Meu Idiota
“So on a scaleof one to I-Literally-Wish-I-Was-Anywhere-But-Here, how awkward is this going tobe?”
Christina purses her lips and pretends to be doing some sort of calculation in the air with herfinger.
“Maybe an eight,” she says finally. “If you’re lucky, a seven pointfive.”
We’re inside the Lisbon airport, trudging along with the crowd of people making their way tocustoms.
The cancellation meant the two other seats in my row on the plane were empty, so Christina and I had it all to ourselves. She spent most of the flight curled up under my arm as we filled each other in on everything that’s happened since we last spoke. I didn’t admit it to her, but hearing what went on at P&T didn’t surprise me at all. I still felt the urge to give all the jackasses a Christina-Strength-Level punch when she told me they used her like that,though.
I wanted to talk to her more about Tiff, and I could tell from some of the hesitancy she still had that the issue wasn’t completely solved, but an airplane filled with strangers didn’t seem like the place to do it and she seemed tounderstand.
Instead, I got her to tell me more about Portugal and her family, as the reality that I was about to show up as an unexpected and potentially unwelcome addition to their airport reunion sunkin.
“Your dad’s not going to want to...duel me or anything, is he?” I ask. “You said he’s pretty traditional when it comes to you andguys.”
“Duel you?” scoffs Christina. “This is Portugal, not the middle ages. They’re just going to be surprised for a bit, and thenMamãewill probably try to start stuffing you withpastel denata.”
“That soundspainful.”
She lets out a laugh as we pass through the ‘Nothing to Declare’ aisle. “They’re pastries, dumbass. My mom makes the best ones inPortugal.”
We’re about to walk out into the arrivals area when Christina stops and grips my arm. She’s practically vibrating with an excitement that’s been growing since we first got on the plane. Until she started talking to me about her family’s hometown and the summers she used to spend there, I hadn’t really considered how important this country is to her, but now it’s written in all of her features. She seems almost nervous to go through thedoor.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she tells me. “Really, I am. It’s just that this is my...my safe place, you know? This is where I can let my guard down. It’s just kind of nerve wracking to let someone elsein.”
“Christina.” I place my hands on either side of her head, my thumbs resting in the hollows of her temples. “No one understands that more than me. I just trusted you with something really close to me. I want you to feel like you can do the same withme.”
She closes her eyes and nods. I let go of her and she loops her arm through mine. We walk through thedoor.
“Amorzinho!”
We barely make it two steps into the arrivals area before Christina is pulled away from me and engulfed in a mass of arms stretching out to hug her and pat her on the back. I only expected her parents to be here, but she’s now encircled by about six different people, all with wild brown hair that matches hers. Everyone is shouting inPortuguese and I step to the side, glad that I’ve somehow gone unnoticed sofar.
Christina eventually swats everyone away and turns to me, her face flushed and her smile stretchedwide.
“Everyone,” she announces in English, “this is Aaron. He’smy...”
“Seuboyfriend, Chrissy?” giggles a girl of about twelve, who must be one of the cousins Christina told meabout.
At the question, Christina flashes me a nervous glance. I shrug in response. We still have some stuff to figure out, but calling me her boyfriend seems like the easiest way to explain my presence here to everyoneelse.
“Sim,” she answers, turning back to the girl. “He’s myboyfriend.”
I take an uncertain step forwards and face the crowd of warm brown eyes that are all sizing me up with varying levels of curiosity and judgement. A man in an AC/DC shirt with grey-flecked hair moves to the front of the group and takes Christina’s arm, tugging her a step away from me as he keeps me pinned in a suspiciousstare.
“Amorzinho,” he says to her, “ele é oidiota?”
Judging from his tone and the way he’s looking at me, I think it’s pretty safe to say he just called me an idiot. I raise my eyebrows at Christina and shelaughs.
“Sim, Papai.Ele é meuidiota.”
* * *
By the timewe make the hour long drive to the family’s home town of Azenhas do Mar, I’m about ready to drop onto the nearest available flat surface and sleep for a solid twenty-four hours, but our hosts have different plans for Christina andI.
While the level of communication varies depending on people’s English abilities, an hour squished into a van together seems to be all it took for everyone but Christina’s dad to accept me as one of the family. Her uncle gave me so many friendly thumps on the back I think I might have a bruise, and her aunt kept looking at me and repeating one of the only English words she seems to know: ‘handsome.’
