Under The Blooming Trees - Part II

Twenty trees were left uncovered: the hail hit them full force before we had time to cover them.
We manage to cover them anyway before the hail destroys them completely: with good pruning they'll recover, but for this year they'll be unsellable.
Exhausted, breathless, we take shelter against the wall under the anti-hail net. I feel like crying at the sight of my little trees thrown to the ground: even those that weren't hit by the hail have their flowers brutalized by the wind, they're very battered.
Mayra squeezes my hand, smiling.
"Nothing serious happened, Prins: they're just lying on the ground, but then we'll pick them up again. The important thing is that they didn't get hit by the grogu."
"Some of them got hit all right, Mayra."
"Yes, but only for a short time. They'll recover, you'll see."
I make an effort to smile too.
"At least the SUV is safe under the canopy," I say.
"And fortunately the dog is at Antonia's today, otherwise she would have been scared to death."
"Right. I hope it's not hailing there too, or it would ruin her whole garden."
I look at the black sky and the ground now covered with a layer of white like snow, hoping that the hail doesn't get any bigger than this and that the wind doesn't increase: it would risk breaking the windows of my greenhouses. My heart tightens at just the thought.
Mayra senses my worry and takes my hand. I tremble and chatter my teeth.
Suddenly she exclaims alarmed:
"Manu, you're bleeding from your forehead!"
"Yes, a chunk of hail pretty big got me right in the head."
"Let's go between the wall and the greenhouses and get to the office: I need to disinfect you, and besides you're all wet and frozen, you can't stay like this. Come on."
Holding my hand, she guides me through the narrow corridor between the wall and the greenhouses, which finally leads us to shelter, to warmth, to our office. We enter the back room; she immediately turns on an electric heater and opens the armoire drawer, where we keep a change of clothes: she pulls out a blue sweatshirt, a pair of jeans and some soft wool socks, which she hands to me; for herself she takes a gray flannel dress. We change quickly, throwing our soaked clothes into the laundry basket and replacing our soggy shoes with the classic rubber clogs we keep and also sell as gardening shoes.
"I'll put everything in the washing machine right away," Mayra announces, and as a good housewife, she insisted on having a washing machine in the bathroom, which Carlos took care of installing.
Then she opens the bathroom cabinet, takes out hydrogen peroxide and sterile gauze, dabs my forehead and puts a bandage on it. Finally she makes me sit on the bed, rubs my wet hair with a towel and dries it with the hair dryer. Joking, she pulls the hood up over my head.
"Beautiful," she says, looking at me satisfied, and sits down next to me.
I feel full of a strange emotion.
"Thank you for everything, Mayra."
"And for what?"
"We saved the plants, isn't that something?"
Suddenly, seized by an irresistible impulse, I grab her face between my hands and kiss her passionately on the mouth. At first she remains immobile, in shock; then she resists and tries to push me away, pressing her hands on my chest and pushing me back. She pulls the hood of the sweatshirt off me, letting it slide down on my shoulders, and remains with her eyes lowered.
"Manu... what was that thing?"
"What thing?"
"The tongue."
I smile, disarmed.
"You usually do it that way."
"No, I don't think you usually do it that way, Prins."
"I'm sorry if it bothered you. Sorry."
"No bother. I'm going to the bathroom now, I need to dry off too."
She gets up and shuts herself in the bathroom for at least half an hour. In the meantime, I lie down on the bed, listening with relief to the sound of the hail becoming less and less violent, while the wind moves away to wreak havoc elsewhere. The nervous tension has exhausted me: without realizing it, I doze off.
When I wake up, I notice it's already seven o'clock: Mayra's not here, she must be in the office.
I suddenly feel uneasy: maybe I offended her, and besides I shouldn't have done it, even out of respect for Gianni. It was an innocent thing in my intentions, but the fact is that it was a full-fledged kiss, and Mayra is not the type for French kissing. No, definitely not.
I jump to my feet and grab my things. I find her sitting at her desk, intent on flipping through a catalog of gardening tools.
"While you were sleeping, I picked up all the pots," she tells me. "Tomorrow I'll prune the broken branches."
"Thank you, you're a treasure."
I stroke her hair ruffled by the rain.
"Sorry for that kiss, May. I didn't do it on purpose, it just came naturally to me."
"You don't have to apologize, I understood."
"Shall we have dinner together tonight?"
"Why are you asking me? We always have dinner together."
"I don't know, I thought you might be a bit angry with me."
"But what anger? But you have to promise me you won't do that thing again."
"What thing?"
