I entered my father's room and saw him holding his phone, his eyes so red that I immediately became worried. I quickly approached his bed.
"Dad, are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?" I asked, feeling him take my hand. I quickly turned to look at him.
He set his phone on the bed, allowing me to see the screen. On it, there was a collage of photos of me, from when I was a baby, then as a child, a teenager, and a more recent picture where the three of us—my mother, him, and I—were together.
"Daughter, don't leave, I need to talk to you," he asked seriously. "Do you really love her? Isn't it just a phase?" he asked incredulously, searching for answers in my eyes.
"I love her, Dad, it's not a phase. It's the first time in my life that I feel so complete," I replied, clearing his doubt.
"How do you know you love her?" he pressed, still incredulous. I wasn't sure if I should answer. I felt an uncomfortable warmth run through my body.
"I don't know if I should answer that," I said, embarrassed, lowering my gaze.
"Just say it," he said, a bit annoyed, not letting up. I stayed silent, looking at my hands, until he firmly ordered me to speak.
"Alright, Dad," I agreed, sighing before speaking. "I want to throw myself on her and anyone would think it's just sex… but no, it's not just that. I love even the way she breathes. How is it possible to love even the way someone breathes? Her way of acting, how she pampers me, how she comforts me, how she cheers me up, how she calms me… she knows how to bring me back to my senses. But I also get insanely jealous when I see her talking to someone else. And despite all of that, the only thing I want is to see her, to be close to her; when I don't have her, just thinking of her gives me strength. I could spend all day telling you why I love her, but… I think Mom would interrupt us," I finished, taking a deep breath and letting my words settle in the air.
"Who notices how someone breathes?" he asked, bewildered.
"Out of everything I just told you, that's the only thing you remember?" I said, a little offended. My father laughed, a deep sound that surprised me at first. But then I realized he was teasing me, and I began to laugh too, relieved by the lighter atmosphere.
"You're no longer a child, dear, but to me, you always will be. I want you to be happy… even if that little brat doesn't sit right with me. It annoys me even more that I won't be the only one who can call you darling, but I could make a request before fully accepting your relationship."
"A request?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes," he affirmed. "Please, daughter, don't tell me you want to have… that with her all the time. It disturbs me. I don't want to meet her, so don't make us coexist. And if you marry her, please do so with separate assets. And also, please, give me a grandchild, one that carries our blood."
He finished telling me his requests, all of which annoyed me, though I tried to stay calm.
"Dad, you asked for more than one thing," I complained.
"The first, I accept. I won't speak of it again," I said embarrassed, looking at the floor.
"The second, you could try to get to know her first. If you can't stand each other, I'll accept what you ask. The third and fourth, I cannot accept, because she is not with me for interest. And about having children, I need to discuss that with her."
"Please, daughter, at least ask her. And if she doesn't agree, promise me that, no matter how in love you are, you will always keep an eye on her, so she doesn't take advantage of you," he asked, taking my hands firmly.
"She's not like that, Dad. But I'll follow your advice and accept your request," I replied, giving him a long, tight hug.
At that moment, my mother entered the room, cheerful, with some bags in her hands.
"What's all this happiness about?" she asked, with a radiant smile. I separated from my father's hug and turned quickly toward my mother.
"I just accepted our daughter's relationship with that girl," my father informed her, and my mother's smile vanished.
"Her name is Shanti," I clarified, trying to stay calm.
"How could you support that madness?" my mother asked, hysterical.
"Because that's what my girl wants," my father defended. "And if that makes her happy, I will support it, because she is my daughter."
"Have you considered that that shameless girl could be a gold-digger?" my mother reminded him, not hiding her anger.
"She isn't," I quickly defended.
"You should know I do not accept this, Omar," my mother shouted at my father, furious, before leaving the room.
My father and I looked at each other in silence, letting out a sigh, because we knew my mother was stubborn and hard to convince. Now, all that was left was to wait, for her to get to know and accept my girlfriend in time.
"Her name is Shanti?" my father broke the silence, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Yes," I confirmed.
"What a strange name," he commented, confused.
"It's uncommon," I replied, and he nodded.
