Prologue
I step outside. I wait for Elena.
I reach into my jacket pocket for the keys.
It’s not the first time I’ve left without properly closing the door.
I notice it as I turn the key in the lock. Like it’s normal.
I take a step back and press the handle.
I close it again—this time it clicks.
I keep my hand there for a second, as if I should feel something through the metal.
Nothing.
I head downstairs.
The second-floor landing smells like detergent and coffee.
Someone is watching TV at low volume. A canned laugh leaks from behind a closed door.
I slip my hands into my jacket pockets.
My phone vibrates.
I check it.
A useless notification.
I don’t open it. I’ll look at it later.
We start walking to my grandparents’ house for lunch.
Outside, the air is colder than I expected. Clean.
I breathe, and I can see it in front of me.
There’s no wind. Just that pre-lunch silence, when everyone is already inside and the windows stay still.
The streets are quiet.
A person walking a dog. Cars moving slowly.
A couple of birds chasing each other, chirping nervously.
Elena is on her phone.
I check the time out of habit. I feel late, though I don’t know for what.
Ten minutes to eleven.
Our steps fall into the same rhythm, even though I’m taller. She walks fast.
The cold lingers on my skin.
Dogs start barking from the side streets.
The silence breaks—almost in sync.
It goes on for a couple of minutes.
Elena stops, trying to figure out which dog it is. She doesn’t say anything.
While we wait, the sun warms my jacket. I can feel it.
Then they stop.
All together.
Silence again.
We start walking.
Elena is carrying a gift bag with two bottles of homemade wine.
A still red and a sparkling white.
My uncles should have brought the appetizers.
The walk is long. Boring.
I look at the gardens.
Everything is tidy. Freshly cut grass.
One house hasn’t washed the mud off the car.
I think about how beautiful that old Jeep is.
The dog from the house next door isn’t there.
It always barks when we pass.
The road is always the same.
Monotonous.
At the end, I can see my grandfather’s house, with the fields around it.
As we get closer, I notice my cousins running around the courtyard.
Who knows what they’re playing.
They notice us.
We need to put the wine somewhere cool.
You can’t eat without the wine we brought.
Greetings come next—kisses, hugs, no space to pull away.
While we explain how we’ve been, the uncomfortable questions don’t take long to arrive.
Relationships. School. Passions.
With a nod, we join the others.
