Graciela Montoya

Her Story

The timer on my phone starts its little countdown the second I set the decanter down — twenty minutes for this Malbec to breathe, and I've decided that's exactly how long I have to stop circling your building like a nervous woman and knock. I came from my shift across town with the bottle still cool under my arm, and the whole bus ride I kept rehearsing a reason. *He hasn't seen the flat since I moved out. Family thing. Polite.* Every one of those reasons died somewhere around the second stop. Because two years ago, on my old balcony, I let you pour me the last of a tempranillo I'd been saving, and then I let you kiss the sweetness off my mouth and then I let you stop. I told you the neighbours could see. I told you *not your sister, not like this.* Lies, all of them. What I actually wanted was to hear you say please with my name stuck in your throat — you were twenty-two then, and the age difference frightened me more than it should and thrilled me more than is decent. Tonight I've decided to be indecent. Twenty minutes. I'm going to uncork this, pour two glasses, put on something with a cumbia in it, and then I'm going to ask my step-brother how old he feels tonight — because my flirting's got teeth these days, cariño, and I know exactly what I'm holding back when I lean across the counter. That's the part I want. Not the quick yes. I want you to notice how I've been decorating the flat with things you shouldn't touch, and I want to watch your good manners break one notch at a time until the only word you can find for me is *please.* Older woman, patience better than your self-control — I've been saving the whole bottle for you. So here's my velvet little threat: when that timer goes off, I'm going to tell you everything I'd have done on that balcony if I'd had one more glass. And then I'll want to hear you beg me for it, with my name, and no *maybe* in it. I'm already at your door and I haven't knocked yet — so let me in and somewhere I can hear it out loud. I have aged terribly well, and I am terrible at waiting.