When my father was discharged, Shanti and I went to pick him up and take him home.
My mother was always defensive or made passive-aggressive comments toward my girlfriend, even though my father tried to keep things calm.
But my mother never stopped showing tension.
Shanti was driving while I made sure my father was comfortable, occasionally checking the rearview mirror.
A few minutes later, we arrived at the house, and my girlfriend hurried to open the door for me, repeating the same action with my parents' door.
"Wow, at least you're useful as a driver," my mother said, with the sole intention of offending her.
"Liliana!" my father reprimanded, annoyed. "I said that's enough.""Thank you, Shanti," he added with a smile.
"You're welcome, Mr. Scott," Shanti replied politely.
My girlfriend ignored my mother's comment and continued helping my father, assisting him from the car to the wheelchair. After settling him in the chair, Shanti went back to get the remaining bags from the car. Upon entering, she had to stretch to reach the bags stuck between the seats. While doing so, she left one leg outside, and as I watched, distracted, my mother intentionally closed the car door, pinching my girlfriend's leg.
"Ouch!" she complained, her face showing pain.
"Mom! Why did you do that?" I demanded, furious.
My father, embarrassed, brought his hand to his forehead, feeling ashamed of my mother's childish behavior.
I approached Shanti to make sure she was okay, gently rubbing her knee as she tried to hide the pain.
"It's okay, love, it's nothing," she lied, trying to calm me down while rubbing her leg.
I saw my mother from a distance, her face filled with anger, and after taking my father to his room, I went to say goodbye to her. Ironically, she was the one most upset and completely ignored me until I finally left.
"Darling, I'll drive. Give me the keys," I said, concerned about my girlfriend's leg. "Does it hurt a lot?" I asked, seeing her uncomfortable expression.
"Yes, a little, love," she replied, handing me the keys.
As we left my parents' residence, I noticed my aunt arriving, so I honked to greet her, and she waved back. However, I didn't stop, because my priority was to take Shanti to the hospital to make sure everything was okay.
"Where are we going?" Shanti asked, noticing we weren't heading to our penthouse.
"To the hospital, to get you checked," I replied, worried.
"Darling, it's not necessary. How about we go home instead?" she suggested, pouting.
"Darling, your leg needs to be checked," I replied, staying firm.
However, she wasn't going to give up so easily.
Her desire to avoid going was so strong that she ended up playing her "ace up the sleeve." Without knowing it, she had found my weakness. Her smile, the way she kissed my neck and bit my arm, her whispers in my ear, her messy hair, her sleepy morning face, her raspy morning voice, her damn pout… it all completely disarmed me. But what broke me the most was when she took off her shirt without any ulterior motive in front of me. And even though I tried to hide how much it affected me, I knew she had already realized the power she had over me.
She pulled me out of my thoughts when she leaned close to my ear, breathing near me, with a triumphant smile that left me speechless. I could feel her warm breath on my neck, making my skin tingle.
"If we go home, I can show you that I'm perfectly fine and it doesn't hurt at all," she said in her raspy voice, with an innuendo that made me shiver.
"I assure you, you won't regret it, love," she whispered, kissing my neck slowly.
I couldn't resist her insinuations. How could I? With her smile, her voice, and her gestures, she had me completely at her feet. So, who was I to refuse? That was my excuse to finally give in and take her home.
...................
Shanti
I've been a bit busy with work, and today, just when I thought I could relax after finishing everything, Paulina asked me to go to her parents' house for a "family" meal. I couldn't say no, and apparently, her parents couldn't either, because the only reason we had to put on our best faces was for my girlfriend.
I was exhausted, with no desire to attend the dinner. Even though Paulina's father was willing to cooperate so that we could have a better relationship, her mother was another matter. She couldn't even stand saying my name, though Paulina had tried to approach her, talk more, and understand her better, her mother kept persuading Paulina to leave me behind.
Paulina was driving while I, exhausted, sat in the passenger seat. I fell asleep during the trip. When we arrived, Paulina woke me up and, with a smile, simply thanked me for the effort I made with her parents. I didn't respond, only smiling to show my support.
