Spanish Lessons (Study Abroad Book 1) Read online

  I climb the stairs slowly, tears spilling down my face.

  Chapter 24

  Maddie must be in the bathroom, because when I shuffle into our bedroom it is empty. Used tissues litter the desk beside the bed. The sheets curl invitingly around Maddie’s side of the bed, pillows propped against the wall. The window is open, a small breeze moving through the room.

  With a moan of relief, I set my backpack on the floor. For a minute I stand there, tears blurring my vision, not quite sure what to do next, where to go. Does this mean Maddie and I are over? What do I say to her now? My pulse beats a hollow rhythm inside my chest.

  Who am I now that Rafa is my boyfriend and Maddie is not my BFF anymore?

  I look up at a familiar tinkling noise. Chiquitin is chasing Maddie down the hall, her flip-flop dangling from his jaws.

  “Quick!” I say, darting for the door.

  She makes a run for it. I close the door as soon as she hurtles into our room, slamming it shut in Chiquitin’s face. He barks once, twice, scratching at the door; that’s when we hear Stella hissing at him, calling out her usual apologies as she drags him back to the kitchen.

  Maddie is breathing hard. “Thanks,” she says, leaning against the desk for support.

  “No problem,” I say.

  “That dog,” she wheezes, “is such a dick.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Almost as big a dick as I am.”

  Maddie smiles at that. “We’re talking some pretty big dicks.”

  “Porn-sized dicks.”

  “Schlongs.”

  “Meat swords.”

  “Salamis.”

  “Saber-sized cum slingers,” I say with a smile. “Too far?”

  Maddie laughs. “Never too far with me, Viv.”

  And then, covering her face in her hands, she bursts into tears. Her shoulders rise and fall in time to her sobs.

  “Fuck,” she says, looking up. “I didn’t want to cry.”

  I grab a tissue and wipe my eyes. “Neither did I. But I guess we don’t have much choice.”

  “Viv.” She sits on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap. “I miss you. I feel like we haven’t been us in forever. You know, Vivian and Maddie. Wife and wife.”

  I sit beside her, our legs touching. “I miss us, Maddie. I miss the way it used to be between us. I miss telling you everything. And I miss you telling me everything.”

  “I miss that too,” Maddie says, sniffling. I pass her a tissue. “You know what’s really fucked up, Viv? I knew you liked Rafa. From the beginning, I knew you had a crush on him. Despite your denial superpowers, you really can’t hide what you’re feeling.”

  “I know,” I say, thinking of all the times Rafa told me I wear my heart on my sleeve, how he can always read what I’m thinking or feeling.

  “I wanted to believe what you were telling me—you know, that you didn’t like him, that you wanted something more than what he could give you, something that would last. But deep down, I think I knew it was all bullshit. I knew you were scared. And like a saber-sized cum slinger, I went after him anyway.” She looks down at her hands. “What you did really hurt, Viv. The things you told me—the lies—those hurt. But what hurt the most were the things you didn’t tell me. Like, you couldn’t trust me. I thought we were good friends.”

  “We are,” I say, looping an arm around her waist. “And like a good friend is supposed to, you called me out on my bullshit. You did the hard thing, and I appreciate that.”

  Maddie tucks her head into the crook between my neck and shoulder. “It’s okay to want something and say so, Viv. It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to be mad, as long as you tell me what’s going on. Yeah, it sucks that we liked the same guy, but if you had told me you liked him in the first place, I wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-foot pole.”

  “I know,” I say, toeing off my shoes. They hit the floor with two plunks. “I should have told you, and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll work on it. I’m working on it now. I was just so worried about you—I am worried about you—”

  “I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But that concern shouldn’t get in the way of what you feel for a really hot, really awesome guy who’s really into you. Look,” she says with a sigh. “I know you just want me to be happy, Viv. And I want you to be happy, too. When you’re happy, I’m happy. If Rafa makes you happy, I want you to be with Rafa. Seriously. That’s what I was trying to tell you when you were leaving for Seville. I was just too chicken shit to come out with it then. I was also bummed that you’ve found a guy who is home to you, and I haven’t. I’m so homesick, but the home I know doesn’t really exist anymore…ugh. I just feel so lost right now, and you—you found Rafa. Rafa found you.”

