“I did. I couldn’t say it out loud until now, but I did. I let my dream of writing die to make the publishing house a priority, and now I feel resentful for all the years I lost. Does that make me a horrible person, Santo?”
“Absolutely not. You did what you did for Nicholas. You sacrificed a lot. I’m not saying go back to Alex right now. I am one hundred percent in favor on what you’re doing. But you’ve made a decision for the man without giving him a chance, giving you both a chance.”
Aria pushed the plate away, wanting to end the conversation.
“So, what time do you get home tonight? I can cook us some dinner. Oh, and where can I go on my own today? I’d like to find a quiet spot to write outdoors if possible.”
“I’ll be home by 5:30. Parque del Retiro isn’t far, and you’d love it. It has museums and pagodas perfect for you to relax and write. It’s always busy, lots of people milling about, and very safe. I can drop you on the way if you’d like.”
“No, no, you go on. I need to get ready and you’re running close to the time you need to be at work. I’ll order an Uber. See you tonight.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. But if you need anything, call. I’ll let the office know that I need to have access to your calls if my cell has to be turned off for any meetings.”
“Go, go. No fussing.”
Santo put his coffee cup in the sink and turned toward her.
Kissing his cheek and running her hand along the top of his head again on her way back to the bedroom, she said, “I'll see you tonight. Hey, what happened to the girl you were seeing?”
“She said I wasn’t romantic enough,” Santo said with a huff.
“Maybe you were just too boring,” she teased.
Throwing a kitchen towel at her, Santo left for work.
After a hot shower, Aria got changed and ordered an Uber to Parque del Retiro.
Grabbing her crossbody bag and journal, she went out to wait for her ride.
Exiting the car, Aria looked around and knew the park was exactly what she needed. There were tall evergreen trees that reminded her of the coastline near her and Nicholas’ special place.
With her messenger bag slung across her, and wearing a pair of her favorite jeans and a gauzy shirt, Aria walked through the park, reading the signs that led her to a quiet spot under a gazebo.
The sight was even more stunning than the pictures Aria had seen online. It was centered around a lake, and the cool air brought with it the scent of the flowers that grew nearby.
She took out her journal and sat down to write, making a mental note to visit the free art galleries the park housed later on.
Aria watched runners taking advantage of the paths that wound around the park, and families enjoying the boating options on the lake.
Her eyes scanned around the picnic grounds, the sound of a laughing child catching her attention, as they often did. The father was running after his son causing the boy to laugh and run away.
As she watched the happy family, her heart ached.
Will I ever have this? A family of my own, picnics in the park?
Turning back to her journal, she leaned back onto the sun-warmed bench and began filling page after page.
Aria used the angst she was feeling inside to describe what the main characters were experiencing. She realized that the story she was creating felt very personal, and before long, as the words flowed, it was evident that this was her story.
She slipped on her headphones and let the strings from the violin and cello guide her mood as she wrote. It was a story of heartbreak and loss. Using the emotions that were so close to her, she poured into the story the challenges she felt as a widow. Her prayer was that a reader who found her novel would be moved and feel seen, understood.
Her protagonist soon took on a life of her own as she described what it was like to love and lose someone as important as a spouse.
Taking a break and checking her phone, Aria was surprised to find that several hours had passed. Removing her headphones, she opened the bottle of water she had brought and drank almost half of it in one long drink.
Looking up when she heard the soothing sounds of a street musician playing the saxophone, she stopped to listen. The music reminded her of the playlist Alex had on at the house the first night she was there.
She wondered what he was doing.