Upon arrival, the housekeeper greeted us warmly and took us to the living room. Observing Paulina's parents sitting on the sofa, I could notice they were arguing. The atmosphere was tense.
"Good morning, Mom, Dad," Paulina greeted, kissing each of them.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Scott," I greeted from a distance.
"Good morning, Miss Vega," Paulina's father said, while her mother didn't utter a word.
I won't lie; the atmosphere was uncomfortable, as if I were trapped on a sofa, unable to move. Paulina noticed and suggested we go to the garden, as the tension in the living room was unbearable.
In the garden, the atmosphere relaxed a bit, and we all tried to interact, but Paulina's mother didn't stop staring at me with disdain. If looks could kill, I would already be buried under a tombstone with phrases like, "Dear sister, you should have stayed in the closet," or "Lived as born, with a baby face."
"Tell me, Miss Vega, what do you do? What did you graduate in?" Paulina's father asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"What, if I had a job?" her mother said sarcastically, and Paulina just rolled her eyes, clearly tired.
"Yes, I work," I replied calmly. "Well, I have some businesses focused on technology and fast food. Also, I graduated in Business Administration…"
"You know that business is harming people's health," her mother interrupted, clearly upset.
"I don't deny that those businesses can affect health, but people also need to be aware that too much of anything is harmful," I replied, trying to stay calm.
Paulina's mother looked at me with even more contempt, if that was possible. It was clear she didn't like me at all, and I was surprised at how much she could hate me.
"We're not going to argue about health now," Paulina quickly intervened, trying to ease the situation.
"That's true," her father agreed.
"And your parents? What do they do? When will we meet them? Do you have siblings?"
Paulina was about to respond, knowing that talking about my family made me uncomfortable. I hadn't spoken with my family in a long time.
"I have two sisters. My father doesn't work, and my mother passed away when I was twelve," I replied, trying to stay calm.
Paulina's father looked at me, concerned, and asked:
"I'm very sorry about your mother… So you grew up only with your father and your sisters?"
"No," I replied, clearing his doubt. "My grandmother raised me along with my older sisters. My father didn't take care of us after my mother's death. I lived with my grandmother until I reached adulthood, then moved in with my eldest sister to help take care of my grandmother, who needed support at that time."
"I don't understand why your father didn't take responsibility for his daughters," Paulina's father said, clearly puzzled.
"Dad, that's enough," Paulina interrupted, visibly uncomfortable with the topic.
"Alright," I replied calmly. "My father worked for an oil company, but when my mother fell ill, he left his job to be with her. My mother suffered from heart problems, high blood pressure, and nervous issues, but all of that became secondary when she was diagnosed with leukemia. Everything collapsed when she passed away."
"So your father must have a lot of money?" Paulina's father asked, still curious.
It was a bit uncomfortable, but I understood that he wanted to know who his daughter was getting involved with, so I decided to be patient.
"No, he doesn't," I answered honestly. "Would you like me to tell you my story to clear any doubts?"
"Of course," he replied immediately.
"My father had a ranch, three plots of land, four houses, and a good job when I was a child. But when my mother was diagnosed, he sold everything to pay for her treatment, and months later, he suffered a stroke. Then he didn't care about having nothing left; he only wanted to see my mother healthy. And later, when we thought she was improving, a heart attack took her in front of my eyes. It was the worst day of my life, and that image has never left me. I was with her—I was the one who saw her go, saw her heart stop. I was the one who couldn't do anything and let her die," I stopped, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Both of Paulina's parents were in shock, completely stunned.
"That… is so…" Paulina's father couldn't find the words.
"That was love," I interrupted. "But fate had other plans, and my father never recovered. He retired to live alone on the ranch, without working. For years, he lived with the pain and sadness of losing my mother. My sister and I went to live with some relatives, but we weren't treated well. Later, my older sister helped me move in with my grandmother, who, though she didn't have much, gave us the opportunity to study. In the end, I worked while studying, and with my sister's support, I achieved what I have now."
"Your grandmother is a wonderful woman, and so are your sisters," Paulina's father said, visibly impressed. "I would love to meet them."
