〔 YEAR 1998 〕
It was the first month of the year, barely a week after the celebrations of the new year had faded from the streets. The decorations had only just begun to disappear from the shop windows, and the lingering chill of winter still clung to the air. Around that time, Françoise went into labor at a hospital in Paris.
Jaime and I were both still attending our classes when it happened. The news did not reach us immediately, of course. In those days, information traveled slowly unless one happened to be there in person. The only way we could follow what was happening was through the telephone, waiting anxiously for every call that might bring an update. Each ring made the heart jump.
Then finally, the call came.
Françoise had given birth to a healthy baby boy.
According to Edward, his son looked wrinkled and red like a longganisa. That was the exact comparison he used. It was such an awful way to describe a newborn child that Jaime and I burst out laughing the moment we heard it. Yet the way Edward spoke made it impossible to misunderstand his feelings. His voice carried such overwhelming fondness that the insult hardly mattered. Every word came out warm and proud.
We could practically hear his smile through the telephone line, even from kilometers away.
So when we were finally able to meet the baby ourselves, little Philippe, we could not help but admit that Edward had been somewhat accurate about certain features. Still, none of that mattered the moment we saw him.
Philippe was small, incredibly small, and looked terribly fragile wrapped inside a thick swaddle of fabric. A soft white cap rested over his head, hiding most of his hair, and his cheeks carried the faintest shade of pink. There were still a few wrinkles on his tiny face, but he no longer resembled a little old man the way Edward had exaggerated.
Instead, he looked exactly like what he was.
A newborn.
Phil was the first baby to arrive within our circle of friends. The child of our second youngest friend, no less. Naturally, the entire group fussed over him as though he belonged to all of us.
He was spoiled almost immediately.
On his mother's side, there was money. Enough to ensure that his needs and wants would never be a problem. From the rest of us, there was attention, advice, and an almost ridiculous level of enthusiasm. Every one of us seemed to have an opinion about how babies should be handled despite the fact that none of us had any real experience.
Still, life felt as though it was moving along gently, like a small boat gliding over calm water.
Even spring seemed to arrive for me around that time.
There had been some progress between Éli and me.
It was the first time in my life that I was beginning to take someone seriously in that way. And to a woman at that. I often wondered if the reason it felt possible was because I was far away from home. There was no one here who knew me the way people back home did. No one who knew my personal life or my professional reputation.
No one to judge me.
But the truth was, I did not actually know what we were.
Were we dating? As in a proper relationship? Or were we simply two people who happened to meet up from time to time because we enjoyed each other's company?
It did not feel like either one.
I was not even certain if she truly liked having me around. We had never done anything intimate enough to confidently call ourselves a pair. Could I at least consider myself her lover?
Well, no. Not really.
If anything, the entire situation was awkward.
Our friendship had formed around something strangely simple. Stones.
I used to gift her random pebbles that I found around the chalet back in Gstaad. Smooth little stones that caught my attention during quiet walks. In return, she once gave me a single pebble that was actually quite beautiful. Polished by the water, almost perfectly rounded.
It was an odd exchange when one thought about it.
Most people gave each other flowers, or chocolates, or something that had a bit of life in it. Something soft, something fragrant.
Yet there we were, trading rocks.
During the early weeks of whatever connection Éli and I had, it often felt less like romance and more like an experiment. Two people cautiously trying to determine whether they liked each other enough to continue.
It was not about chemistry. Nor was it about that idea that if one person liked the other, the feeling had to be returned.
If anything, I felt like an option.
Perhaps the last resort among the many respectable and far better prospects that her family had likely introduced her to over the years.
It was embarrassing to admit that to myself.
I could not help but take it negatively. In my mind, I was nowhere near her league. The thought stayed with me constantly, quietly gnawing away at my confidence.
The chances of anything serious happening between us felt impossibly small.
One out of a billion.
Because of that, I often wondered if I should stop whatever it was that had begun to grow inside my chest. I worried that I might be making her uncomfortable without realizing it. That perhaps I had begun to hover around her too much.
Like some sort of stalker who did not know how to respect boundaries.
Though the truth was that I had never actually followed her around. Not once.
It was only the feeling that haunted me.
So when Éli suddenly asked if I would go with her to an island somewhere in the Caribbean for the summer, my reaction was immediate and overwhelming.
I was overjoyed.
My first thought was embarrassingly simple.
Oh my gosh. My crush is asking me to go somewhere with her.
It felt like a dream come true. The kind of ridiculous excitement that people usually only admit to feeling in private. I tried my best to remain composed about it, of course.
But inside, I was thrilled.
The island was called Mustique. At least, I believe that was the name.
The place was beautiful in the way that postcards try to imitate but never quite succeed in capturing. The beach stretched wide with pale white sand that felt soft beneath the feet, and the water shimmered in layers of turquoise and deep blue under the sun. Palm trees leaned lazily along the shore as though they had been growing there forever.
Everything about the island felt quiet and exclusive.
Éli paid for all of the expenses during that trip. Every last one of them. The flights, the lodging, the meals, even the little things that I would have normally insisted on paying myself.
It left me feeling slightly overwhelmed.
The luxury alone was enough to make me pause and wonder if I truly belonged there. The place seemed designed for people who lived in a world far removed from the one I had grown up in.
Still, the days passed pleasantly.
During our short stay, I managed to paint several small landscape portraits of the beach. Nothing too ambitious, just quick impressions of the sea and sky whenever the light looked particularly beautiful.
At one point, we also met a photographer who had been wandering along the shoreline with a brand new camera. We ended up talking for a while, and before we knew it, he had convinced us to pose for a few photographs together so he could test his equipment.
The results turned out rather nice.
After that trip to the Caribbean, more small adventures seemed to follow. Little trips, quiet dates, afternoons spent wandering around unfamiliar places.
More and more often, I found myself stepping into Éli's world.
It was a world where things rarely carried visible price tags. Where payments were casually made with checks or credit cards without much thought. A world that felt effortless and polished in ways I was still learning to understand.
But it was not always her world that we stayed in.
Sometimes, I brought her into mine.
There were afternoons when we ate at simple fast food chains, the kind where you stood in line and carried your own tray to the table. Other times, we would pack a few things and spend the day having a quiet picnic by the beach.
Those moments felt just as important to me.
Maybe she liked my humor. Or perhaps she simply enjoyed the way I carried myself.
Or maybe she just liked me as I was.
Eventually, Éli asked me a question that caught me completely off guard.
She asked if I was willing to commit to a serious relationship.
The kind where two people openly called each other boyfriend and girlfriend.
Then she paused and smiled slightly, correcting herself.
In our case, of course, we would both be the girlfriends.