Furia(25)

Instead of digging for a lame comeback, I rolled my eyes, and he smiled. He didn’t let go when we reached the other side, and I didn’t pull my hand away, either.

Like in Parque Urquiza, the green spaces along Avenida Belgrano were teeming with people trying to squeeze every bit of pleasure out of the three-day weekend. La Costanera—the pedestrian way that went from the Flag Memorial through Parque Espa?a all the way to Rosario Central Stadium and beyond—was lined with food vendors, artisans, and entertainers.

No one looked twice at Diego.

We could’ve been an ordinary couple. Us. A couple.

“I’ve missed the smell of the river,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Blending in. Enjoying the day.”

A guy in his twenties pushing a food cart whistled, and Diego said, “Let’s get something to eat. I’m famished.”

The man sold torta asada, and in his cart he had a fire grill. My mouth watered at the scent.

“Here,” Diego said, and he broke off half a flatbread and handed it to me. He bit the torta, closed his eyes, and groaned. “This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

“We should’ve brought los mates,” I said.

Diego tilted his head back, looked at the sky, and sighed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Shoddy planning, Titán.”

He clicked his tongue. “We can buy a mate listo and hot water in the kiosco later.”

“They charge a fortune,” I said.

“I exchanged some euros at the car dealership. We’re rich.” He patted his pocket, and I laughed.

A boy on a skateboard stopped in the middle of the trail and exclaimed, “Look!”

Diego and I turned toward the river, where the boy was pointing. I first saw the yellow-and-red kite, hanging low above the waves. I followed its line to the man in a black wet suit jumping over the water with his board, his arms tense as he held on to the surf kite. When he jumped about three meters and then smacked back down on the water, the audience that had gathered along the rail clapped.

After a few minutes, most of the crowd dispersed, but Diego leaned against the brick wall that separated the sidewalk from the barranca, still gazing at the surfer. He draped his arm around my waist and drew me against him. My first instinct was to shrug out of his embrace, but instead, I leaned in.

He placed his chin on my head, and in silence we watched the river, the man and his kite, and the blue swallows that seemed like enchanted, chirping origami.

“My abs hurt just looking at him,” Diego said.

The man had to have incredible core strength to maneuver the board while trying to control the kite so he wouldn’t crash every time the wind carried him too close to the edge of the river. I watched his strained face in fascination.

“Next time we can try that,” Diego said.

“There are so many things you want to do next time . . .”

“There are so many things I want to do now.”

I turned toward him. “Like what?”

Diego didn’t answer. He glanced down at my mouth, and I placed my hand on the wall to steady myself.

The boy with the skateboard stepped right in front of us, staring at Diego. His eyes widened. “Diego Ferrari?” he whispered.

Diego nodded. A silent request to keep his identity secret flashed over his face.

“Can I get a selfie with you, please, genio?” The boy took out a phone from his pocket. “To show my little brother. He adores you. He won’t believe you were here.”

“Of course,” Diego said.

The kid smiled from ear to ear as he stood next to Diego and took the picture. He checked the screen, then clapped Diego on the shoulder. “Thank you, maestro.”

Maestro, genio. This was Diego’s life now.

The boy zoomed toward the Flag Memorial on his skateboard, and Diego took my hand and led me in the opposite direction. We dodged a dog walker and his pack of huskies, chihuahuas, and mestizos, wending through the artisans’ stands and food vendors until we came across a group of people blocking the path.

“What’s happening?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes.

I caught a glimpse of girls doing Zumba in clothes too skimpy for the season.

Diego never let go of my hand as we skirted around them. His eyes never strayed toward the girls, either. In spite of all the people around us, I was aware of his breath, the way he looked at me, the scent of his cologne and his leather jacket.

We talked the whole way.

“Basically, when I’m not training, all I do is play FIFA, read, and sleep.”

I shook my head. “Stop trying to pretend your life is totally unglamorous.”

He laughed. “It is. Well, most times. I’m a simple guy. I want a simple life, or as simple as it can be in my position, you know?”

By then we’d reached the red-brick stairs in Parque Espa?a.

“I’ll race you, simple guy,” I said, climbing the steps two at a time.

“?Tramposa!” Diego called from behind me, laughing. He caught up with me in no time. By the time we reached the top, I was gasping for air. I had never understood how I could run for miles without a problem, but climbing stairs always left me breathless.

“I win!” I said, jumping up and down.

“I win.”