"My grandmother was like an angel to us, and my sisters are excellent people," I replied proudly. "But unfortunately, I can't introduce them now. My grandmother passed away a few years ago, and my sisters are fine, but we don't keep in close contact."
Both of Paulina's parents looked a mixture of surprised, puzzled, and thoughtful. But it was clear they were wondering the same thing Paulina had asked me: How, after everything that had happened, my family had distanced themselves from me simply because of my orientation.
The conversation shifted toward the food. Paulina's mother interrupted:
"I'll check if the food is ready so we can go to the dining room."
"Alright, dear," her father replied, and we all tried to ease the tension.
"I hope you like the lobster," Paulina's father said, changing the subject.
"Of course, I love seafood," I replied, smiling. "In fact, it's eaten a lot in my hometown."
"Did you live near the coast?" he asked, interested.
"As a child, I lived about three hours from the coast, and I love seafood because my mother always prepared it. She loved everything related to the sea."
At that moment, Paulina's mother called her, and she went inside the house. I was left alone for a few seconds, thinking of my mother with melancholy.
"I would have loved to meet your mother," Paulina's father said, gently touching my shoulder.
She was a wonderful woman, cheerful and very optimistic, I said with melancholy. You know, I never realized until my mother passed away that she was my world, my safe place. And I know Paulina feels the same about you. That's why I didn't want to take her away from her family, and that's why every time I see a mother scolding her daughter or sending messages asking where she is, I always wonder what that feels like. My mother was different from my father and sisters, so I'm more than sure she would have accepted me as I am and would have told my sisters, my father, or anyone who tried to marginalize me because of my preferences to go to hell, I recounted, distressed.
"I understand, she was a special woman. And wherever she's watching from, I know she's proud of the woman you've become," Paulina's father said, touching my shoulder in a supportive gesture.
"Thank you for your words," I replied, grateful.
After that strange gathering with Paulina's parents, which felt more like an interrogation than a family visit, we returned home. We didn't spend time with them again for a while.
Paulina went to her parents' house every morning to check on her father. Three months passed while ensuring he was recovering favorably. The situation was improving, but it was still delicate.
One afternoon, while Paulina was showering, she called me from the bathroom.
"My love," she called, her voice soft.
"Tell me, love," I replied from the hallway.
"Could you come in for a second?" she asked.
I thought she might have forgotten her robe and wanted me to hand it to her. She was just outside the shower, but when she opened the door and pulled me inside, I couldn't help but smile.
"Darling, you could have told me to take off my clothes," I pouted.
"I wanted you to make your pout," she smiled, flirting with me.
I kissed her lips and began to undress, setting my clothes aside. I was about to move my hand toward her center when her phone rang. I stopped quickly, thinking Paulina would take it, but I was wrong. She simply ignored it and kept kissing me.
"Love, it's your phone," I mumbled between kisses.
"Not important right now," she said in her excited voice.
"What if it's your dad?" I reminded her, a little worried.
"Nooo! Love, you ruined the moment," she complained, pulling away from me.
She left, wrapping the towel around her body, and went to grab the phone from the shelf to answer it quickly.
"Hello, Dad," she greeted. Her tone became concerned. "Is everything okay?"
While my girlfriend spoke to her father, I quickly got out of the shower, picking up all my clothes and the little mess we had made. She was still on the phone, so I decided to kiss her shoulder so she would see me leaving. She frowned slightly but followed my movements with her eyes before continuing the conversation.
I looked for dry clothes in the drawers to change, but before grabbing them, I felt a soft tap on my hand. I looked at her, puzzled, and she gave me a stern look. Firmly, she placed her hand on my chest, pushing me toward the bed until I fell on the edge.
"I'll talk to Shanti, Dad, and I'll let you know, okay? I'll leave you now, I'll call you back in a few minutes," she hung up quickly.
"So?" I asked, eager to know what had happened.
"My parents want us to go camping with them for Christmas," she commented calmly.
"At Christmas? But that's next week," I replied, surprised. "Besides, I thought they didn't want to see me anymore," I said, confused.
"Why did you think that?" she asked, looking puzzled.
"Because they don't like me," I answered, stating the obvious.
