Made In Portugal Read online

  My aunt didn't know I was gay. When I realized I had feelings for Joel, it took me a whole year of trying to make sense of it all, and I hoped to see Joel the following summer. He didn't return to Portugal, and then when I decided to come out as gay to my mom, she became ill, so it didn't seem like it was an important thing to do at the time. I didn't have a boyfriend, and the person I wanted to be with was across the Atlantic. My priority then was to look after mom and hold on to her for as long as I could.

  My uncle knew, or at least he had witnessed an event and came up with his conclusions. They weren't far from the truth, but his reaction to what he saw made it impossible for me to come out. I wouldn't be kicked out of my house, and I owned my business, but while it seemed as though I had the power to control my life and how I live it, I was also afraid I would lose the relationship with my only remaining blood relative, my aunt. My uncle knew that so, for now, the status quo was shifted very much to his side.

  I did wonder how my aunt would react if she found out. Deep down I wanted to believe she would be supportive and almost felt it with every bit of love she showed me but not having had a chance to tell my mom made me so much more reluctant to take the chance.

  With my exercise session finished I grabbed a quick shower and walked back to the café. During my shower, I tried hard not to let my thoughts go where they had gone the night before. I had to make a decision that I would settle with being friends with Joel and nothing more, Let's face it, even if I was out there's a substantial possibility he wouldn't be interested in me. Who knew what kind of guys he was into, and he may already have a boyfriend. He mentioned his friend Max, and while it sounded as though they were just good friends like Isaac and me, I didn't know enough about their relationship to put my mind at ease that it was nothing more.

  It was just before six when I got to the café. I pulled out the set of keys from my pocket, feeling its comforting weight and the jingling sound as familiar as the door it opened.

  This had been my mom’s set of keys. I had no idea what half of them opened but my mom carried them everywhere so I did too. Holding all the keys together was a keyring with the Heart of Viana, an intricate design that my mom had always loved.

  I looked for the key that opened the back door of the café leading to the kitchen, and my eyes settled on an odd key that didn’t look like any of the others in the bunch.

  I’d once gone around my apartment and the café trying to open everything that had a lock, in an attempt to find out what it was the key unlocked, but that had been a fruitless search.

  Maybe one day I’d find out. I held up the correct key and opened the café door.

  I loved the smell of my kitchen in the morning. It was warm before I turned the air-con on but it also always smelled of baked goods, almost as though there was permanently something just ready to come out of the oven.

  First thing in the morning, before the scent of my baking, took over the space, I could also smell my mom. It was something that hit me every day, and I rejoiced in it, allowing myself to wrap in the warmth and smell of the kitchen feeling for those first few minutes of the day as though my mom was all over me enveloping me in her arms with the best hug a son could ask for.

  I loved her so much and missed her like crazy, but I felt so lucky to experience this every day. This feeling got me up every morning looking forward to going to work. I knew many people who lost loved ones wouldn't have what I have and there were even more that wouldn't feel this from loved ones that are still with us.

  “Time to get to work David,” I muttered to myself as I made a cup of coffee and got started.

  For all of my uncle's flaws when it came to me, I couldn't fault that he was thorough when it came to keeping the kitchen spotless after my shift, so it was a pleasure to have a kitchen that was ready for use first thing. I always left it clean, but we also served light snacks throughout the day, which required the use of the kitchen and some of the equipment.

  Sometimes I swear my uncle also cleaned over stuff I had already cleaned that wasn't used after I left.

  I started making the filling for the custard tarts, getting the ingredients from the pantry and lining them up on the counter in order of use. I always worked on the pastry throughout the day as it was all handmade and required it to rest in the fridge in between being worked and folded to get the crispy flakes the custard tarts are known for.

  I loved this part of the production, mixing ingredients, making sure the sugar was at the right point of boiling and trying not to get any lumps on the flour and milk mix. There was also a delicate balance of the lemon and cinnamon flavors. Leaving the cinnamon sticks too long in the milk would make the tarts taste too spicy, not long enough and you couldn't taste it. I felt like an alchemist.

  Once I had the custard prepared I let it rest while I made the pastry. This part was a bit more automatic. I got the pre-prepared pastry dough out of the fridge and lined up the individual cases on trays. Then I stretched it, rolled it into a sausage shape and cut the individual slices that would go in the cases. The best addition to my kitchen was a machine that helped shape the pastry dough. Before I had this equipment the preparation stage of the custard tarts took me a whole hour longer as each piece of dough had to be pressed into the cases individually.

  With the cases ready I added the custard and got them in the oven. I'd end up making two batches of one hundred and twenty-four each and was sure to sell out.

  With the tarts taking up one of the ovens it was time to get the bread ready. I loved homemade bread and often made it for myself at home. In the café, however, we didn't have the capacity to make our own, so we sourced the best available from a company that sold it to us frozen, so we only had to finish the cooking stage in the oven. It was mainly used for sandwiches, and to serve with other snacks, so I wasn't too particular about not making it myself.

  At seven-thirty we were ready to open. I usually did the first hour and a half on my own as

  we didn't quite have a rush of customers but those that came in the morning for their espresso were fiercely loyal and deserved the early opening time.

