~Madisen~

Noah leaves for a walk randomly in the middle of helping Graciela put away the market produce. His face has that greenish tinge similar to the infamous night of Piscolas. I wonder if he and Clara got super drunk last night. Did they just make out again, or did they go all the way? The thought makes me sick.

I freeze when I glance down at my own hand, which is peeling a tangerine. Noah saw the ring.

I had meant to remove it and hide it in my desk drawer before coming out of my room. Hearing Graciela and Noah put away the groceries, I rushed out to help, because I have been feeling like the worst host daughter in the history of exchange programs.

Checking my watch, I will away the nausea over Noah and Clara, Noah and the ring, and the fact that I wasn't fully honest with my moms earlier, compartmentalizing all my worries into a black box at the back of my brain.

"Voy a ver a Ignacio ahora," I tell Graciela. Her eyebrows slant towards her nose, the frown lines on either side of her mouth creasing deeply.

"No has almorzado." She points out that I haven't yet eaten lunch, emphasizing that she is about to cook.

Assuring her that I'll be home soon, I trample over my own guilt and embarrassment on my way to grab a coat from my bedroom. I've never been the girl obsessed over a boy, skipping class and inconveniencing others in order to prioritize a romantic relationship. Today, however, I can't help it. There's unfinished business to take care of with Ignacio, and I won't be at ease until I talk with him.

*

"¡Caperucita!" Ignacio's face glows when he spots me heading towards him in the park. He scoops me up and spins around, causing me to feel like a movie protagonist. The sky is bright blue, the blaring sun hinting at a promise of spring in the distance.

"Okay. So..." I begin, unable to settle the grin stretching across my face. "You definitely surprised me last night. I'm sorry that my response wasn't... the best."

"I know, Caperucita, I know. I went a little crazy. I should have warned you beforehand. Our whole relationship together has been like a fairy tale. I got carried away and wanted to surprise you. It felt romantic when I was planning it."

He is so adorable, rambling on, dimples growing deep as he beams.

"It was romantic!" I assure him. "This is just all so... new to me. Even being in a serious relationship to begin with. Let alone in another country, speaking only Spanish, with someone who is five years older and has a very different life experience to me. It's a lot. I keep thinking, it's only been two months. But then I remember that we've spent every day together, so it's practically the equivalent of dating for a year."

"My reaction to your reaction was uncalled for. I didn't mean to pressure you like that. I totally understand that you need to think it through. Remember, we're not getting married immediately. I just want to marry you, someday. Hopefully, someday soon!" Ignacio pauses with a pointed, humorous throat clear. "Um, if you still want me with you after 90 days... it'll have to be sooner rather than later."

He makes a cute little grimace with the last sentence, as if acknowledging that his fate is at my mercy. We giggle together over the awkward bureaucratic aspect of our love.

"Okay, so what's our plan, then?" I ask. We have been doing research the past few weeks, attempting to understand VISA requirements for Chileans. "It seems like it will be pretty easy to apply for a travel VISA through the Waiver Program, right?"

"Yeah, but I have to get a passport first."

"You don't have a passport?"

"Nope. Never been out of South America."

Another reminder of the gross imbalance of privilege between us.

"And then you'll be able to apply for a US ESTA?" I confirm. This is the Electronic System for Travel Authorization. We are incredibly lucky that Chile is one of the 38 countries whose citizens are permitted travel into the U.S. for tourism.

"Yep. That'll give us three months together there. Once we're in the States, we can navigate next steps. No need to decide everything now; I don't want you to feel pressured. We'll stay flexible and adjust as we go."

The mysterious dread from last night's proposal scene dissipates as we chat. In the light of day, after having slept a few hours, I'm able to take in Ignacio's features--soft, sweet, vulnerable. As we brainstorm, his words reassure me of the openness and transparency that characterizes his personality. I'm relieved by his willingness to reflect and accept responsibility for his reactions last night that didn't sit well with me. This conversation represents the nature of our relationship--complicated, but full of creative problem-solving and healthy communication that allows us to negotiate challenges.

My own emotional regulation needs some work, but I'm optimistic that, with time and practice, I'll be able to settle down in this partnership with Ignacio.

Wrapping my hands around my boyfriend's forearms, I lick my lips shyly before grinning up at him.