"That's not true," she said, shaking her head. "You might even be winning over my mother already," she smiled before continuing. "She wants us to go to dinner today."
"What? Are you serious?" I exclaimed, surprised by her comment.
"Why would I lie, love?" she replied, smiling as her hands reached to wrap around my neck.
"And why did they change their minds?" I asked, still confused. Then I paused, thinking. "Wait, wait… did this happen just because I told them about my past?" I asked incredulously.
"I don't know what you told my father when you were alone, but thanks to that, he accepted you. And my mother… if I can say, she was moved by your past," she said, with a melancholic tone I couldn't ignore.
I stayed thoughtful but said nothing more. As I continued reflecting, I felt a bit cold and released her grip to keep searching for my clothes in the drawers.
"What are you doing?" she asked, now with a slight tone of annoyance in her voice.
"I want to put on clothes, I might catch a cold," I replied without taking my eyes off the drawer.
"But we were going to make love," she complained, pouting.
"That was before your beautiful mouth said we have to go to your parents. And if I remember correctly, your father is waiting for your call," I reminded her with a playful smile.
"That's unfair," she complained, resting her chin on my neck as if asking me for a solution.
"It's not, go call your father," I said while putting on my underwear.
She continued her little tantrum for a moment longer, but when she finally saw me dressed, she called her father to accept the invitation.
The afternoon, almost evening, came quickly, and we headed to her parents' house. This time, the welcome was completely different. Her mother approached with a smile, greeting us with a kiss on the cheek, just like her father, who was already much better. He could even walk normally and do some light efforts without pain.
The dinner was incredibly peaceful and comfortable, something I hadn't expected. The main topic of conversation, and the most recurrent, was Paulina. It was amazing to hear how her parents described her, how she behaved with them. In their eyes, Paulina was the child who never complained, who didn't throw tantrums, who didn't show affection to anyone, at least not unless it was them.
"How is it possible that this little sugar doesn't show affection for anyone?" I thought, and I laughed inwardly at the mental image I formed. Basically, I felt like Winnie the Pooh with his honey.
Paulina and her father went to get an album that contained all her baby photos, while her mother and I stayed in the living room. I felt a little awkward, unsure what to say or how to break the silence. She was the one who did, asking me to accompany her to the kitchen to get some snacks. I agreed without thinking twice, following her slowly.
In the kitchen, I stayed by her side, waiting for any instructions on what to do.
"She likes baked and fried potatoes, but she shouldn't eat too many because they upset her," she said while beginning to place some snacks on a tray. "She also likes popcorn of any kind, but homemade is better. Oh, she's allergic to chickpeas, and she hates pickles."
I listened attentively, noticing the tenderness in her voice. I knew she was trying to give me instructions so I wouldn't hurt Paulina, and that stirred a mixture of tenderness and happiness in me. I didn't want to disappoint her, or her daughter.
"Thank you for the information," I assured her, smiling sincerely. "And believe me, I won't hurt Paulina."
She looked at me, seeming slightly relieved by my words, but she didn't stop what she was doing.
"She's my firstborn, my girl, my baby. I don't want anyone to hurt her," she said firmly, placing her hands on her hips as if evaluating me. "When you have children with my daughter, you'll understand."
Her gaze was intense, as if expecting me to respond somehow. I stayed silent for a moment, processing her words, and finally mustered the courage to ask what had been on my mind.
"Do you accept our relationship?" I asked, surprised by the emotion building in my chest, while a mix of nerves washed over me. I didn't know what to expect, but I couldn't help showing vulnerability to her.
She sighed and looked at me with an expression difficult to read.
"I tolerate it," she replied, and I noticed a slight smile on her lips. "But you haven't answered my question."
..........................
Since my parents and Shanti started interacting, everything has been a complete success. My father accepted her quickly, much more so than my mother, who, although it took a bit more time and effort, I'm sure will eventually fully accept her.
Nowadays, my mother and Shanti interact a lot more, and they might even joke together. It was a big surprise two days ago, when I was returning home with my father from the supermarket, carrying some snacks. Upon arriving home, I found them in the kitchen, laughing and cooking together. The surprise was such that my father, the kitchen helpers, and I just stood there, almost with our eyes wide in astonishment at the ease of their interaction.
