“So on a scale of one to I-Literally-Wish-I-Was-Anywhere-But-Here, how awkward is this going to be?”

Christina purses her lips and pretends to be doing some sort of calculation in the air with her finger.

“Maybe an eight,” she says finally. “If you’re lucky, a seven point five.”

We’re inside the Lisbon airport, trudging along with the crowd of people making their way to customs.

The cancellation meant the two other seats in my row on the plane were empty, so Christina and I had it all to ourselves. She spent most of the flight curled up under my arm as we filled each other in on everything that’s happened since we last spoke. I didn’t admit it to her, but hearing what went on at P&T didn’t surprise me at all. I still felt the urge to give all the jackasses a Christina-Strength-Level punch when she told me they used her like that, though.

I wanted to talk to her more about Tiff, and I could tell from some of the hesitancy she still had that the issue wasn’t completely solved, but an airplane filled with strangers didn’t seem like the place to do it and she seemed to understand.

Instead, I got her to tell me more about Portugal and her family, as the reality that I was about to show up as an unexpected and potentially unwelcome addition to their airport reunion sunk in.

“Your dad’s not going to want to...duel me or anything, is he?” I ask. “You said he’s pretty traditional when it comes to you and guys.”

“Duel you?” scoffs Christina. “This is Portugal, not the middle ages. They’re just going to be surprised for a bit, and then Mamãe will probably try to start stuffing you with pastel de nata.”

“That sounds painful.”

She lets out a laugh as we pass through the ‘Nothing to Declare’ aisle. “They’re pastries, dumbass. My mom makes the best ones in Portugal.”

We’re about to walk out into the arrivals area when Christina stops and grips my arm. She’s practically vibrating with an excitement that’s been growing since we first got on the plane. Until she started talking to me about her family’s hometown and the summers she used to spend there, I hadn’t really considered how important this country is to her, but now it’s written in all of her features. She seems almost nervous to go through the door.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she tells me. “Really, I am. It’s just that this is my...my safe place, you know? This is where I can let my guard down. It’s just kind of nerve wracking to let someone else in.”

“Christina.” I place my hands on either side of her head, my thumbs resting in the hollows of her temples. “No one understands that more than me. I just trusted you with something really close to me. I want you to feel like you can do the same with me.”

She closes her eyes and nods. I let go of her and she loops her arm through mine. We walk through the door.

“Amorzinho!”

We barely make it two steps into the arrivals area before Christina is pulled away from me and engulfed in a mass of arms stretching out to hug her and pat her on the back. I only expected her parents to be here, but she’s now encircled by about six different people, all with wild brown hair that matches hers. Everyone is shouting inPortuguese and I step to the side, glad that I’ve somehow gone unnoticed so far.

Christina eventually swats everyone away and turns to me, her face flushed and her smile stretched wide.

“Everyone,” she announces in English, “this is Aaron. He’s my...”

“Seu boyfriend, Chrissy?” giggles a girl of about twelve, who must be one of the cousins Christina told me about.

At the question, Christina flashes me a nervous glance. I shrug in response. We still have some stuff to figure out, but calling me her boyfriend seems like the easiest way to explain my presence here to everyone else.

“Sim,” she answers, turning back to the girl. “He’s my boyfriend.”

I take an uncertain step forwards and face the crowd of warm brown eyes that are all sizing me up with varying levels of curiosity and judgement. A man in an AC/DC shirt with grey-flecked hair moves to the front of the group and takes Christina’s arm, tugging her a step away from me as he keeps me pinned in a suspicious stare.

“Amorzinho,” he says to her, “ele é o idiota?”

Judging from his tone and the way he’s looking at me, I think it’s pretty safe to say he just called me an idiot. I raise my eyebrows at Christina and she laughs.

“Sim, Papai. Ele é meu idiota.”

* * *

By the time we make the hour long drive to the family’s home town of Azenhas do Mar, I’m about ready to drop onto the nearest available flat surface and sleep for a solid twenty-four hours, but our hosts have different plans for Christina and I.

While the level of communication varies depending on people’s English abilities, an hour squished into a van together seems to be all it took for everyone but Christina’s dad to accept me as one of the family. Her uncle gave me so many friendly thumps on the back I think I might have a bruise, and her aunt kept looking at me and repeating one of the only English words she seems to know: ‘handsome.’

