Page 67 of The Last Sunrise

“Let’s hang out soon! Don’t keep her to yourself!” she yells at Julián with a smile. He flips her off and out we go.

The air is warm; my driver is leaning against the car I’ve barely used this summer. He tips his head to me, knowing I won’t be using him. He’s probably relieved to be paid still and not have to drive me around.

“Do you think I should tell Amara… about my health stuff?” I ask Julián as we leave the entrance of the hotel.

“Do you want to tell her?”

A sigh lifts and lowers my shoulders. “Not sure. I feel like I’m doing something wrong by not telling her. I’ve come to care about her so much so I don’t want to hide it from her, but I also don’t want it to become the main topic of our time together. I want to be the fun, normal Ry she knows and not ruin that. For her sake, and mine,” I admit.

Julián stops walking and stands in front of me, bending down to kiss the corner of my mouth. “You get to decide who and when and why you share anything about yourself and what you’re going through. Amara will understand either way, and it’s your body, your life, and most importantly, your choice.”

I kiss his lips and slowly, gently, wrap my arms around his torso, burying my head in his chest. How have I lived my life without making my own choices up until now? It’s so freeing to be reminded that this ismy lifeand I can choose to do what I want with it. I’ll tell Amara someday, but it won’t be today. Today I’m going to enjoy the company of the man who’s brought joy, peace, and so much strength into my life and not think about anything except that.

After twenty minutes or so of strolling through tiny cobblestone streets hand in hand, Julián stops in the center of a street corner, holds me gently by the shoulders, and turns me to facea home with a small pink door and flower baskets on all the windows. He opens the tote bag he brought with him that he wouldn’t let me so much as touch or peer inside of and pulls out a stack of what looks like photos.

“What…” I begin to ask as I immediately recognize the women in the top photo. The colors are faded, the corners are turned up. “How on earth did you…”

Julián hands me the photograph and I stare at my mother’s younger face and relaxed posture, with her arms stretched out to the side like a flying bird. She’s in a pair of shorts with her shirt tied up her stomach and the smile on her face makes my heart ache. I can’t recall a time in my entire life when I’ve seen her smile that way. Her mother is next to her, staring at her in wonder, with her head slightly turned. Their resemblance is uncanny, their smiles identical. My grandmother’s hair had just started to turn gray on the sides, and the now-pink door is red in the photo.

I look at the photograph a few seconds longer before turning to Julián, who’s watching me with a satisfied smile on his face. He knows how important it is to me to try to understand where I came from, where my mother came from, how she became the woman she is today…

“Thank you. This is so meaningful, Julián. I barely have words.”

His thumbs wipe at my wet eyes and he nods, knowing that sometimes silence is better than words. I love that about him. He points for me to stand in front of the door and pulls a small disposable camera from the bag. I hand him the photo and spread my arms wide, just like my mom’s. I try to match her smile and a sense of peace trickles through me as the sunlight washes over my skin.

He clicks the camera and I throw my arms around him. “Thank you for this, so, so much. I’m so grateful. Especially knowing how you feel about my mom…”

“How I feel about your mother has nothing to do with how I feel about you. How I love you is not related to her, or to anyone except you and me. This is about you and my joy in making you happy, giving you good memories.”

“How you… what?” Only Julián would declare his love in such a casual way. As if the earth underneath my feet wasn’t shifting, as if the breath in my lungs wasn’t evaporating.

“How I love you,” he repeats slowly, like I couldn’t hear him clearly the first time.

The shock is still settling in, and I ask, “You love me?”

He moves closer, kissing me on my forehead, the sun beating down on us, the chirping birds falling silent. “Of course I do.”

“I love you,” I manage. “I love you so much.” It seems almost silly to say and the way we’re both just casually declaring our love in the middle of the street is so us, so causal, so messy, so ridiculous.

Julián’s smile is wide. Slightly crooked, it makes me want to wrap my arms around him and never let go. “I know you do.”

I roll my eyes, gently pushing at his chest. “Don’t ruin the moment,” I growl.

He shrugs. “I’m not. I’m simply saying the obvious. You had to have known I love you more than my own life, more than the sea, the sky, the air that I breathe. My love is simple, as it should be.”

I lean into him, unsteady and on a high. I love him so much it hurts. It might kill me, but he’s worth my last breath.

“I love you, my Ry. And you love me, simple as that, and we have an audience.” He looks up to the windows above, and sure enough, more than a few nosy heads have popped out of their windows to listen and watch us. I bury my head in his chest, and he laughs, waving to them.

As the sound of their windows closing fades, he pulls the stack of pictures back out and passes them to me, reaching back to grab ahold of my hand. He knocks on the door with a heavy fist. The old wood echoes and hollers under his touch.

“Julián, we can’t just—” I stop as an elderly man opens the door, and I can tell by his expression that he knows Julián well.

“Julián! Mirat! Feia temps que no et veig. Has crescut molt, fill meu!” he says, grabbing him into a big hug and nearly lifting him off the ground.

“Sí, he estat ocupat treballant i ajudant el meu pare. Aquest és el meu amic, Oriah.” He turns to me and I reach my hand out to shake the man’s hand.

His eyes are the color of melted, gooey honey and his smile is warm and comforting to match.

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