It was so comforting to see how well they were getting along every day.
Finally, Christmas day arrived. The four of us were going camping together in a park about twelve hours away. We left at dawn with the goal of arriving in the late afternoon, almost at nightfall.
My girlfriend drove the first four hours, then I took the wheel for three more hours. After that, my father replaced me, and I had been driving for an hour.
We still had a long way to go, but at that moment, the most important thing wasn't the distance to our destination, but the chance to spend time together, enjoy the moment, create memories, and, above all, enjoy the company of everyone traveling in the camper.
I had been watching my girlfriend sleep so peacefully for more than half an hour, despite the uncomfortable seat. I couldn't help but laugh inwardly, wondering how it was possible for her to sleep so deeply in those conditions.
"She really looks like a baby," I thought, smiling inwardly as I saw her serene face. It's incredible how she can look like she's 18, I repeated to myself as a constant thought.
"It's so hot," my father said, pulling me from my thoughts. "I'll stop for some drinks," he added, parking the camper.
"Okay, Dad. Could you also bring a bottle of water?" I asked.
"Sure, dear," he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Be right back," he said before leaving.
While waiting for my bottle of water, I felt my beautiful girlfriend lean on my shoulder, letting her hair fall near my nose. The soft scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air, and I couldn't help but smile, enjoying that small yet special connection amid the heat and the trip.
Watching her, I never understood her habit of putting her hand under her shirt when she slept. Did she like feeling her own abs? I thought repeatedly.
And as if winding me up, my mind wandered, remembering her whole body in a… perverted way. A small mischievous smile escaped my lips, giving free rein to my desires. I don't think she'll mind if I slip my hand into her pants, I thought. Anyway, she won't notice since she's asleep, I justified to myself.
I carefully unbuttoned her pants so as not to wake her, but she moved her hand from her stomach and turned slightly, leaving my shoulder while resting her head on the seat. I froze so she wouldn't move.
After Shanti stayed still in her seat, I noticed her shirt had ridden up a little, revealing her toned abdomen. I remembered she had put me on a diet for four days.
My hand slid over her abdomen, caressing it gently, and she turned again, lying on her back. She must have been dreaming that we were making love again, since she regularly dreams that, I remembered, feeling an enormous sense of pride in my chest for being the only one who could provoke that in her.
So I had to take responsibility for those dreams. My hand was slowly moving down, and just as I was about to reach her underwear, I felt a hand on my shoulder, freezing me in place.
"Oh my God, daughter!" —my mother murmured, giving me a huge scare— "I'm still here," she warned me.
"Mom…" I stammered, "didn't you go with Dad?" I said, pale.
I quickly pulled my hand away from where it had been, my pale face turning bright red with embarrassment.
"Couldn't you wait until we got back?" my mother said, tired. "Oh my God, Paulina, why do you give me these scenes? Even though I'm your mother, I shouldn't have to see you like this, daughter. At least I deserve some respect for giving you life," she scolded me.
My girlfriend woke up from the sermon my mother was giving me, completely disoriented, looking around groggily. After a few seconds, she realized the situation she was in and her eyes went wide in shock.
Waking up with your pants unbuttoned, your shirt lifted, in the middle of a camper with your in-laws inside—and most of all, having your mother-in-law watching you like that—was extremely embarrassing.
Shanti was so red and ashamed that no words came out of her mouth; she couldn't even defend herself or try to explain the situation.
"I'll go see that your father brings everything," my mother announced as she left the camper. "And you, young lady, hands where I can see them!" she threatened my girlfriend, who, frightened, raised her hands quickly before closing the door.
"What happened?" Shanti asked, still confused and visibly nervous. "And why are you taking off my clothes in front of your mother?" she said, blushing and embarrassed.
"It's your fault; you haven't touched me in so long," I responded, offended by the situation.
"How is that my fault?" she defended herself, confused. "Besides, the last time we tried…" she murmured softly, hoping no one else would hear, "…I hurt my crotch because you wanted to try a new position that was too risky," she reminded me with a nervous smile.