I’m still trying to wrap my head around how jaw-droppingly stunning the drive was, all tiny towns with white walls and fields divided by crumbling stone walls, when Mariana, the little girl who called me Christina’s boyfriend, grabs my arms and drags me into the white house with a red tiled roof that we’ve pulled up in front of.

“Pressa, boyfriend!” she urges.

I only get a vague impression of the inside of the house before we’re standing out on a huge balcony all arranged for dinner. A table has been set for at least a dozen people, and the white cloth flutters in the sea breeze I’ve been catching whiffs of for the past half hour.

My attention doesn’t stay focused on the table for long, though. I step to the railing, Mariana still gripping my arm, and without thinking about it I go to reach for my camera. I feel a pang of disappointment so strong it’s like a physical ache when I realize I don’t have it with me.

The balcony perches on a cliff overlooking the ocean and all the clay roofs of the houses around us. The sun has just started to slip past the horizon. It sinks into the ocean, paining the waves with a pink glow that reflects on the white walls of the coastal town stretching below us. Looking out at the sea and listening to the waves crash against the rocks, I feel like I’ve just been told a secret, like this place is something precious I have to protect.

I hear footsteps behind me and then Christina’s voice mutters something to Mariana. She darts away and Christina moves to fill her place beside me at the railing.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she asks, drawing in a deep breath of ocean air.

“Beautiful doesn’t even cover it. I understand now, why this is your special place. Your safe place.”

Her hand brushes against mine on the railing. “I bet you wish you had your camera right now.”

I let out a short laugh. “You know me too well, Dominguez.”

“I’m sorry if all this”—she jerks her head towards the inside of the house—“is getting overwhelming. I kind of just want to be alone with you right now, preferably drifting off to sleep, but we should probably give it at least an hour or two.”

“Sleeping would be nice, but hey, you’re here for your family and I’m here for you. I’ll do whatever you need me to, even if it means being stared down by your scary dad all through dinner.”

Christina gives me a surprised look. “My dad is not scary! He seriously wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Maybe not a fly, but I don’t really want to find out what he’s capable of doing with a guy he thinks is messing around with his daughter. I take it you told him what an idiota I was?”

I raise an eyebrow and she blushes.

“Uh, yeah, I kind of filled him in. I didn’t have a chance to get him up to speed on your redeeming qualities.”

“I suggest you do that quickly. There’s way too many cliffs to be thrown off of around here.”

Family members start emerging from inside, the ones we travelled with in the car now joined by a handful of others, and all of them carrying huge trays of food. Christina guides me to a seat and we all eat and drink until the sky darkens to an inky black and the lights of the town switch on to dot the cliffside.

The relatives who live in a house farther down the winding street say goodbye, and Christina’s aunt takes Mariana inside, followed by two protesting teenage brothers. Christina’s mom heads in next. She pokes her head out after a bit to say something in Portuguese.

“She said she has your bed ready,” Christina translates, “and that she’s sorry there isn’t more room in the house. You have to sleep on the couch.”

I’m not stupid enough to say anything suggestive with her father sitting right across from us, but I run my hand over her thigh under the table and hope she knows how much I wish I was sleeping with her.

Christina’s uncle gets up, and we all join him as he finishes clearing the table. When everything is piled up in the kitchen, Christina points out the leather couch where I’ll be sleeping. It’s piled with pillows and blankets, along with a spare t-shirt, pair of shorts, a toothbrush, and a towel.

“I told Mamãe you didn’t bring anything with you. You can borrow those, and tomorrow we’ll take you shopping.”

“Your family must think I’m insane.”

She nods. “Yeah, they do. I think they like you, though. Mariana said you’re very exotic.”

“I’ve been called many things before, but not that.”

She leans in to press a kiss to my cheek and I turn my head to capture her lips with mine. Her dad and uncle are just around the corner, but I risk pulling her closer and knotting my hands in her hair. We kiss until we’re breathless and have to break apart.

“Any chance of me sneaking up to your room tonight? I ask.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warns. “You wouldn’t believe how loud the staircase creaks at night. I got caught trying to sneak out of the house several times.”

“Bad girl, huh?” I squeeze her ass hard and she gasps before leaning in close to my ear.

“We’ll find somewhere to be alone tomorrow,” she whispers, then steps away. “Among other things, we do need to talk.”

I swallow. I know she means we need to talk about Tiff, and she’s right. We may have gotten swept away in all the transcontinental craziness for the time being, but I still owe her more of an explanation before I’ll be able to say things between us are truly fixed. She may have told her family I’m her boyfriend, but I don’t think we’re in the clear yet.