"The one with the tongue."
"Mayra, now you're offending me: did you find it that gross?"
"No, it's just that afterwards you feel all strange."
"Okay, I promise you."
"Now let me finish here, I have to order some tools."
"All right. Shall I put the water on to boil?"
"Yes, thank you, Manu."
While I'm at the stove, my cell phone rings: it's Gianni, like every evening. I feel foolishly guilty: I don't want there to be secrets between us and I don't know if this fact should be considered a secret. I worry about what to do.
"Hi, puppy," he greets me.
I buy time with a joke:
"Sorry, you've got the wrong number: this is Giuseppe here."
"But what are you talking about? Which Giuseppe?"
I roll my eyes: he's already forgotten.
"Don't you remember me anymore? I'm
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"Don't you remember me anymore? I'm the milkman's delivery boy."
"Are you sure you haven't had a drink?"
"No, Gianni, I haven't had a drink: I'm just a bit stressed because of a terrible hailstorm that almost wiped out all my fruit trees."
"The weather was horrible here too, but it didn't hail. And how did it end up, puppy?"
"We saved almost all of them. It was thanks to Màyra, who gave me a hand covering them with the anti-hail net, otherwise it would have been a disaster."
"I'm glad for you, love. Did you thank Màyra the way you should?"
"Yes."
I clear my throat. "Maybe a bit too much."
"A bit too much… in what sense?"
I blush even though there's no one to see me.
"Well, let's say I got carried away by enthusiasm."
"And…?"
"And nothing. I mean, nothing much. We didn't go to bed together, if that's what you mean."
Gianni's voice becomes glacial.
"What 'you' mean, puppy? I don't mean anything at all. I trust you: aren't you the one who's faithful and has only one love at a time? Or am I misremembering?"
"No, you remember perfectly."
Despite the discomfort, I feel comforted: Gianni seems to have returned to normal, assuming the adjective makes sense in reference to him. This reassures me to the point that I decide to spit it out.
"And so?"
"Gianni, I was so happy that I kissed her."
"Ah. Did you kiss her on the cheek?"
"No."
"Little unfaithful puppy and unfortunately bisexual, can I ask where you kissed her?"
"On the mouth. But she didn't take it well."
Another silence.
"Do you mean with your lips on her lips?"
"Yes, but not just that."
"Did you stick your tongue in?!"
"Well, yes. It just slipped out."
Gianni loses his temper and lets himself go to one of his hysterical fits.
"But how does your tongue slip out? Does it have feet, does it walk by itself? Puppy, let me tell you: you are absolutely incontinent!"
"But Gianni… now it seems you're exaggerating a bit…"
"Exaggerate? You leak everything! Your tongue leaks out, your little yellow heart leaks out instead of the red one, your dog leaks out, you leak out laughing while having sex, you leak pee at the movies…"
"It wasn't pee."
"Well, whatever it was. But what am I supposed to do with you, Emmanuel, tell me? Should I put a muzzle on you, a leash, a diaper?"
I laugh despite myself.
"Gianni, if you're mad at Emmanuel, don't take it out on me: I'm Giuseppe."
A moment of silence.
"Puppy, go to bed, you definitely have a fever. Have Mayra take your temperature, she seems like a woman full of common sense. I forgive you only because she didn't take it well and because you're out of your mind: you don't know what you're doing and you don't even know who you are."
At this point I close the matter in my own way.
"I love you, Gianni," I tell him abruptly.
These three words silence him immediately.
"Me too, puppy," he says after a while. "Now I'll let you go, because I have a pot on the stove."
"Oh, you're cooking tonight?"
"No, I'm giving Mayra a hand, she deserved it."
"A hand, I urge you: only one hand. And try to make sure that doesn't slip away too."
"Don't worry, nothing slips away from me anymore."
Before I fall asleep I'll send you a red heart, one of those you like."
"Thank you, love. Don't do anything foolish, I'm warning you."
"No foolishness, also because I'm too tired and after dinner I'm going straight to bed."
"Good evening, puppy: I'm waiting for your red heart. Send it to me when you're in be
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"Good evening, puppy: I'm waiting for your red heart. Send it to me when you're in bed, okay? Because in bed you have to think about me. Only me."
"Of course, Gianni. See you later."
I sigh and hang up. The water is boiling, it's time to add salt.
"Should I throw in the pasta, May?"
"Yes, thanks, Manu: about two ounces per person."
I break the spaghetti.
"Manu… how many times do I have to tell you that spaghetti shouldn't be broken? You have to put them in whole."
"Oops… Too late."