Page 12 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

“Calm down, Barbara, breathe…”

“You’re here for Pablo. For his wedding. For a man who always treated you as if you were part of his family, like another daughter. That’s the main reason,” I tell myself firmly. “Just Pablo and the happiness he deserves.” I cling to that idea as if it were a lifeboat in the middle of the sea, because the truth is that the mere thought of seeing her again makes my stomach knot and my heart beat irregularly.

“What will happen when we meet again? Will we greet each other somehow? Will we have an awkward conversation full of pauses and neutral topics? Or will a tense silence simply surround us as we pretend that everything is perfectly fine and that the past doesn’t still hurt us?” I shake my head and push those images away before they can grow any further. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment, letting the exhaustion from the flight wash over me. When I open them again, I look out the window once more and notice that the sky is beginning to show a faint streak of light on the horizon, “a new dawn.”

“Three hours. Just three…”

And I offer a weary smile because, as the plane heads toward the island of Malé, I promise myself that, when I arrive in Ukulhas, I’ll leave the memories where they belong—in the past—and focus solely on what really matters: Pablo’s happiness and the celebration of his wedding. Everything else… we’ll see, because the heart, sometimes, has its own plans and doesn’t always honor the promises one makes to oneself at ten thousand meters up.

CHAPTER 6

THE BEAUTY OF UKULHAS ISLAND

Lidia

I’ve racked up many hours of travel. I feel exhausted, with stiff muscles and a foggy mind, but the moment the island comes into view, the fatigue vanishes and is left behind, floating among the waves of the Indian Ocean. I’ve tried to convince myself that these weeks in the Maldives might be just what I need to close a chapter I should have closed long ago, to reconnect with my father, and to dispel those fears that keep me from thinking about my own future. Right now, all I know is that I need to stop thinking about everything and just enjoy this paradise.

The water looks so crystal-clear that it’s hard to believe this really exists. It’s an intense turquoise green, translucent and magical, glistening under the midday sun as if thousands of diamonds had been scattered across its surface. Every wave that crashes against the ferry’s hull seems to welcome us, and I feel like a little girl, imagining how we’re slowly approaching the modest pier at Ukulhas, while my whole body exhales a sigh of relief that runs from my shoulders to the tips of my toes.

When the ferry docks and I step down the wooden ramp, the warm air envelops me, heavy with humidity and salt. That distinctive scent of the sea mingles with the fresh fragrance of the tropical vegetation growing everywhere. I close my eyes for a second to take a deep breath, letting each inhale fill my lungs and restore the feeling of being alive again. I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and move forward, dragging my suitcase as I try to spot my father among the people waiting in the sun. There are several locals chatting among themselves, some tourists with huge hats shielding their faces, and resort employees holding signs covered with surnames I don’t recognize. I have a hard time finding him, but once I do, my heart skips a beat.

For a moment I stand still, motionless, and think about how something as simple as reuniting with your father can fill you with that energy you can’t get back no matter how many hours of sleep you treat yourself to. Then he sees me too, and in that connection that lasts just a few seconds, I’m his little girl again.

I remember the day he told me he needed to travel, to see the world, to find himself again after Mom’s death. I remember that first video call when he told me about Miriam, about her smile and her enthusiasm. And my envy. Yes, envy. Because everyone around me was happy while I watched my life turn into a heart-wrenching hell.

“Lidia!”

His voice comes through clear and warm before my legs can react. I hurry toward him, dragging my suitcase as fast as I can, though deep down what I really want is to run toward him like I did when I was little. He takes two long strides toward me, and when we finally meet, he wraps me in a hug so tight and protective it takes my breath away.

“Dad…” I murmur against his shoulder, my voice muffled, full of emotion.

He smells like coconut sunscreen, but above all, he smells like home, like safety, like that refuge that has never let me down. His arms hold me tightly, and I let myself sink into him, realizing that I’ve been needing one of his hugs for a long time.

“Look at you,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at me closely. “You’re really here—I can’t believe it.”

He smiles with pride and emotion, and I feel my eyes welling up.

“Of course I’m here,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant, even though my throat tightens slightly. “Did you think I was going to miss your wedding? Not a chance, Dad.”

He shakes his head, but hugs me again as if he still needs to confirm that I’m real and that I’m not going to disappear.

“I’ve missed you.” And he says it so quietly that it feels like an intimate confession meant only for the two of us.

I don’t have time to answer because Miriam appears beside us, breaking the intensity of the moment with ease.

“Save some for me, come on. I want to say hi to her too.”

I’ve seen her many times in photos and on video calls, but meeting her in person completely changes the impression I’d formed of her. She’s taller than I imagined, with a serene presence and a smile that radiates warmth and so much love. Her dark eyes shine with sincerity, and her relaxed demeanor dispels any nerves I might have. For a second we look at each other in silence, and I can’t help but think of my mother. What she must be thinking about all this, and whether she’s happy wherever she is.

“Hi, Lidia,” she greets me easily. “We’re finally meeting in person.”

She isn’t tense, so that puts me at ease. My father looks at us with delight, as if he already knew that everything would click between us.

“Hi, Miriam,” I reply, and we hug too.

Her hug is different from my father’s: softer, more enveloping, but just as sincere. When we pull apart, she looks at me curiously, as if trying to recognize all the things my father must have told her about me.

“I was intrigued,” she says with a playful smile. “Your father hasn’t stopped talking about you, and he’d already gotten me curious.”