Page 45 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

“But we lost it,” I add, a lump in my throat.

“The truth is, I don’t know,” she replies. “Because there are things that don’t go away, no matter how far apart we are. There are things that stay inside, even if we try to tear them out by force. Things that can flare up again in the blink of an eye.”

I know what she means, and that’s why my heart is racing. We shouldn’t be having this conversation. Not like this. Not here, in the middle of the sea, with Miriam and my father just a few meters away from us.

“That doesn’t mean they’re good for us,” I reply, trying to sound firmer than I actually feel.

“It doesn’t mean they aren’t either,” she replies with a calmness that throws me off balance. “What if what happened the other day wasn’t a mistake? What if it was simply… us going back to being us?”

The tension hangs in the air again, but this time it’s different. It isn’t filled with anger or reproach, much less guilt or fear. It’s something softer, warmer, and for that very reason, much more dangerous, like a flame slowly flaring up.

“Barbara…” I begin, but the words get stuck in my throat because I know exactly where this is going. I feel it like a current dragging us back to the same place as always, and I don’t know if I have the strength to resist.

“The other day…” she says, lowering her voice until it’s almost a whisper. “What happened between us in the bungalow… I can still feel it on my skin.”

I close my eyes for a second, trying to stay in control as the images come flooding back without permission.

“It was a mistake,” I cut her off before she can continue.

“Do you really think so?” she asks after a few seconds.

Her tone isn’t defiant. It’s vulnerable, fragile, as if she were placing her heart in the palm of my hand and offering it to me unprotected.

“Yes,” I reply. “It can’t happen again. We can’t let it, Barbara. My father is getting married in a few days, and we… we already know how this ends.”

“But it happened,” she insists, leaning toward me slightly. “And it was real. We both felt it. You can’t deny that.”

I clench the towel between my fingers until my knuckles turn white, trying to hold on to something solid.

“But it doesn’t change anything,” I say, even though the words feel like a lie. “We’re still the same people who hurt each other last time. We’re still the same people who got divorced because we couldn’t find another solution.”

“It changed me,” she says without taking her eyes off mine. “It changed me because it reminded me of how I felt when I was with you. When everything clicks inside me and I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

“Pretend to be someone you’re not?”

I look at her with interest, and for a moment I’m caught again in the sparkle of her eyes, in that intensity with which she always managed to make me give in. It pushed me to forget everything else, even my own fears and everything I truly needed.

“No,” I say, getting up from the bench. “Don’t do this. Don’t start digging up what we’ve already buried.”

“What we buried?” she asks, confused. “Wasn’t it clear to you that we didn’t bury anything, Lidia?”

“Please, Barbara. Don’t go on.”

“Stop what?” she asks innocently, though we both know there’s nothing innocent about this conversation. “Telling the truth? Admitting that I still have feelings for you?”

“Going back there,” I reply, taking a step back to put some physical distance between us. “We can’t go back there, Barbara.”

“We never left there,” she clarifies with a certainty that takes my breath away. “And maybe it took me a long time to realize it, but every time I close my damn eyes, I’m back in your hands, at your mouth, in every moan that echoed off the walls that night.”

The air grows thicker, heavier, as if the sea itself were holding its breath at what’s happening on deck.

I take another step back, feeling the boat’s railing against my calves.

“I did leave,” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “And I plan to stay away. For my sake. For yours. For both of us.”

Her eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that almost hurts physically.

“Really?” she asks, her voice cracking slightly at the end. “Can you really look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel anything when I’m near you?”