"I accept your proposal. I want to marry you, someday soon!"

The relief that ripples through him causes me to grow emotional; it's as though he's able to shed three layers of stress, anguish and armor in that moment. Gazing into his face, I discover his eyes have grown red, soaked with tears that are soon streaming down his cheeks like mini-deltas finding their path.

After I wipe the zigzags of saltwater off his cheeks, he kisses me with an unfamiliar level of tenderness.

Then, he pulls last night's bottle of champagne from his coat pocket once again, the goofy expression on his face causing me to burst out cackling. He screws off the lid, and we both sip from the bottle. It's overly sweet and causes me to gag, which cracks both of us up once again.

We kiss and kiss until I force Ignacio to head to work.

My feet are buoyed each step home by a spongy balloon-like sensation. It's as if helium has replaced the oxygen in my entire body; I can't breath or manage rational thoughts, but I'm floating in joyful delirium.

Noah takes a sharp, skinny pin to my bubble of joy not five minutes after I return home. He knocks, then enters without waiting for an invitation.

"Are you engaged?"

"Not exactly," I stammer.

He glares at me with controlled frustration.

"Well, is that an engagement ring?"

"I knew you saw it," I sigh. "It's more like a promise ring."

Noah inhales another effortful breath.

"Is he going back to the States with you?"

"I don't... maybe. That's what we're working on. It's complicated, with VISAS and all that."

"Yeah, it's complicated for sure."

I can practically see the thoughts battling inside his head, the veins of his temples pulsing as he decides what to allow out of his mouth. His next words creak through low, laced with inscrutable emotions.

"You trust his motives?"

"What?" My stomach lights on fire with a sudden rage. "His motives for wanting to be with me? For loving me? What are you implying, Noah?"

"You've known him for two months, Madisen. Please, I know I'm not in a position to be giving objective advice, but I swear to you, this is coming from me as a friend, not as a jealous ex-almost-boyfriend."

I scoff, glaring at Noah.

"It's too fast. Things between you are too turbulent. He makes you cry, Madisen. Slow down a minute."

I didn't realize how Noah was encroaching towards me, inch by inch, with his nonthreatening, gentle, comforting presence. Now, he's right inside my personal bubble, staring into my eyes, saying my name in a way that shatters through everything, leaving a gaping, translucent portal of connection between us.

For a split second, I feel that I'm about to cave to his argument, to collapse into his arms and admit that I'm not sure, to beg him to save me, one more time. An urge at the tip of my tongue threatens to blurt out that I'm in love, but I'm also terrified. To admit that I'm not really certain if relationships are meant to be stitched with this amount of intense conflict. I yearn to bleat out that while I think my extreme emotionality corresponds to the depth of my love, I sometimes feel downright unstable.

All of these instincts flash in a hot, blood-orange flicker that lasts a single moment before extinguishing.

Instead of crumbling into ashen doubt at Noah's feet, conviction mixed with fury re-ignite in hot, twisting flames. I double down, firing back with defensive excuses, passionate claims backed by a long list of evidence, cutting digs. After Noah leaves my room, wordlessly, my vision blurs into a red aura, and I have no recollection of anything I've said.

*

A week goes by, and Noah doesn't speak to me beyond the cursory greeting or necessary daily life "Please pass the bread" type of statements.

Once again, I feel miserable. These past months have been the most joyous and most torturous of my life. When I'm not burning in agony over a misunderstanding with Ignacio, then I'm drowning in guilt over my disintegrating relationships with Noah, and, most recently, Clara.

Every other day, I vow to invite Noah for another walk along the beach, set on recreating the lightness and healing that took place a few weeks ago. I'll take full responsibility for everything that has transpired, beg him to forgive me and rekindle our friendship. But when I pass him in the hall, his face hardened into vacant neutrality towards me, I manage to convince myself that he created this mess for himself through cowardliness and lack of communication.

My interactions with Clara have become stilted; we act as though we are nothing more than surface-level friends. I suddenly can't see past all of her flaws--the very ones Ignacio pointed out to me after interacting with her for a few minutes one night at Club Bellavista. And Clara is keenly aware of the white elephant in the room--the fact that Ignacio can't stand her.

