Here the Whole Time(55)

“No need to apologize anymore. For anything,” he finally says, resting his head on my arm.

He then grabs my hand, brings it to his lips, and gives it a little kiss. I think it’s the most intimate gesture I’ve ever experienced. Even more than his fingers in my hair. Even more than his tongue in my mouth.

“Good night,” I say in the lowest of whispers. But I’m sure he heard it, because we are so close to each other. Really, really close.





I WAKE UP TO CAIO whispering things that, unfortunately, are not pledges of eternal love.

“Yes, Mom. I miss you, too,” he says in a low voice into his phone, still lying by my side. “Everything’s fine here. I’ll see you tomorrow. Give Dad a hug for me. Bye.”

He hangs up, comes closer to me, and kisses my cheek. I want to kiss his mouth, but I have a feeling that I might have awful morning breath.

“Imagine your mom’s face if she found out that this is what you do when you hang up the phone,” I say, pointing at my cheek where he just planted a kiss.

“She would go ballistic.” Though he laughs when he says it, there’s concern in his eyes. “But you know, even with all of her eccentricities, I miss her.”

“They’ll be here tomorrow. That’s just around the corner,” I say with a lump in my throat. “Where are they, again?”

“In Chile, celebrating their anniversary,” he says. “They spent the last couple of days visiting some islands full of penguins. My parents are obsessed with penguins, actually.”

I let out a confused laugh.

“Long story short, penguins are faithful,” Caio explains. “They stick with their partners forever. And if one of them dies, the other one stays alone for the rest of its life. Believe it or not, my parents find that to be romantic.”

“Oh, come on! It’s kind of cute.”

“Yes, very cute. This idea of living the rest of your life by yourself, haunted by your dead penguin husband because you simply cannot move on with life.”

“You’re a monster, Caio.”

“I just don’t think that’s how love works. It’s too dramatic, this whole ‘I will love you forever, even after you die, and I will never love anyone else because my heart is forever yours,’ you know?”

“My favorite couple is Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice,” I respond. “And they spend ninety percent of the book basically hating each other. So I think I like me some drama.”

“My favorite couple is us,” Caio says with a smile, and I almost have a breakdown because I most definitely DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING.

“Caiolipe?” I suggest our couple name, because it’s the smartest answer I can think of on the spot.

“Lipecaio?” he offers, laughing.

“Calipé is cool.”

“That sounds like a car part.”

“Better than Felicaio, though.”

“Never mind all that,” he says, stroking my face and kissing my lips, apparently not minding my morning breath.



My mom doesn’t know how to behave in the presence of two people who have spent the night making out. She keeps winking or smiling at the two of us, and when it becomes humanly impossible to deal with this level of embarrassment, I decide it is time to invite Caio on a second date.

“We need to get out of here,” I say, sounding urgent.

“Get out of here like grab all the money we have, hop on an interstate bus, and take an unforgettable road trip?” he answers, not showing much interest, still looking at his phone.

“Not a bad idea. But I was thinking of going to Dalva’s Café.”

His face lights up in a giant smile.

Dalva’s Café is the closest thing to a Starbucks franchise in my town. But it has more Frappuccino options (including a surprisingly good guava flavor), and it’s more affordable. The décor is cozy, full of old stuff (or vintage, as it were), with pleasant, soft lighting. I’m not a date connoisseur, but I think Dalva’s is the perfect place for one.

“I want to eat their Belgian waffle until I get so sick I pass out,” Caio says excitedly.

So romantic.



When we get there, the place is a little crowded, but we find ourselves a table in the back. The table is round and small, which makes our legs bump into each other all the time.

I’m far from complaining about that.

A nice server takes our orders, and we look at each other and enjoy thirty seconds of quiet before Caio starts laughing.

“It’s funny to be here with you right now. Like this, you know?” He squeezes my hand briefly, then lets it go. “Just a few days ago, during one of those awkward silences between us, I’d text Becky asking for tips on what to say to start a conversation with you.”

“At least you have Becky to reach out to. When I wanted to start a conversation with you, I had to google it!” I say, and he laughs.

“Seriously?”

“If you saw my search history, perhaps you wouldn’t be sitting here with me today,” I say, grabbing my phone from my pocket and showing him the screen, because I think it’ll be funny.

I go to Google and tap the search bar, and right underneath, my last few searches show up: