Page 35 of Every Step She Takes
“Hi, um, coffee?” I try. And I throw in a “desculpe” for good measure.
“Café?” she repeats back to me, and I’m not sure if she’s talking about a drink or a building.
“Yes? Please.”
“Café,” she says again, this time performing charades with an imaginary cup of coffee.
“Sí. Or, uh, sim. Por favor.”
“Faz favor,” Mal whispers behind me.
I fumble for a few bills I withdrew at the airport. I have no idea how much a cup of coffee costs, so I hand her a ten euro.
The woman stares at the outstretched money and proceeds to laugh at me. “Não. Não.”
We’re playing charades again, and this time, she keeps pressing two pinched fingers into the palm of her hand. “Um,” she says. “Um.”
“Um,what?”
Mal clears her throat and steps forward, placing a single euro coin on the counter.
“Obrigada!” the woman shouts, sweeping the coin into her apron. She says something else to Mal, but the only word I catch is “Americana.”
“Americana,” Mal echoes, and they both laugh. I feel infinitesimal. Like a silly, stupid American in the presence of Mal’s cool worldliness.
The only thing worse than the laughter is the world’s tiniest cup of espresso that the woman hands me. It tastes like licking freshly ground coffee beans, and I discreetly dump it out before I return to the outside table.
“Café means espresso,” Mal says as she follows me outside.
“Pilgrims!” Inez beams at us as we sit down. We’re the last two people to rejoin the group, and Inez eagerly launches into one of her spiritual speeches. “Welcome to our first sharing circle! As we established last night in the WhatsApp chat”—she shoots a pointed look at Ro—“you do nothaveto share, but I hope you will.” Her gaze shifts to Mal. “The friends you meet here can become your forever family.”
A gremlin voice in the back of my head wonders if Mal and Inez have a romantic history from back when they met on the Camino all those years ago. I stare at Inez, searching for clues in her cheerful expression.
“Now,” Inez continues. “Today’s trek to Vila do Conde is twenty-one kilometers, or thirteen miles, and it is the first ofmany long days ahead of us. For our first sharing circle, I want you to consider what scares you most about the Camino.”
“Scares us?” Ro repeats with a tight frown. “Is the Camino scary? I thought it was supposed to be safe.”
Inez offers them a reassuring smile. “It is very safe. I’m talking more aboutemotionalfears.”
Rebecca raises her hand. Today’s tracksuit is an impeccable powder blue. “You don’t have to raise your hand,” Inez says encouragingly.
Rebecca lowers it. “I am scared I won’t be able to do it,” she says with a little tremor in her voice. “I’ve never attempted anything like this before, and I’m worried I won’t be able to walk two hundred miles.”
Rebecca looks like she does Pilates five times a week. She’ll be fine.
“I’m scared that after all these years, the reality of the Camino won’t live up to my expectations,” Vera shares next, and we hopscotch around the loose semicircle.
Ari: “I’m afraid of not being fully present in the moment while I’m here.”
Stefano: “I’m scared of being bored.”
Ro: “I’m scared of these sharing circles.”
Mal: “Blisters.”
“And how about you, Sadie?” Inez asks, swiveling to face me. I thought I’d successfully concealed myself behind Mal, but no such luck, apparently.
“I, uh, um…” I start, very articulately. “I-I thought you said we didn’t have to share.”