“Yeah,” I say, “we do.”

She gives me one last kiss on the cheek goodnight and then points my way towards the bathroom before heading upstairs. A series of explosively loud creaks follow her as she goes and I can’t help but laugh. She flips me the bird just as she disappears from view.

I start gathering up my towel and toothbrush when Christina’s dad walks into the room.

“Olá,” he says in a flat tone, his expression blank.

“Olá...sir,” is my awkward reply.

He steps further into the living room and takes a seat on a padded leather armchair. I stay standing until he gives a pointed look at the couch and I follow his queue to sit.

“So,” he begins, “you are the idiota who was thinking it would be a good idea to hurt my daughter.”

His hands bunch into fists and I hurry to explain myself.

“Sir, just to be clear, I never wanted to hurt your daughter. That was always the last thing I wanted to do. She’s an amazing, amazing woman and I’m sure you know that better than even I do. I was an idiot; I have no problem admitting to that, and I hurt her because of it, but I do care about her. I always have.”

Christina’s dad just narrows his eyes. “She told me you loved another woman, that you lied to her. This is how you care about her?”

“That’s...” I trail off, looking away. Talking to Christina, someone I know and trust, about Tiff is still difficult. Her dad is a complete stranger and the last thing I want to do right now is go into details with him about the most painful thing that’s ever happened to me. I know how much Christina cares about him though, and I think it would bother her more than she lets on if he didn’t approve of me.

I turn back to look into the wrinkled, tan skin of his face and begin. “I did love somebody before your daughter, and I should have told Christina about her, but I didn’t. It...It hurt too much. I was afraid of that pain.” I force myself to breathe in and out a few times before I continue. “She died, the woman I loved. She was there one day and then she was gone. I didn’t think I’d feel that way about someone again, but then I met your daughter, and she...she changed everything.”

I should feel more self-conscious about opening up like this, but it feels almost cathartic, like giving a confession. I start to worry that I’m violating some kind of Portuguese code of manliness by getting so emotional, but then I notice that Christina’s dad has relaxed his fists and gathered his hands in his lap.

“When I was very young,” he says in a quiet voice, his eyes glazing over as he stares into the past, “just sixteen, I loved a girl in this village. I know you are thinking sixteen is too young to love, but we are passionate people. I know this is what I felt. It is also what she felt. We were very much in love.”

He sighs, and the lines between his eyes deepen. “Then she became very sick, too sick for the doctors here. Her family took her to Lisbon and I did not hear from her again. Our love had to be secret; we were so young, you understand?”

I nod and he continues. “She died in Lisbon. I did not know until they brought her back to bury her. I thought they buried my heart too, but then one day I met Christina’s mamãe, and as you say, everything changed. I remember her though, this girl from when I was young. I remember her still.” He closes his eyes. “Lara. Her name was Lara.”

“Tiff,” I whisper. “Her name was Tiffany.”

The house is silent, except for the distant noise of crashing waves that drifts in through the open window. A shudder runs through me. For a moment, we just sit there, two strangers swept up in the same tide.

When Christina’s dad finally breaks the silence, I almost jump at the sound. “Are you familiar with the rock band AC/DC?” he asks.

It’s such an abrupt change of topic that I just blink at him for a second. Then I remember Christina said they’re his favourite band and I figure this might be some kind of test of character. “Uh, yeah, I am familiar. They’re great.”

He nods. “Yes. The most great. Do you know the song called ‘Ride On’?”

“I haven’t heard it,” I answer honestly.

“It is a song about feeling lonely, about feeling regret, but riding on when there is nothing else to do. Sometimes I think about those words.”

He gets up from the couch and when he moves past me towards the staircase I assume the conversation is finished. The first few stairs make a series of ominous creaks and I hear his footsteps pause.

“I still do not think you deserve to be with my amorzinho, but I have seen her with you. She is happy. She worries too much and you make her not worry. For this, I thank you.”

I turn around to answer, but he’s already out of sight.

After taking a long overdue shower and brushing my teeth, I unfold the blankets on the couch and lay down. I’m halfway to falling asleep the second my body hits the cushions, but I force myself to reach for my phone.

I search for ‘Ride On’ by AC/DC. I don’t have my headphones with me, so I turn the volume down as low as I can and listen to the lyrics Christina’s dad described. I fight to keep myself from drifting off, but I fall asleep before the end of the song. The slow waltz of the melody follow me into my dreams.