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Honestly, in those early weeks, I use the two of them as a shield against the homesickness. As long as I’m focused on Olive and Luciana’s troubles, mine can take a back seat, and maybe if I can stay distracted long enough, they might eventually disappear altogether.
If my sadness is obvious to others, Diego and Nicolás do a good job of respecting my privacy. It’s not until one night over dinner, a few weeks after our arrival, that Diego asks me point blank if I’ve left someone behind in the United States. I shake my head hard, trying to keep my focus down on my lap. They don’t push the subject, instead quickly shifting to discuss some presentation Diego has coming up at the university. I finish my food quickly, push away from the table, and escape to the third floor.
Luciana finds me sitting on the foot of my bed, staring out the window that faces the market across the street. Even at night, it’s packed to the gills with tourists and locals browsing the various stalls.
She stands at the door, toeing the threshold, too scared to invade my space until I give a silent nod of approval. She runs over and leaps onto the bed, scooting close until her hip presses against mine. Her short legs can’t reach the floor and I glance down, admiring her glittery Toms.
When she speaks, I’m surprised to hear such profound sadness in her tone. “You know, I miss my boyfriend too.”
Her admission catches me so off guard that I’m helpless to quell the burst of laughter that spills out of me.
She shoots me a death stare. “What’s funny?”
“No.” I wipe the smile off my face. “Nothing.”
It’s not. Luciana might be young, but she’s perceptive and thoughtful. If she cared about a boy back in the United States, she likely carried those feelings across the ocean with us.
“Tell me about him,” I ask, tapping my shoulder against hers.
For half an hour, she goes on and on about a boy named Collin who was the nicest person in her class back home. Her dads don’t want her dating yet, of course, BECAUSE SHE’S NINE, so she and Collin had to “just be friends at school”. I expected her relationship obstacles to pale in comparison to what I’m dealing with, but to hear her tell it, it’s pretty close.
“My friend Valerie likes him too, and the day I left, she told me she was going to marry him.”
Damn, nine-year-olds are savages.
“What did you tell her?”
She shrugs. “That it was Collin’s choice to make. If he wants to marry her, then that would be okay. As long as he’s happy.”
“Even if that means you lose him?” I push.
She looks up at me like I’m an idiot. “Ms. Brooke, I can’t expect him to wait around for me forever. I mean, we’re almost 10 years old.”
Touché.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on with you now?” she asks with kind, gentle eyes. “Maybe I can help.”
Though my usual emotional support system has not included girls that still use a Barbie toothbrush, I’m tempted by her offer. Ellie is exhausted with hearing me talk about James and how much I miss him, and nobody else knows about the things we’ve gone through.
I don’t go into any of the PG-13 details with Luciana, but I tell her enough to make her nod sympathetically.
“Star-crossed lovers,” she concludes with a long sigh. Then she taps her chin like a thoughtful psychologist. “I know you’re really sad, but Olive and I think it’s boring when you’re sad. So you should just stop.”
“What?”
“Stop being sad.”
Oh, okay. I hadn’t realized it was that easy.
“I miss Collin too, but I don’t let it ruin my day. I still play with Olive and smile and stuff. And I can still read. You just pretend to read.”
I thought I was being more convincing with that…
“What do you think I should do?”
I tell myself I’m humoring her, when really she’s giving me the best advice of my life.
“Just smile.”
“Smile?”
“Yeah, even when you don’t feel like it. My dad says smiling is infectious. It’ll make you feel better.”
I spread my lips, straining my face into an odd caricature of a smile.
She erupts into a fit of giggles. “No! Not like that!”
I contort my features into another silly face. “How about this? Am I doing it now?”
She claps her hands over her face and shakes her head fervently. “Ugh! That’s not even close!”
“No, no.” I reach for her hands to pull them away from her eyes. “I got it now. Look.”
…
It takes me a long time to get my genuine smile back. For weeks, I wallow in regret, scared to admit to myself that I might have made a mistake in coming to Spain. The thought keeps me up at night, long after the rest of the house has gone to bed. I lie awake, listening to the sounds of Barcelona outside my window, imagining what my life might have been like if I’d stayed back home in Austin. It’s a painful game to play, and some nights, I come close to calling James. I pull up his contact, hover over the green button, and my heart starts to pound in anticipation. I think he will answer, especially in those early weeks when our heartbreak is fresh and the possibility of reconciliation within reach.