  “Dude, if I can find a hot Madrileño, you can, too.”

  “I doubt it,” Maddie scoffs. “But like I was saying. I want you to be happy, Viv, and Rafa makes you happy. So be with him. He’s all yours, amiga.”

  A new wave of tears hits me. Tears of relief, of exhaustion, of love for this wonderful, fucked-up, gorgeous, selfless girl I call my best friend.

  “Thank you,” I croak. “Thank you, Maddie, for understanding. And for being my friend.”

  “We’ve both been shitty friends this semester,” she replies. “Sorry about all my passive-aggressive bullshit. You know, the little comments and stuff. That was pretty gross of me. Nothing excuses that, not even my idiot parents’ divorce, or the fact that I’ll probably die without ever touching hot Madrileño penis. Let’s start over, okay?”

  “Okay.” I sigh, exhaling the weight of months’ worth of worry. Inside my chest a lightness is taking shape. Maybe things actually are going to work out.

  Maybe this semester abroad thing really is of the best experiences of my life. Not to say it hasn’t been hard. These lessons I’m learning are painful and more than a little embarrassing. But if I hadn’t learned to let go of the girl I should be, I would’ve never had the courage to be the girl I am. And that chick’s got a pretty sweet semester ahead, filled with hot foreign dudes, art history classes, and amazing friends.

  Maddie lifts her head and pecks me on the cheek. “You said the L word, Vivian.”

  “Lesbian?”

  “No, idiot. Love! ‘You and Rafa are the two loves of my life’— remember that?”

  My cheeks burn.

  “Tell me everything,” Maddie says. “And I mean everything. When you knew, when he said it back—because I know he said it back—how big his penis is. Tell me tell me tell me!”

  I tell her everything. Well, except the size of Rafa’s penis. That’s our delicious secret, one I think best kept between us.

  She listens intently, nodding here, providing the perfect expletive there, laughing giddily when I tell her about our first bone/our first “te amo”. It feels so good to talk to her like this again. To feel her happiness for my happiness swelling around me like a giant panda bear hug.

  “I will love him,” she says, “if—and only if—he loves you well. And from what you’re telling me, I think he will, Viv. I really do.”

  ***

  Next Wednesday

  The Usual Madrileña Spot

  “Sorry,” Laura says breathlessly, sliding into the seat beside mine. “Went a little longer than expected.”

  Katie cocks a brow. “What did? The sex with the footballer?”

  “Yes.” Laura unwinds the scarf from around her neck. “What did I miss?”

  “Hold up,” Rachel says. The bar is loud; she leans forward so we can all hear. “We need details. All the details. Are you guys, like, together now, or is it still just a hookup…?”

  Laura bites back a smile; the apples of her cheeks are bright pink, from the cold or from the sex, it’s hard to say. I know that sparkle in her eyes, though; that windswept look of bewildered satiation. She’s just been boned, and boned well.

  “We’re not together, per se,” Laura says. “But it’s more than a hook up.”

  “So what is it?” I as
k.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly. He says I’m his ‘good luck charm’— when I go to his games, he plays really well I guess—and I say he’s fucking great in bed. So,” she shrugs again. “Who knows.”

  “Well,” Maddie says, looking at me with a smile. “I know a certain lady who knows a thing or two about hot Spaniards who are great in bed.”

  All eyes turn to me.

  “Ohmigod,” Rachel says.

  “You did it,” Katie breathes.

  “Welcome to womanhood!” Laura exclaims.

  “We’re so proud of you.” Maddie holds up her glass. “A toast to Vivian and Rafa. Lovers, let them love! Arriba…”

  “Abajo,” we reply.

  “Al centro…”

  “Al dentro!”

