, nice to meet you.’

‘Viviane.’ I hold out a hand to shake, but he pulls me in for the requisite little kisses, the brushing of his cheeks against mine.

‘I’ll get started on that coffee, I guess.’ Tiago’s entire posture has changed, his shoulders are high and his hands are clenched. John doesn’t seem like the evil stepdad type to cause such a reaction, but I, of all people, know that looks can be deceiving when it comes to dads and the masks they hide behind.

‘Yes, thanks, my darling.’ Zeliá’s smile turns wooden. The air crackles with tension but John is either oblivious or intentionally ignoring it.

‘What a day! I walked to the Felgueiras Lighthouse and back, then I had lunch …’ He continues regaling us with every detail of his day, and then plonks down in a wrinkled leather chair that makes a humanlike sigh.

‘Why do you always sit there?’ Tiago’s voice is low and taut. ‘There of all places?’ John blanches.

‘Tiago,’ Zeliá says, a hint of warning in her tone. At first glance it appears to be a very average chair, it’s not as pristine as the rest of the furniture. It’s careworn, the leather crazed and patchy like it’s been well loved.

Tiago scrapes a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve asked him a hundred times to sit anywhere else. It’s like he delights in sitting in Dad’s chair, as if he’s the king of the castle or something.’ There’s real anguish in Tiago’s eyes, my heart flutters in sympathy.

‘My apologies, Viviane,’ Zeliá says. ‘Tiago’s father passed away early last year and understandably he’s still processing it.’

John struggles to extricate himself from the softness of the chair, the apple of his cheeks flame as if he’s embarrassed by his mistake. ‘Sorry, Tiago, really. I wasn’t thinking.’

Tiago rolls his eyes and strides from the room. Bearing witness to awkward family dynamics such as this is not ideal and I hover, unsure of what to do in the moment. I put myself in Tiago’s shoes, if roles were reversed, I’d hope he’d come and comfort me. Tell me that one day this won’t hurt so much. This is my chance to show him I can be supportive, just like he’s been to me so many times already in this brief friendship.