  I'd thought about the text I needed to send Joel on and off during the morning, but didn't have a chance to do it until midmorning.

  >DAVID: "Hi Joel, this is David. I forgot to mention yesterday that I have something to show you. If you want, we could grab a bite to eat at some point, and I could tell you about it?"

  As soon as I send the text, I put the phone in my pocket and cleaned up the kitchen tops. Then I started preparing the pastry for tomorrow's custard tarts, followed by an order I had for a birthday cake.

  It didn't take too long until I felt the phone vibrating in my pocket. I felt my heart beating a little faster with the anticipation of seeing Joel's reply to my text. Assuming that was Joel's text message, that is. It could also be Isaac asking for some help at the LGBTQ youth center he ran, but I couldn't find out for another few minutes as I had my hands in the dough, quite literally.

  I pulled my phone out as soon as I was able to wash my hands and saw the incoming text. I smiled a big smile when I realized the text was from Joel.

  >JOEL: "Hi David. Wow, you got me curious. I've got nothing planned today so if you like I can meet you after you finish work. How about a drink and snack at Pedro's? Are they still in business?"

  Pedro's was a small snack bar on the beach. It was more accurately described as a shed but Pedro, the owner, was a local man who knew everybody and had always shown a particular preference for the two of us since he had gone to school with our moms. I always thought he was that friendly so we would hang around there more than anywhere else which would allow him to report us to our moms. I still went there occasionally for a drink if I happened to do a run at the beach in the afternoon.

  >DAVID: "Pedro's is still there, as is Pedro. Meet me in the café at 3?"

  >JOEL: "Sure, see you later! :-)"

  Chapter Five

  Joel

  I woke up
reasonably early, familiar fresh air coming in from the small bedroom thanks to the open balcony door. In New York, I couldn't afford to keep the windows open because of the noise. The day was likely to be a hot one, but for now, the crisp bed sheets felt like heaven.

  I didn't have a plan for today; it was my first full day back, so I was going to take it easy, have a lazy morning and maybe go to the beach in the afternoon.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised by the amount of food my grandmother had left for me, but I still chuckled when I opened the fridge to find it brimming with three different types of ham, sliced cheese, yogurt, and an assortment of vegetables and meats. There was also sweet bread and jam in the cupboard, so I made myself a light breakfast and sat on the balcony of the living room drinking coffee and watching people.

  I have to admit I’d never really paid much attention to how people in New York presented themselves but it was striking how different people were here. Men and women walked past going about their lives, some going to work, some running errands a few people carrying shopping bags full to the brim with fresh produce from the local market. One thing was common to all of them, how they dressed. Men all wore shirts and women walked the uneven pavements in their best clothes and high heeled sandals.

  The warmth and brightness of the weather were reflected in the colors they wore; white, bright pink, lime green, yellow. There were no season colors or trends as I’d heard my friends discuss so many times. This was just how they were, they liked to present the best of themselves every day. Very few people walked past in casual clothes, and those that did were mostly young people or students. I wondered if social media had as much influence here at it did in America where people wore clothes and followed trends just because some allegedly famous person did it on Instagram or Facebook.

  A group of people walked past talking loudly about someone’s wedding. It made me think of family and yesterday evening. It had been surprisingly easy to talk to my cousins. Despite the proximity in age, we hadn’t been close growing up because they weren't immediately local like David, so I was pleased that we found some common topics of discussion.

  One of my cousins, Tânia, who was also a teacher, at a school in Almada told me about the student summer exchange programs they run. Students who wanted to improve their English language would usually go to London, but Tânia would like to explore options in America.

  I never considered working with other schools abroad, but it would make sense to try and connect with Portuguese schools now that my program was likely to be made official. It was an exciting prospect for the students, and I could see myself enjoying running the program, especially if I had the opportunity to work with my cousin. I would have to arrange to meet up with her soon and then contact my headmistress at the school.

  It was as I thought of work back in New York that I remembered I hadn't texted Max yet to let him know I arrived safely and also check all was ok at the apartment.

  By my calculations, Max would be just finishing a shift, so I texted, and his reply came through almost immediately. All was fine at the apartment, I just got a new hunky bear of a neighbor, and I was ordered to start having fun right the fuck now.

  I laughed at Max's text and hoped for one of two things, that my neighbor was gay and open to Max's interest or that he had a great sense of humor and tolerance.

  I was putting the phone down again when a text from David came through. My heart did a little summersault at David's request to meet up at some point.

  Would I sound too keen if I was to suggest meeting today? Screw it. I didn't have anything else to do.

  I made myself another coffee as I waited for David's reply, which felt like forever. I wanted to see him again sooner rather than later. We got along so well last night, and I hoped I would have the chance to get closer him.

  Just thinking of David got my heart beating a little faster, or maybe it was the caffeine, regardless I was looking forward to more time with him. I was also curious to know what it was he had to show me.

  When the reply came with confirmation to meet up this afternoon, I nearly jumped out of my seat with anticipation. I decided to get ready and see my grandparents before heading to the café.