"I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have punished me for so long," I complained, slightly annoyed.
"I'm going in," my mother said, teasing.
"Here are the drinks, dear," my mother said, handing me the beverages. "And Shanti, because you still haven't buttoned your pants." My mother looked at her, and Shanti hurriedly began fastening her pants quickly.
"Thanks, Dad, for buying them," I said, trying to change the subject.
We continued our trip until we reached the campsite. While my father and I set up the tents, my mother and my girlfriend prepared the fire for the barbecue.
Every so often, I would glance at my mother and Shanti to make sure my mother wouldn't ruin everything before I got married to her.
"Your mother has already accepted her, dear; you don't need to worry anymore," my dad commented, noticing my anxiety.
"All of this seems…" I thought, almost incredulous. "…so unreal."
"I thought they'd never accept her, let alone so quickly," I sighed in relief.
"She's had a difficult path since she was very young… we couldn't help but feel empathy for her story. Also, your mother is a bit sentimental," my dad confessed.
"Sentimental? You mean my mother?" I asked, incredulous.
"Strange as it may seem, yes," he affirmed.
"It's very strange, because just a few months ago she disowned me and forbade me from even speaking to them," I reminded him.
"Both your mother and I made mistakes, dear; we both acknowledge that. That's why we apologize," he apologized again, his voice filled with remorse. "We were very worried about you, and our way of trying to protect you wasn't the best."
"I know, Dad. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up again. But you have to give Shanti credit for the fact that we are here today," I reminded him.
"No one can take that away from her," he confirmed, smiling.
We finished setting up the tents and joined in preparing dinner.
"Are you telling me you don't know how to dance?" my mother teased, mocking my girlfriend.
"I didn't say that," Shanti replied, smiling, though a little embarrassed.
"What do you mean you don't know how to dance?" I asked, walking over to them and teasing her. "That's why I fell for you."
"Of course I know how to dance," Shanti defended herself, "but not like a professional, like your mother wants…"
"Mother-in-law," my mother interrupted me, leaving all of us surprised. "You can call me 'mother-in-law' or 'mom,' whichever you like."
"I can do a mix, in case I forget," my girlfriend smiled, and my mother mirrored her smile.
"Good, then you'll have to teach me how to dance, daughter," my mom said.
"It would be a pleasure, mother," Shanti replied happily.
"Wait, first you have to teach me, since I'm your girlfriend," I complained, while the others laughed.
It was around midnight. After exchanging gifts, we began opening them.
Shanti and I had given my father a Rolex watch, since his had been damaged in the accident, and to my mother, we gave a personalized perfume with her favorite scents.
My parents also gave Shanti a gift. My dad handed her an envelope that said she had won a day of work at the hospital. My girlfriend, still confused, accepted the gift.
My mother gave her a personalized sweatshirt from the best brand, which Shanti loved, as she's obsessed with custom sweatshirts.
"I hope you like it," my mother said as Shanti opened her gift.
"Wow, it's amazing!" she said excitedly, pulling the sweatshirt out of the package.
"A sweatshirt?" my dad and I asked in unison.
"Yes, a sweatshirt," my mother replied simply.
"We're running out of money," I said, surprised.
"It's personalized," I added. "This must cost around a thousand dollars, right?"
"Yes, something like that, although it cost a little more," my mother confirmed.
"Do you spend a thousand dollars on each of your sweatshirts?" I asked, astonished.
"No, of course not," she assured me.
After that clarification, my father gave my mother a vacation, and my mother gave my father the right to accompany her. We couldn't help but laugh at that.
Finally, it was my turn. My father gave me a few days off work to rest. We all agreed that my dad was terrible at giving gifts.
My mother continued giving me my gift, and it seemed she had been inspired by my dad, because she gave me something completely unusual, something I didn't even know how to thank her for.
"Wow, creams," I said, confused by my mother's gift.
"What are you saying, love? These are the best creams in the world," Shanti said, looking at the creams. "They leave your skin soft and make your face look like a baby's," she said excitedly.
"Yes, exactly, Shanti, she knows what she's talking about," my mother said happily. "Do you know how hard it is to get them, daughter?"