  The wine is almost as delicious as the company. The Madrileñas and I drink, we laugh about awkward sex noises, we discuss why we think everyone in Spain is so skinny (the walking, the smoking, and the big lunches but small dinners). Glancing at Maddie, she’s as happy as I’ve seen her yet since we arrived in Madrid. Laura is filling us in on the Madrid footballers’ super hot WAGs (wives and girlfriends) and Rachel is laughing so hard she is silently sobbing as she mops up a glass of spilled wine with her shirt and I am drunk and happy and filled with a gratitude so huge I think I’m going to burst—and on a Wednesday night, no less.

  It took a couple months for us to find our bearings. But I think all of us would agree that studying abroad really is the best thing ever.

  Chapter 25

  Saturday

  My hand fits easily into the calloused warmth of Rafa’s. He’s smiling, a smile that I know lights up his eyes even though he’s wearing his Wayfarer sunglasses. I know because that’s always how he smiles at me, the shapely lines around his mouth etched in genuine pleasure. Whether he’s having a shit day or the best day ever, he is always, always happy to see me.

  Almost as happy as I am to see him.

  He kisses my mouth, a quick peck, then turns to Maddie for the Madrileño kiss-kiss on both cheeks. She grins.

  “If you break her heart, I will fucking kill you,” she says.

  He nods. “Understood.”

  “Good,” she says. “Thanks for inviting me along to be your third wheel today.”

  “Please,” he replies. “A friend of Vivian’s is a friend of mine. I hope to get together more often, yes?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Preferably with balls of meat involved. Hunting down Madrid’s best albóndigas might be a fun group activity for the three of us.”

  “I’m game,” Rafa says.

  “Me too,” I say. I smile. Seeing the two of them talk balls makes my heart contract with joy. I have a boyfriend. He is foreign and he is hot and he loves me well.

  And now he is laughing with my best friend. I don’t know what I did to deserve all these really good things. I don’t know how I got so lucky that it all worked out in my favor. But it’s nice, for once, to not have to fight. Fight my feelings, my desire, the things I want that make me who I am. It could be the nice weather, but I’m at home in my skin for the first time in what feels like forever.

  It’s actually chilly today. Fall has finally arrived in Madrid halfway through October. The light is golden and clean, the air refreshing, just on the edge of cold. After months of sweltering, sticky heat, this feels nothing short of glorious. Maddie and I were almost giddy digging our coats out of our long-neglected suitcases.

  A breeze whips our hair in our faces as we walk through our neighborhood. The trees, rustling above our heads, have started to thin and change color; orange and red and spotted yellow leaves crunch beneath our feet. The smell of roasting chestnuts wafts from a nearby cart.

  All of Madrid is out enjoying the weather. We weave in and out of the crowd, Maddie making fun of Rafa and me for taking out fellow pedestrians, as we refuse to unclasp hands.

  Rafa leads us through an unassuming gate into a garden, behind which sits a yellow mansion with arched windows. My stomach does a backflip. Halfway through the semester, and we’ve finally made it to the one place Rafa said I absolutely had to go.

  The Sorolla Museum.

  I squeeze Rafa’s hand. He turns his head, folding his sunglasses into his pocket, and grins. “I told you I take you here,” he says. “It is my favorite museum and my favorite artist. I am excited to know what you think.”

  It’s a much different experience than visiting the major museums in Madrid. The Prado, the Thyssen, the Reina Sofía are all fabulous in their own ways; they are huge institutions that are among the best in the world.

  But the Sorolla Museum is much smaller. Much more intimate. Which makes sense, because the Impressionist artist —Joaquín Sorolla—actually lived here while he painted the masterpieces that now hang on the walls of his salon, his living room, the place where he slept.

  I can feel Rafa’s eyes on me as I move through the rooms, craning my neck to peer at each painting. I understand why Sorolla is Rafa’s favorite painter; he’s got pretty amazing taste. There is something so quintessentially Spanish about Sorolla’s work. Yes, he depicts scenes from around Spain—Moorish courtyards, famous landmarks—but what really catches my eye is his use of light and movement. He captures the light in Madrid so beautifully, that sense of anticipation, of promise.

