25: The Daughter

The sound of loud heels grew closer and closer, until Melisa appeared from behind Marta.
"Mum — could I come for dinner tonight?"
"Hmm?" Marta looked up, surprised. "Yes, of course — but I need to sort a few things for the move."
"So you're actually going to live with Manuel?" Melisa was looking at Mario as she asked.
"It's either that or I end up with a tax investigation on my hands — take your pick." Marta shrugged. "That's what you get for marrying another business owner to merge companies."
"Mario, why don't you go and find your girlfriend and tell her how much you love her?" Melisa was ready to mark her territory, though nobody quite understood the edge in her tone.
"I think she knows — I never stop telling her, every hour of the day. Blimey!" Mario answered with a broad smile.
"Well, clearly not enough, in my opinion." Melisa frowned. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going with MY mother and my aunt for dinner."
"Blimey, Melisa, we were just talking!" Marta protested. "You're impossible to understand sometimes!"
"I'll explain at dinner, Mum — now get in the car!"
Marta and Felisa got into the grey Mercedes, and Melisa followed them home practically bumper to bumper through Madrid.
"My, how she's changed her tune!" Felisa remarked. "What on earth happened?"
Marta shrugged. Though a flicker of fear crossed her mind.
"Do you think she might have heard something — Mario or me saying something?"
"Leave it to me to test the waters while you make dinner." Felisa always knew how to draw information out of her niece and nephew. "That way you can listen without getting involved."
Marta looked calmer than she felt as she pulled the car into the parking space.
Melisa didn't say a word until Felisa had closed the front door behind them.
"It's fine to want to get along with your husband's son, Mum — but you don't have to go overboard."
Marta left her keys in the hallway and headed towards her bedroom to change out of her suit into something more comfortable.
"And off she goes!" Melisa crossed her arms. "I was talking to you, Mum!"
"Never mind, Melisa — tell me." Her aunt stepped in.
"Mario's not a good sort, Auntie — he has a girlfriend, for God's sake!"
"And?"
"Well, exactly!" Melisa snapped her fingers.
"You've lost me, girl — you'll have to do better than that."
"Did you know his mother passed away three years ago?"
"Look at the other one — your father went even longer ago!" Felisa didn't seem to be taking it seriously. "Are you accusing him of something?"
"What?" Melisa looked alarmed. "No, of course not!"
"Then explain yourself."
Down the hallway, Melisa watched her mother pull on an oversized long jumper.
"It's just that he's very strange — I've said it before!"
"He seems perfectly normal to me." Felisa shrugged.
In her room, Marta was also smiling to herself as she slipped on a pair of fluffy slippers from under the bed.
"Perfectly normal, she says!" Melisa threw her hand up. "He's absolutely gorgeous!"
"You mean he's attractive? I haven't seen him without his clothes on, so I couldn't possibly say." Felisa offered, eyebrows raised, chin tilted up, studying the ceiling.
Marta almost tripped at her friend's comment and went into the kitchen.
"Do you want a rocket salad, or would you prefer a toasted sandwich?" Marta asked, slightly flustered.
Felisa knew exactly what she had said — but she also knew that if she had put it any other way, Melisa might have started to suspect something else entirely.
"Is that not the truth though?" A faint, wicked little laugh escaped her. "We'll find out soon enough, when they move in together."
Marta received no answer from her daughter or her sister-in-law and turned back to the fridge, deciding to make both dishes while she listened to the conversation drifting in from the living room.
"Hang on — Mario would be living with them?" Melisa seemed to be the last to have worked this out.
"Well, yes." Felisa sighed. "He was already living with his father before — why would that change now?"
"I honestly don't know what to think anymore."
"About what?"
"It's just — I thought Mario was being so attentive with Mum because he wanted her to see him as an obedient son. Some twisted Oedipus complex."
"That's not how the Oedipus complex works, Melisa, and you know it." Marta appeared and set a salad bowl on the table before going back to the kitchen.
"Well, I suppose it can't be that, if in the big house it's Mum and Manuel, and Mario ends up in the annexe, right?"
Felisa didn't answer. Marta had to, when she brought the ham and cheese sandwiches through.
"The one moving into the annexe is me, Melisa."
"What a strange marriage!" Melisa took her first bite. "By the way — when are you moving?"
"Manuel has already looked at some places and wants us to go and see them tomorrow." Marta smiled with composure. "He probably had it all planned already."
"And what are you going to do with this flat?" Melisa looked up at the ceiling and the lampshade with a touch of nostalgia.
"I haven't decided yet — maybe offer it to someone as a rental..." Marta smiled broadly at Felisa.
"Oh, she hasn't decided, she says!" Felisa laughed under her breath. "And that's why you're looking at me?"
"Are you suggesting Auntie stays here?" Melisa feigned offence. "May I remind you that both Julián and I are renting?"
"I told you both at the time that I didn't want any arguments over the flat." Marta showed her most measured side. "So — which of you two would get the master bedroom?"
"Just because of that?" Melisa complained.
"No — but everything else I could say leads back to the same point the question is already making. Do you really expect me to choose between you and Julián? Absolutely not."
Melisa opened her mouth and closed it again without making a sound. Her twin didn't deserve to be undercut like that either.
"And renting it to Mario — wouldn't that put pressure on you with Manuel, and give him one more reason to try and convince you his father's a catch?"
Marta's heart lurched — but she smothered it with a composed smile.
"What do you think I suggested the house with the annexe for, then?" Marta finally understood what Melisa was getting at — and she couldn't have been more wrong.