I've got a white elephant of my own, trumpeting obnoxiously in my ear whenever Clara and I hang out--Noah. Even though he's not mine, and as Clara so bluntly pointed out, it's none of my business where he goes or who he messes around with.

I have to let Noah go, once and for all.

It's hard to do, because I know him well, and I know that he's one-of-a-kind. A good guy. He loves me--or loved me--and maybe I loved him for about three days as well. There's an extra tenderness and flavor to our friendship that makes losing it extra difficult for me to grapple with.

Ultimately, after dozens of walks under a frozen blue sky and hours of journaling alone in my room, I settle into a new perspective. It's one that wraps me up in a peaceful cocoon of melancholy, a sensation of stepping into adulthood.

I decide again that true love is meant to last a lifetime, whereas college friendships are ephemeral.

*

"Picarones." Ignacio hands me a small tray of flat, steaming hot donuts made of pumpkin squash and smothered in syrup.

Most nights we simply meander around the city, making out here and there, stopping for coffee or treats, often dropping in on random friends of Ignacio's, who are of all age ranges and walks of life. He makes frequent off-handed comments about not trusting or bonding with people easily, yet he seems to know half the residents of Viña and Valparaiso.

On other dates, we sit with our legs intertwined and map out our plans for the future. Some conversations spout straight from dreamland, such as naming our future kids or envisioning how we'll open a bakery together in France. Others are logistical--brainstorming around timelines and filling out passport applications.

Although I'm able to take naps during the day in between classes, our nocturnal schedule is beginning to wear on me. It's not just the lack of sleep; I think it's the fact that all our deep conversations and life-course decisions take place in the dark. It's an odd sensation, as if our entire relationship is shrouded within an inky-black gas-cloud of otherworldliness.

"You're not scared that we're moving too fast with all this?" I ask Ignacio one night as we sip hot chocolate. "I keep thinking... like, I don't want you to uproot your whole life and then regret it."

"You are my whole life now, Madisen," he hums, solemn eyes boring into mine. "I swear to God, I mean this: You're the first thing in my life that has mattered. Being with you is worth moving across the globe, worth not sleeping for the past two months, worth freezing my ass off every night wandering through the streets of Viña."

I bite my lip to contain the beaming rainbow attempting to burst from my smitten mouth.

"Once we get to the U.S., I suppose we can start the whole thing--all the paperwork for residency in your 'super-country.' Since won't have a ton of time to apply."

"Don't we have to get married to start the legal process, though?"

"Well, yeah... but we can get all the documents in order in the meantime--have everything in place. We'll get married if it still feels right when the time comes." He snuggles into me, snaking his arms around my middle and squeezing.

"That sounds good. I mean, technically, we haven't known each other that long. So we should probably be a tiny bit rational as we proceed." I giggle, holding my thumb and index finger a millimeter apart with the words un poquito to reassure him that any doubts are both miniscule and theoretical.

"If along the way, you get tired of me, you can send me back to Chile," he jests. "No pressure to get married. I promise."

He winks, and though I know he's partly joking, there's that tinge of melancholy highlighting the center of his irises reminding me that if this doesn't work out, it will crush him. And me.

And yet, we still have to try. Because giving it all up now will crush us just the same and leave us wondering forever what could have been.

"You know, if you're tired of freezing cold dates on the beach, we could spend some more time... indoors," I suggest, batting my eyelashes. I'm not great at flirting, but with Ignacio everything comes a smidge more naturally. "Now that your house guest is gone."

"Oh, yeah?" he teases, poking at me. "Is that what you'd like?"

I giggle, embarrassed, my hormones pulsing as Ignacio grabs my hands and plants kisses all over my neck with his velvety lips.

"Yeah... I mean, we've been together two months now. Are you... waiting for something?"

"Marriage?" he jokes. "No, I'd also love to spend some time inside with you." The suggestive, husky timbre of his voice has my heart flittering in erratic rhythms. "Inside of you," he adds, a barely perceptible whisper hissing gently into my eardrum.

When he doesn't take me back to his house that night, I'm a little surprised and disappointed. Clara's shock at the fact that he hasn't taken it all the way yet blares like invasive police flashlights into my head.