  Most of all, I’m captivated by his beach scenes. There’s a massive canvas that depicts two Gilded-era women, dressed in white, strolling along the surf. Looking at the painting, I imagine the way the sheer gossamer veil attached to one woman’s straw hat would slip through my fingers, sticky with salt from the sea air. I imagine tucking my fingers beneath the other woman’s sleeve. Perhaps it’s satin; I feel the sensuous glide of it against my fingertips.

  I look at Rafa. Rafa looks at me.

  There’s a rush at my temples that stirs the sinews in my torso. I know, now I know, that I am an art major. That I want to delve deep into the world of clothes, of costume design, of material history.

  I know that what I thought I wanted wasn’t at all suited to who I am. Looking at Rafa looking at me, I know that this—this, the art, and him—is what I want. This is what makes me happy.

  “I love it,” I breathe.

  “I love you,” he says.

  I cross my arms over my chest to keep my heart from bursting. “Did you ever think, that first night, we would actually end up here at the museum together? I mean, I know we talked about coming here, but we also talked about yacking and Justin Timberlake, so…”

  His blue eyes soften. “I did think. I thought about it very much. I would have taken you here the next day if you wanted. In fact—” He digs into his coat pocket, pulling out his cell phone. “That’s what I texted you about, the day after we met. You know, the text you never got? Here, let me find it.”

  He scrolls through his phone before handing it to me. My heart pops around in my chest as I read the text.

  Hola white gírl. This is JT. How r u feeling? I hope u do not think I am the stalker 4 calling & texting u but I had the most fun in a very long time with u. Hope u did 2. I would love 2 c you again very soon. The Sorolla Museo I told you of is open today until 3. Maybe we go together if u would like?

  I reread it once, twice, the smile on my face growing bigger each time until it hurts. It’s the best day-after-introductory-text in the history of the digital age.

  “My English was a little rusty then,” Rafa says, rubbing a palm across the nape of his neck. He is blushing, and it is adorable. “But you understand the thing I was trying to say, yes?”

  I hook my finger into the v of his shirt that peeks through his coat and pull him toward me. “I do,” I say, inhaling the woodsy smell of his skin. “And I’m sorry I didn’t say yes to your invitation the first time. Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

  “Nada,” he says, a shortened version of you’re welcome. “It took me only two hours to write that text. Al had to help me. I was very nervous.” He looks around the room. “
So what do you think? Have I convinced you that art is your passion and you should change your major?”

  “Yes,” I say, blinking. “I think so.”

  He cracks a smile that could blind all humanity with its beauty. “Does that mean you’ll be staying with me another semester?”

  I kiss him, a soft, lingering press of lips. “Por supuesto.”

  “Excelente,” he murmurs. “That gives you more time to learn the language. And other things. You know, your news is so exciting you’re kind of giving me a hard on.”

  I brush my hand against his crotch. “Am I?”

  He pulls me against him, palming my butt. “Yes—”

  “You two,” Maddie says, strolling up behind us. “Stop humping each other in public. It’s five o’clock, which means it’s time for a drink. And maybe the start of our albóndigas adventure?”

  Rafa smiles down at me. “Sure,” he says.

  “Sure,” I say, smiling back.

  “Later,” Rafa whispers in my ear as we head for the exit. “I have the apartment to myself this weekend—my parents are in Barcelona, and Al went with some of his fraternity brothers to Amsterdam. Want to come over?”

  Vino tinto de la casa and albóndigas with my bestie, followed by a sleepless night of unbelievable sex with my novio?

  “Hell. Yes,” I reply.

  The three of us head back out into the afternoon in search of our balls of meat.

  Epilogue

  November

  It’s so nice out today, I say.

  Rafa traces his fingertips in a whirling pattern across my back. Even through the nubby wool of my sweater, I feel his touch as if he were working his magic on my bare skin. A delicious little shiver moves up my spine.

  Fall in Madrid is my favorite season, he replies. But Christmas is pretty great, too. I can’t wait for you to see all the lights and decorations they put up across the city. It’s beautiful.

  I’m lying on my stomach on Rafa’s picnic blanket, the sounds of Retiro filling the quiet space between us. The trees rustle above our heads, a crisp counterpoint to the heat beginning to spread through my body.