  I had a brief catch up with my grandparents, which also included a detailed account of what I had for breakfast. I had a feeling it would take my grandmother a while to remember I'd been living on my own for a number of years, and my mom had made sure I was able to cook for myself.

  I also understood that now her daughter was no longer with us, she felt she needed to make sure I was really here with them, healthy and happy. I was more than ok giving her that reassurance. I had missed them, and even though I had only just arrived, I knew it was going to be very hard when I had to leave in a few weeks. I needed to make more of an effort to visit them in the future. If I was really honest with myself, there had been no reason for me to not have come back for so long. Why had I allowed myself to get so busy with my studies and work that I almost forgot about my family?

  Deciding not to focus on something I couldn't change I headed to the café to meet David.

  Teresa was behind the counter filling the chiller with drinks when I arrived and gave me the biggest smile when she spotted me.

  "Joel! How nice to see you again. How are you? Can I get you a coffee?"

  "Hi Teresa, I'm good thanks. I'll decline the coffee but thanks for the offer. I'm here to meet David, is he here?”

  "He's just finishing up in the kitchen. We had a last minute change on a cake order, so he's been working on that. How about a custard tart? I bet you don't get them this good in America. David's custard tarts are the best."

  Teresa spoke so proudly of her nephew I could hardly resist accepting one of the delicious looking pastries. Not that anyone would have to twist my arm very hard in that respect.

  "Now you're talking. How can I resist when they look so appetizing, and I can smell the cinnamon all the way from here?” They looked delicious all lined up on the tray, "By the way, thank you so much for yesterday's dinner, it was superb." I said as I took a bite of the custard tart and the delicious flavor of the custard filling and the flaky pastry assaulted my taste buds.

  "Wow, this tastes amazing" I was sure I was now sharing my orgasm face for all to see and immediately felt my cheeks redden.

  "I'm happy you like it. David altered the original recipe. He won't tell anyone what his secret is and hasn't even written it down. I keep telling him he needs to make a recipe book. It would be a success."

  "I'm sure it would but wouldn't that mean people would stop buying them here?"

  "I suppose. Well, what do I know hey? I was never any good at that stuff. I can run the café with my eyes closed and hands tied behind my back, but that marketing stuff is beyond me."

  I couldn't help laugh at Teresa's self-deprecating comment. She was a great businesswoman, and my granddad told me how she had single-handedly kept the café afloat until Joel was old enough to take over the business.

  "My ears are red which can only mean one thing. My aunt is talking about me being a genius in the kitchen, and she's giving out custard tarts for free." David said coming out of the kitchen area and giving Teresa a big kiss on the cheek. The petite woman leaned in to put her arms around her nephew with one hand resting on his chest.

  "Guilty as charged," Teresa said, "But I'm not lying, and Joel has never had one of your custard tarts, it would be a sin to let him miss out."

  David gave a hearty laugh that went straight to my groin. Fuck.

  He said his goodbyes, and we walked out towards the beach and Pedro's.

  "Busy morning?" I asked.

  "It was as expected until someone decided to change their order on a birthday cake and I had to redo the whole decoration of the cake. Fortunately, the customer didn't change the actual cake itself as baking it all over again would have kept me in the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon."

  "In that case, I consider myself very lucky that we were
still able to meet. You got my curiosity piqued with that text. I hope it wasn't a ruse to get the Superman doll back." I said.

  David winked and conspicuously tapped his nose but then his smile left his face.

  "I do have something to show you - something that my mom left me, but used to belong to both our moms. I haven’t looked at it yet. I was hoping we could do it together."

  At the mention of our moms, I immediately understood why he became somber, but I was also quite intrigued. It couldn't be a bad thing, or he wouldn't have come to talk about it in a public place.

  I was glad to see Pedro wasn’t behind his bar. As lovely as it would be to see how he'd been, now that I knew the topic of my meeting with David I just wanted to get to it and not get caught up in more hellos.

  We ordered our drinks and mixed tapas, which consisted of a few slices of bread, chorizo, Parma ham, deep-fried whitebait, and calamari. It looked delicious.

  "So, what is this thing you wanted to show me? I'm beyond curious."

  David reached into his rucksack and took a strange looking parcel out of it. Whatever it was it was wrapped in a silk scarf that had a traditional Portuguese print of the Heart of Viana. It was a quintessential Portuguese symbol that I knew my mom had always loved. The extent of my knowledge about it was summed into its use traditionally in jewelry in the north of Portugal.

  David passed the item to me. It was surprisingly light. I laid it on the table and started to carefully unfold the scarf to reveal a spiral bound school notebook with a dark blue cover. I looked up at David wondering if he had looked inside.

  "Open it," David said.

  The inside cover was full of colorful stickers, some of which I recognized as characters from cartoons, others I didn’t know but was sure they would have been on TV when our moms were young. One thing that stuck out was a large sticker of a ladybug on the lower left corner.

  Right in the middle of the inside cover was printed "This notebook belongs to:" followed by three black lines. On the lines in pink ink and children's handwriting, it said, "Paula Lima and Sílvia Pereira - best friends in the world forever. Travel Journal, March 1979".