Page 111 of The Replay

"No, it's all good," she says. "I should be the one leaving. Don't worry about it."

"Mom, it's not like that."

He gives me an apologetic look. I respond with a tiny shake of my head. I'm not sure what I mean by that, but I hope it means something reassuring to him.His mom wasn't supposed to learn of us, especially not this way. The best I can do is follow his lead.

"You're an adult." She smiles up at him. "You will explain when you want me to understand. As long as this doesn't have the same ending as the Callejón del Beso story, I'm sure you'll work it out."

"Mom," he groans.

I know better than to ask.

She pats his shoulder. "I'm going now. Let me know if you need anything."

"Gracias, Ma."

Without leaving his side, she gazes at me. "Thank you for helping him and keeping him company, Mariana."

"Of course," I say. "Happy to help him."

She smiles at me and then studies him. "I think I will text next time I want to stop by."

She gives us a cheeky smile and leaves.

"Now I really need that coffee," I say.

I fill up our mugs, but we sit at the kitchen table for a few minutes. He'll wait for a car to pick him up and take him to the TD. That should happen in about half an hour. Me, I'll wait another fifteen minutes and leave on my own.

We could use the time to process the surprise.

I sip from my drink. "Do I want to know what the Callejón del Beso story is?"

He gazes out the window and sips from his drink too. Distracted, he runs a hand over his short hair. The garden faces west and it's shaded in the morning, keeping greens tinted blue. The roof casts a darkened line over the space, marking the slow journey of the sun toward its winter zenith. Clear yellow sunlight gains territory in his yard, inch by inch.

A moment later, he sighs and gazes at me. "It's a real story from Guanajuato. Urban legend that's turned into one of those tourist attractions, you know?"

I nod.

"There are a couple of versions to it. The hero has a couple different names, too, but her name is always Carmen. We'll call him Luis. Anyway. Basically, she came from lots of money and had a very strict father. He was a poor miner and her dad didn't see him as worthy of his daughter. But they fell in love, and when the dad found out, he locked her in her room. Dad wanted her to marry well and, at the time, that meant a rich Spaniard in need of a wife, not a lowly working hand."

He's pensive now. I keep nodding, with small, barely-there movements. They are an admission. I'm listening, and I'm following, and I'm seeing the connection, too.

"Luis was an astute man in love," he continues, "so he found a smart way to still see her. He realized her room's balcony was only twenty-six inches away from the balcony of the house next door— the alley was that narrow. So what did he do? He bought the neighbor's house."

I laugh. "That's clever."

Wistfulness fills his eyes. A rueful, simple smile tilts his lips.

He takes my hand over the table. "They say they talked for hours every night and kissed across the balcony, hiding their relationship from her father. Until her dad figured it out and, in a fit of rage, killed her. Then her beloved died too. Some say he despaired and tried to jump to her room, but fell off the balcony. Others say he was already there and kissed her hand for hours after she'd passed, only to throw himself into a mine a few days later."

My heart beats in a deep, loud pattern. It drums in my chest, like a distant, bassy call across wheat fields.

The story hits a little too close to home for comfort. My dad is not ragey, but he's critical. I doubt he would approve today, just like he didn't back then. Even back when Dom and I first fell in love, we did what we could to live our romance despite other people's doubts and opposition. But I still played by the rules of my family. I pursued the dreams I thought I could make mine, not what I truly wanted. Then I went on to marry my own version of a rich Spaniard.

Yeah, I can see where Dom's mom is coming from.

"Jesus," I say. "And that's a tourist attraction?"

He shrugs. "People go there and kiss on the third step between the houses. They say lovers get a blessing from him to be happy together for seven years."