Page 31 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

My voice, strangely enough, comes out calm, steady, even though I’m nowhere near calm.

“What?” she asks, turning toward me with a slight frown.

I look her straight in the eyes.

“How nice it must be to realize that what you left behind in Valencia didn’t carry the same weight or importance as everything you found there. It must’ve been a huge relief to arrive and feel nothing weighing on your shoulders.”

Silence falls suddenly, thick and sticky. My father clears his throat uncomfortably, Miriam looks down at her half-eaten plate, and Barbara… well, Barbara remains motionless, the napkin still between her fingers.

As if she doesn’t know what expression to make.

And for some reason, that bothers me even more.

“Lidia…” my father begins in a conciliatory tone, raising a hand.

“No,” I cut him off without taking my eyes off her. “It’s okay. Really. It’s good to know.”

My pulse quickens, I feel the blood pounding in my temples, that familiar buzzing that signals I’m slipping back into the same damn loop I can’t seem to escape.

“I guess it’s easier that way,” I continue without stopping. “Leaving, starting over in another city, in another life… and slowly convincing yourself that everything that came before wasn’t that important, right?”

“That’s not what I said,” Barbara finally replies, her voice low, restrained, but firm as stone. “It wasn’t easy starting over there…”

“No, of course not,” I reply with a bitter smile. “But your new teammates, the team…” I say, dragging out the words to make them loom larger. “They helped you forget everything and live that great dream you wanted so badly—the one I kept you from achieving.”

“Lidia…”

“What?” I interrupt her, leaning slightly toward her. “Does it bother you that I interpret it my own way? Because believe me, I’ve had more than enough years to think it over again and again.”

I notice Miriam watching me with concern, my father shifting restlessly in his chair, but I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. Because this is part of me too: the pent-up rage, the words that used to choke me and now spill out on their own.

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” Barbara murmurs, and there’s a new edge to her tone that makes me tense up even more.

“Oh, really?” I smile without a trace of joy. “Well, enlighten me, please. I can’t wait to hear it.”

“It’s not as simple as you make it sound.”

“Of course not,” I nod slowly. “It never is when it comes to justifying decisions that hurt another person.”

Silence.

“It wasn’t an easy decision,” she says, and for the first time I catch a small but real crack in her voice, a tremor of insecurity she’s trying to hide.

“But you made it,” I reply without hesitation. “And you don’t regret it.”

Silence again, but this time longer and heavier. Because we both know there isn’t much more to say.

I feel the sting in the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

“It’s always been like this with you,” I murmur, lowering my voice, almost as if I were talking to myself. “When something really excites you, when something new comes along that fills you up… everything else fades into the background. The rest stops mattering.”

“That’s not fair,” she protests quietly.

“No,” I concede. “It’s not fair. But it’s true. And you know that as well as I do.”

I slide back my chair and stand up, trying to take a deep breath, slowly; trying to pull myself together, even just a little. But it’s too late, and the knot has already formed in my chest.

“The damage is already done.”