After hinting again over the course of the next couple nights for some intimacy with Ignacio, then outright asking why we haven't been back to his place now that Yesenia has moved out, he finally takes me on a Tuesday between his shifts. I skip Recreación with zero qualms, relishing in my newfound rebelliousness.

There are a bunch of boxes stacked up in the corner of the kitchen-dining area that weren't there the other times I visited. I haven't noticed before how strongly the place reeks of mildew.

"Is it hard to buy a house here in Chile?" All I have as a point of reference is the housing market in the States--specifically in Seattle--which is outrageous.

"Houses are cheap, but the problem is wages. Even so, it's possible to purchase a house, but the issue is what type of neighborhood you're willing to live in."

"What did you pay for this house?" I ask, hoping the question isn't too obtrusive. It feels like we can talk about anything openly by this point.

"This is my sister's house. She lets me pay the utilities and live here."

After a beat of confusion, I blurt out, "I thought you don't talk to your sister."

"We have our phases. A couple years ago I was in a rough place, and she had just moved in with her fiancé, so she set me up to live here."

"That's... good." I stop myself before saying something I'll regret, because Ignacio has expressed emotions of extreme hurt and betrayal in regards to his sister. "So you've been talking to your sister lately, then?"

"Here and there."

"Oh."

This is a different version from what he told me a few weeks back. I recall the phone call he received from her the first time we made out on his bed, sending him into a whirlpool of rage.

"So, have you forgiven her for moving out after your mom passed away?"

Ignacio's eyebrows dip sharply into the V-shape that alarms me so much. My heart begins pounding instantaneously.

"No. I'll never forgive her for that. Just because I've spoken to her doesn't mean anything is resolved between us."

I find that I'm gnawing at everything inside my mouth in order to keep the beehive of thoughts contained in my brain--to prevent the temptation of transmitting them into audible speech. By the time the urge to argue with Ignacio subsides (she was a teenager just like you when she left; that was twenty years ago; she obviously cares about you if she's giving you her house to live in...), my teeth have carved a rough, metallic-flavored patch into the slimy flesh of my inner cheek.

There are clothing garments strewn over the back of chairs. My eyes catch on a small pair of purple sneakers by the door.

"Is Yesenia's stuff still here?" A stiff lump forms at the back of my throat.

"Oh, yeah. She hasn't come for all of her shit yet, unfortunately. I've been trying to get this dump cleaned up, but I haven't had the energy." Ignacio grimaces. "Part of the reason I was putting off bringing you over."

I'm still deciding, based on the twisted-up slinky sensation in my stomach, whether his explanation has soothed me or not, when Ignacio catches my lips in his with an intense, sputtering inhale.

The purple sneakers disappear as my eyes flutter shut; I lose myself in a free-fall, Ignacio's hands sliding up to cup my breasts as he moans against me.

He tugs on my hand, leading me into his bedroom, which is a total disaster area. For half a moment, things around me feel gross as the persistent moldy scent tickles my nose; but when Ignacio pulls me against his chest, I melt into the familiar aroma of his addictive cologne. It's a smell that provokes a yearning as intense as panic inside of me. It triggers a million future memories of moments we've yet to experience. His scent hurdles me into an alternate reality, a sensation so deep that it might be a dream, or it could be the truth.

"You drive me so crazy." This is my favorite phrase for him to groan into my ear.

We make out for a while, but antsiness builds inside me as Ignacio's phone buzzes a million times against the wooden bedside table. My confidence takes a complete dive when I sense that Ignacio has become disengaged from the kissing.

He clasps a hand around my wrist, kissing me on the forehead with a little sigh before grabbing his phone. A deep frown etches into his face as he scrolls through his messages.

"Is everything okay?" I inquire.

He nods, blinking at me with that inexplicable sadness that sometimes overtakes his eyes, transforming them into murky swamps.

I wait, uncertain what to do next, but Ignacio guides me near the side of the bed and pulls off my shirt. I cannot believe it has been a month since the day I last came to his house, expecting to sleep with him for the first time. Now, we are engaged with two seats booked to the United States.

His heart doesn't seem to be in it as he caresses my waist, moving his hands up to undo the clasp of my bra. Or maybe I'm being paranoid.

"You're perfect," Ignacio whispers, obliterating my doubts in an instant.