"I don't know, Mom, but I don't think it takes more than three months to get them," I replied, not really understanding.
My mother and Shanti both placed a hand on their chests, offended by my answer.
"Dear, just to get these creams takes 14 months, and if you're lucky enough to get them the same day, it could take up to two years," my mother informed me.
"That long! But what's so special about them?" I asked, looking at the jar of creams, still confused.
"Love, look at my face," Shanti asked seriously. "How old do I look?" she stared at me.
"Eighteen," I replied, rolling my eyes.
"See the benefits. Right now I would look twenty if it weren't for these creams," she said excitedly.
"You're twenty?" my mother asked, surprised. "Paulina, that makes you three years older."
"What? No way! Shanti is the one who's four years older than me," I defended her.
"Shanti is twenty-seven," my parents exclaimed in disbelief.
"Actually, she just turned twenty-eight a month ago," I corrected them.
"And just from using those creams?" my mother asked incredulously. "How long have you been using them?"
"Ah, no, it's because of the creams," Shanti said, embarrassed. "My face has never shown my age," she added, trying to remember how long she had been using them. "I think I've been using them for about nine months."
Again, after that little surprise about our ages, my mother realized Shanti hadn't given me a gift.
"Shanti, you haven't given your gift yet," Mom said.
"Oh, yes, about Paulina's gift…" Shanti said nervously.
"I asked for a special gift, so I can't open it here," she said, trying to make me understand.
"Oh my God!" my mother said, bewildered.
My father just shook his head.
After that embarrassing moment, we continued roasting marshmallows while my girlfriend told us scary stories. I was always amazed at how real her tales sounded, as if they had really happened to her.
"I don't believe that. I mean, if your father had gone deeper into those warehouses, that dark entity would have killed him," my father said, incredulous.
"That's what my father told us, and to be honest, I believe him, because I've also experienced paranormal situations with some family members like cousins, uncles, even friends. So maybe it's just family madness, but with friends, that's another level," Shanti replied.
"Oh, it's collective madness, my love," I said, without thinking, looking upward as I rested in her arms.
"It's a shame we can't show you," she said, smiling.
"Let's see, assuming all of this is true," my mother said, "why do these situations happen?"
"Well, they usually occur in remote places or where a tragedy has happened, among other circumstances," Shanti explained, leaving us surprised with the new information.
"We should go back inside, it's getting really cold," my father said, his voice trembling.
"Yes, darling, you're right, let's go in," my mother agreed.
We were inside the camping tent, and it was freezing. The sound of rain falling and the wind outside filled the air. I was literally shivering from the cold.
"Darling, you're freezing, come closer to me," my girlfriend whispered.
"How are you not freezing?" I said, my teeth chattering as I hugged her, trying to warm up.
"I'm very hot," she teased. "I'll warm you up, I don't want you to get hypothermia," she said in her husky voice.
She kissed my lips and then moved down toward my chest. I reached for her pants to take them off, but she didn't let me. She wanted to take control to warm me up faster. We made love all night and into the early morning, until we were completely exhausted.
The next day, we got up a little late, around 9 a.m., simply because it didn't stop raining. Even so, we had to wait another 45 minutes before we could leave the tents.
In that moment, taking advantage of the time, the rain, and the cold, Shanti climbed on top of me again to give me the best morning pleasure anyone could have while camping.
"Daughter, could you come help me?" Mom shouted.
"Who did she call, you or me?" I asked sleepily.
"I think she called me," Shanti replied.
"Now you've not only stolen my heart, but my mother's too," I said, wrapping myself in her arms.
"I have to go," she said, standing up and kissing my lips.
She got off me and put on her clothes to leave, but I stopped her with my hand, turning her head to kiss her again.
"Good morning, love," I whispered on her lips.
"Good morning, darling," she smiled foolishly.
I kissed her again, trying to pull her to the floor, but she resisted and didn't let me fully overpower her.
"We already did it," she said, slipping away from me. "And your mother is calling me," she added, opening the tent flap.
"Are you going to leave me wanting to touch you?" I said, trying to get out. "I also want to leave you trembling," I complained, seeing my mother standing in front of us.