Page 18 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

I’ve had the urge to call Alex. If anyone can get me off this emotional roller coaster in five minutes, it’s her, but it’s five in the morning in Spain and the last thing I want is to worry her. I’m sure she’s fast asleep, cuddled up with Jota in bed, her phone abandoned on the nightstand, and that look of absolute peace she always has when she’s resting. If I called her now, she’d tell me to get lost. And she’d deserve to. Especially after all the times she’s had to pick me up off the floor.

“Come on, Lidia! You don’t need anyone to remind you that the world isn’t going to fall apart just because Barbara is on the same island,” I tell myself, imitating Alex’s voice and tone. I know that, deep down, our conflicts belong to the past, that they should stay buried there, far from here, far from this wedding. My father and Miriam deserve a peaceful ceremony, without any unnecessary tension. After everything he’s been through, he deserves at least a few weeks of pure happiness, and if I have to ignore Barbara to make that happen, I can do it. It doesn’t have to be that complicated.

“I just have to avoid her, not talk to her, and make sure our eyes don’t meet,” I think.

My plan crumbles as quickly as a sandcastle on the shore, because I know perfectly well that avoiding her on an island like this is impossible. Even so, I’m determined to make it work.

“I just have to keep my distance and focus on what’s important.”

I grip my shoes firmly and head toward the path that leads straight to the resort. The vegetation lining the path sways in the night breeze, and the dim lights marking the route illuminate the sand and the walkways connecting the bungalows. The resort is almost completely silent, the stillness broken only by the distant murmur of the sea, which seems as though it will never stop. I walk slowly, and my mind begins to calm down little by little, as if this conversation with myself has managed to bring a little order to the chaos inside me.

When I reach the villa area, I catch the scent of night-blooming flowers in the air, giving off a sweet, enveloping fragrance. The bungalows are separated by dense tropical gardens and white sand paths. Each one has its own small private terrace, a gently swaying hammock, and warm lighting that turns them into tiny, cozy havens amid the thick vegetation.

Mine is almost at the end; one of the simplest, with a thatched roof and white walls that reflect the soft light from outside. I need to take off my clothes, take a shower, and lie down on the bed to rest. But then, the door to the bungalow next door opens, and when I look up, drawn by curiosity, Barbara appears, and time stands still again, as if the entire universe had decided to freeze this moment. She steps out of her bungalow just as I’m about to enter mine. We both stand motionless. Her hair looks slightly tousled, as if she’d just stepped out of the shower or had tried to rest without much success. She’s wearing comfortable, simple clothes—a loose T-shirt and shorts that reveal the tanned skin of her legs—and she’s holding her cell phone in her hand. Her eyes widen a little more as she recognizes me, and I feel exactly the same thing: that sharp pang in my chest.

For an absurd second, my brain tries to process the scene dispassionately, but as quickly as I try to find some logic in it, my mind takes me on a trip back to the first time we met. We were also staying in adjoining bungalows, a coincidence that gave us the feeling that fate was mapping out a path we were meant to walk together.

“This can’t be happening again…” I whisper, almost to myself.

The air between us fills once again with that uncomfortable tension that makes my heart pound, forcing me to acknowledge something I don’t like: that the island has just become much smaller and that Barbara’s presence, her proximity, is going to test one of the promises I made to myself right after we got divorced.

Without saying a word, I look away from her eyes and go inside my bungalow, closing the door behind me and cutting off all connection. I’d love to say that it doesn’t bother me, that I’ll be able to handle this, that her presence is the last thing on my mind, but I know myself well enough to realize that this reunion isn’t going to lead to anything good.

CHAPTER 11

THE EARLY MORNING CALL

Barbara

“This can’t be happening again,” I tell myself as Lidia quietly closes the door to her bungalow, as if the simple act of slamming it or not might make the situation even worse.

“This is just unbelievable…” I blurt out as I take a deep breath once, twice, three times. There’s no way we can live with this tension for the next few weeks. “No, no way. In the end, we’ll end up pulling each other’s hair out or even worse… causing a scene at her father’s wedding.”

“But seriously, again… adjoining bungalows…” I let out a brief, ironic laugh and run a hand over my face, trying to shake off the exhaustion from the trip and the disbelief.

“I really shouldn’t have listened to him…” I tell myself as I let myself be swept away by that tangle of emotions I’m carrying inside and start walking. “I’d be better off at home, with Ingrid… enjoying the team’s last game. Not here…”

I unlock my phone and urgently dial Ingrid’s number. I need to talk to her. Not because she’s going to solve my problems. On the contrary, she has no way of doing that, but I need to anchor myself to my present, to her, to my real life far from these idyllic beaches and that smell of the sea that clings to your skin. Besides, she’ll be alone on the bench today, and even though she’s spent the last few hours hiding it from me, I know that facing the final game alone has her very nervous.

The ringtone starts playing as I walk along the sand. I need fresh air, I need space, I need distance. I don’t even know when I took off my sandals, but I’m enjoying the sensation of the sand caressing the soles of my feet. The call keeps ringing. I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder as I walk around a small cluster of palm trees and head toward the beach, letting the night breeze guide me.

As if I’d asked for it, as if my mind were determined to punish me and make my life a little more miserable, the memories of my first time in the Maldives surge through me, painfully vivid, painfully clear. I close my eyes as I keep walking and am able to vividly recall that night, the way Lidia turned toward me when I offered to help, sizing up whether she could trust a stranger who was sipping a cocktail at the bar before dinnertime.

Her voice seemed dangerously attractive to me then. That night was the first time I heard her laugh—clear, warm, and surprisingly sincere. I remember laughing wholeheartedly. I remember accepting without hesitation when she invited me over to thank me for helping her. I remember being stunned by the way her eyes sparkled in the light of the beach bar. I should have run away right then, knowing what would happen years later, but I couldn’t help myself. Lidia had me hooked, and I had no choice but to let her sweep me away.

That night we walked together through the resort with no particular destination, in no hurry at all, letting the conversation flow as if we’d known each other our whole lives. That night we talked about everything and nothing, shared confidences and things I normally keep to myself, laughed at absurd college anecdotes, and I felt the chemistry between us grow as time went on. Until we reached her bungalow, right next to mine. Another absurd coincidence that, at the time, we interpreted as something fun and full of possibilities. And now, however, it feels like a cruel and heavy-handed joke of fate.

The ringtone keeps ringing in my ear, and I keep walking until the sound of the sea becomes more enveloping.

The phone stops ringing suddenly, and for a second I think Ingrid isn’t going to answer, that maybe I caught her busy with something for the team. But just as I’m about to end the call, she picks up on the other end.

“Barbara?” she asks. “Are you there?”

Hearing her voice has an immediate effect on me. It’s as if someone has turned down the volume of the chaos roaring inside my head, allowing me to breathe for the first time in hours.

“Hi,” I reply, letting out a long sigh I didn’t even know I’d been holding in. “Were you busy? Sorry to call you so soon.”

“No, don’t worry. Is everything okay?” she asks, concerned. “I’m at the team hotel…” she pauses briefly, “things are pretty tense around here.”