My fiancé pulls me gently onto the bed with him, taking off his own shirt and pants, leaving only his snug black boxers. Soon, I'm lying on top of him, kissing him over and over again as I wait for him to initiate the next step. His arousal swells into me, then shrinks down again, continuing for several cycles.

Unsure what is holding us up, I reach my hand down and palm him between the legs, doing my best to harden him again. I am so awkward with sex. But I also know that doesn't matter when the chemistry is right between two people.

"Ayúdame," I mumble into his ear, asking for help.

He makes a sound as though he's... perhaps uncomfortable.

"You're doing great, Caperucita Roja," Ignacio hums.

As I caress his thighs, chest and partial erection with more vigor, the heat pools between my own legs intensely. My lips dive into his again, but his response seems limp and lukewarm.

"What's happening?" I ask finally, flushing.

We grow still, and he pulls me against him with a contented sigh, our bodies melting together warm and soft as margarine into toast. I'm still thoroughly worked up down below, golden butter sizzling, ready to burn.

He doesn't say anything for a while, and I'm too embarrassed to ask what I did wrong. At the same time, my unsatiated lust provokes several irritated huffs.

"Does it bother you?" Ignacio asks. The next phrase he says in Spanish is lost on me.

"What? What does that mean?"

Now, he's the one who huffs in frustration.

"Does it bother you when I..." I still don't comprehend the phrasing, but I guess he's asking if I'm bothered by him stopping. I'm unclear still about why he halted it, though. My limited understanding about intimacy includes the notion that guys always want sex.

"Did I do something wrong?" My voice is tiny, pleading, on the verge of tears.

"No, Caperucita," Ignacio assures, propping himself on his elbow and staring into my face with sincerity. He rubs his index finger lightly along my cheek. "I think we had some chemistry issues tonight, but we'll be able to work on that."

What? How can we have issues if we're so into each other? Am I really that horrible in bed?

The last guy I slept with practically begged me to have sex with him, then let the relationship die immediately after getting me into bed. He obviously didn't want seconds.

"What do you mean? Is it my fault?" Hot droplets of shame forge together against my will, covering my eyeballs in a salty glaze, blurring my vision.

"No, mi amor, not at all. I'm so tired from work and not sleeping."

"Oh," I whisper, acknowledgment pricking me sharply, as his lack of sleep is also my fault.

"I'm so excited to go back with you, but it's also a little stressful, everything that I have to get done before August. And as much as I can't wait to stay with you, live with you, hopefully marry you... Well, it's not my first choice to move to the United States."

I bolt up, agitated.

"I thought you said you didn't have any reason to stay in Chile?" My words fire out, more heated than intended. "That you'd follow me anywhere! Are you having second thoughts?"

I immediately regret the tone I've struck him with, beating him with a sleuth of accusations. My palms begin sweating. He's going to get mad.

"No! No second thoughts whatsoever," Ignacio assures me.

I exhale, wiping the sparkles of sweat from my hands onto his white sheets as he continues calmly.

"I'm just telling you how I feel. I can't help being transparent. It's all worth it; that doesn't mean it will be easy." Ignacio smiles at me, tucking a thick stand of hair behind my ear. "Please be patient with me?"

"Of course."

We fall into a tight embrace.

"Te amo."

"Yo también."

By the time Ignacio drops me off in Viña, he's already running late for his shift at the restaurant.

"Our first time will be special and amazing," he hums into my ear, causing a light shiver. "I wasn't myself today. I'm sorry I disappointed you."

The comment about our lack of chemistry blazes through my memory, searing my chest with a deep burn. All I feel is chemical combustion as he presses his lips to mine, works his tongue into my mouth and scrapes my flesh with gentle teeth. We release breaths of pent-up desire into one another's mouths.

"I can't wait to be with you. Soon," he promises. "I'll pick you up tonight."

"No. You should sleep. We always say we're going to take a break from going out every night, but we never do. You haven't slept enough for two months straight."

"I just don't want to miss a single second with you."

"You're coming home with me in August," I whisper, leaning my head against his chest. "We no longer have a deadline. You can sleep tonight."

After a pondering pause, he finally concedes. "Fine. I'll miss you."

"Me too."

But at 8:30pm, Ignacio texts that he's on his way to my house.

I got off early. I want to see you. We can just relax together.