Summer in our bones

Sweat lines my face. My mouth is so dry. Underneath my skin is an itch, buzzing, prickling every inch of my body.

Everything is hot in this country. The blazing sun, the asphalt, the air. Even her glaring, deep-brown eyes angled at me, observing, taking in the shape of my body, my face.

I’ve felt more uncomfortable and out of place in the last twenty-four hours than the entirety of my life, probably. Is that quirk of her lips a smile or am I imagining it?

How did I find myself here, with the sister of my future brother-in-law sitting right across from me at this big dinner table, eyeing me up and down?

Well. It’s all Sonya’s fault. My sister is getting married, and naturally, I have to be here, in Valencia, Spain, where her fiancé is from and where they decided to have their big, fancy wedding.

Avoiding this wasn’t an option—it’s my sister, after all. And there’s nothing bad I can say about my future brother-in-law. In all honesty, I think highly of the guy who has achieved so much, so young, but more than that, just the manner in which he treats my older sister is why I respect him more.

I couldn’t be happier for her, but the fact that her fiancé is Spanish and they chose to get married in his country is driving me insane.

Before today, the farthest I had ever traveled in my eighteen years was Belfast in Northern Ireland, which doesn’t really count if you live in England. I’d never been on a plane.

I hate big weddings. I don’t speak Spanish. The only place I’m comfortable in is the neighborhood I grew up in London. Wet pavement, red brick buildings, a small group of people with skin color similar to mine, and my everyday training at the local football club.

It’s fair to say that I don’t particularly like getting out of my comfort zone, so this little weekend trip to the coast of Spain is not something I expect to enjoy.

The Silvas are a large family, one of those loud and lively, with blatantly nosy but good-natured relatives that never leave. And they are going all out with this wedding, Marc being the oldest of the children and first to get married.

“Maybe try to smile a little?” Sonya whispers under her breath next to me on the shaded veranda of Silva’s villa. “By the way, it’s my wedding in two days, not my funeral. And all these people will be our family.”

“I’m hot,” I deadpan.

The fact that my mum is Jamaican and grew up on that lovely, warm island should maybe be an indication that I would genetically inherit a love of summers or beaches or hot weather.

But dark gray storm clouds that hang low, often unleashing rain, stubborn and broody as my mood, are what I prefer, and England is perfect for that. So this hot, humid air of Valencia is making me instantly hate this place.

And I’ve seen glimpses of it on our way from the airport today. I didn’t even bother to look Valencia up on Google, but I’ve seen streets bustling with people, tall palm trees, and vast green parks, old, historical buildings mixed with newly constructed extravagant architecture. I was actually impressed.

I’ve never been much into traveling, but something about this city piques my interest, even observing through a moving car.

The grating sound of a chair scraping on the tiled floor startles me. The woman across the table stands up, reaching for her phone to receive a call. The conversation is in Spanish, of course.

Her long, chocolate brown hair falling down her shoulders in waves and the sway of her hips is entirely hypnotic.

Before she leaves the veranda where the dinner table is set up, she glances back at me, like she feels my stare on her. And then she smiles knowingly.

Her eyes are stunning, golden brown and wild, and before I can even process what it all means, she just disappears somewhere into the house in her olive satin sundress. A few disapproving looks are noticeable at the table, but nobody seems surprised by her sudden departure.

Suddenly, I can’t wait for this dinner to end so I can find out more about her.

I get up as soon as it’s acceptable to go. I walk into the house through the large veranda door and I sigh in relief when the cool air-conditioned air hits my overheated skin.

“Hola. What’s your name again?”

I almost jump as I hear her voice so close behind me. Marc’s sister approaches me, and her fruity perfume invades my nostrils. We were sitting too far apart at the dining table, and there were too many people to even start the conversation, but I noticed all the small ways in which she wanted me to pay attention to her.

She didn’t have to worry. To be honest, it’s hard not to notice her even in a crowded room.

“Jordan. You’re Sofia, right?”

I extend my hand, but she surprises me when she leans in and kisses both of my cheeks—a Spanish way of greeting which I definitely don’t mind.

“I’m impressed. Usually, people need more time to learn all of our names.” Her laugh is easy, and I like the way she pronounces words.

“I guess I’m good with names. I remember your sisters, too—Ana and Beatriz? Am I right?”

“You forgot one more. Nico.” She swirls her glass of something fizzy. “Did you meet my twin brother?”

I shake my head as I remember that there are five of them and that I haven’t seen the other brother at dinner.

“Of course not. He’s never here when he’s supposed to be.”

“Where is he?” I ask for some reason, trying to make conversation.

She pulls out her phone again, quickly typing a message with a smirk, and then focuses on me again. “He is asking me what you are like.” She wiggles the phone in her hand.

“Um… What I’m like? Why?”

“Nico is just very curious.” She chuckles. “But apparently he’s busy now, so he’s going to have to miss out on all the fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yeah. This is becoming boring, so wanna do something else?” Sofia continues being vague as she smiles with a purpose, placing her unfinished drink on a shelf behind me.

“Um…”

I look around the big living room where our families are now excitedly talking. It’s mostly grown-ups, and even though they are all interesting, lovely people, I have to admit that it’s not exactly my kind of crowd.

“I guess. What do you have in mind?”

“Come with me.”

Before I even know what I am doing, my hand is in her hand, and I catch myself wondering where she is taking me, who Nico is, and why he wants to know me.