Page 53 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

She slowly turns until she’s facing me. Her eyes open little by little, finding mine as if the past between us doesn’t exist. She looks at me tenderly, and in silence I repeat to myself over and over that this is the right thing, that she is the right thing, even while my conscience screams the opposite.

“I like waking up like this,” she says with a half-smile that lights up her whole face. “No alarms, no rushing around, no… real life breathing down my neck.”

She says the last part almost in a whisper, and I know I’m not the only one feeling it. But while I listen to her, my thoughts spin harder inside my head: “What if she knew my real life includes someone else? What if she knew every kiss I give her carries the weight of a double betrayal?” Remorse twists my stomach and crawls up my throat like bile. I’m lying to Ingrid with every message I send from here, and I’m lying to Lidia with every smile I give her. All for me. So I don’t lose this. So I don’t lose her. I just know that I truly love her. I love her so much that I’d rather carry this guilt alone than watch her break because of me.

“It’s dangerous,” I reply softly, though my voice trembles slightly underneath it all.

She frowns, amused, completely unaware of the storm raging inside my head.

“What is?”

“Getting used to waking up beside you,” I say, while in my mind I add: “Getting used to you, to this, to living inside a lie that grows bigger every day.”

Her smile widens, and she shrugs with that lightness I love so much and that hurts me at the same time because I can’t allow myself to feel that free.

“Well… then let’s not think about it right now.”

There it is again: that ability she has to make everything seem simpler than it really is. For one second, I desperately want to listen to her, to stay in this corner where nothing else matters, where only she and I exist. But the guilt won’t let me. I think about Ingrid, about the trust she’s placed in me, about how I promised her everything was fine and that she had nothing to worry about. And here I am, holding Lidia’s hand, feeling that my love for her is so real it hurts, while the guilt weighs even more heavily. I’m shielding Lidia from the truth because I know that if she ever found out, I’d lose her. And losing her isn’t an option. Not when she’s the only thing that makes me feel truly alive.

But I say none of that. I simply look at her and, without overthinking it, lean in to kiss her. Slowly, without urgency, as though time here in this bed has no power over us. Her lips answer with that tenderness that wraps around me, and for a moment, the remorse goes quiet. Only she remains. Only this kiss remains, tasting like home and like a lie at the same time.

· · ·

The resort restaurant greets the morning with sunlight pouring through the wide windows, filling everything with a warmth that should feel comforting but instead feels almost suffocating to me. The air smells of coffee, freshly cut fruit, and toast still warm from the oven. The soft murmur of conversation mingles with the endless sound of the sea, always there in the background like a constant soundtrack. We sit at a table by the window as though we’ve been sharing breakfasts in this exact spot our entire lives, as though this were normal, as though I weren’t building our relationship on quicksand.

“My head is going to explode today,” Lidia says as she pours herself coffee with a resigned look. “Miriam’s in full ‘the wedding is almost here’ mode and keeps sending me messages with new ideas every five minutes. I already told her everything is perfect and she doesn’t need to worry about anything else, but at this rate… she’s going to want to change even the flowers we picked out together.”

I laugh sincerely, though inside the sound catches in my throat. Her comment reminds me too much of the weeks leading up to our wedding: the nerves, the stress, the constant pressure.

“It’s normal for her to be like this. Remember how crazy things got with ours,” I reply. “If you need help, just tell me. I came here early because I didn’t want to miss these days for anything in the world,” I add, while inside my head another thought whispers: “I’d give up everything except this. Except you.”

“No, no,” she says quickly, pointing at me with her spoon. “You stay out of it. Somebody has to help my dad while I deal with all his ridiculous last-minute ideas.”

“Just admit you don’t want to deal with your father because you know he’ll be even worse. Coward,” I tease affectionately, though the word tastes bitter in my mouth because I’m the real coward here.

“He invited you,” she replies without losing her smile, winking at me with that familiar complicity we’ve always shared.

I watch her while she talks and feel something immense growing inside me, something dangerously close to the peace we had back when our relationship was good—that tempting idea that this could be real again, that we could live like this every day, without interruptions or lies. But then the guilt crashes back and forces me to look away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I reply, though even I know it sounds weak.

“That’s not true, and you know it. Come on, tell me.”

“Okay,” I admit, resting my chin in my hand. “I was just thinking that you’re really good at this.”

“At what?”

“At making everything feel easy, natural… like none of it takes effort. Like life gets simpler when you’re in it.”

She falls silent for a moment, stirring her coffee with the spoon while her gaze softens.

“It isn’t,” she says at last, lowering her voice slightly. “But here, with you, it feels that way. With you, everything feels lighter, Barbara. I don’t know how you do it, but you make me forget everything outside this island.”

I nod because I understand exactly what she means. Everything is simpler here. There are no consequences, the real world feels impossibly far away, and obligations seem to dissolve into the sound of the waves and the smell of salt. But I do see the consequences. I see them every time I look at my phone. I see them in every lie that leaves my mouth.

The vibration of my phone on the table shatters the moment. I glance at the screen, and Ingrid’s name lights up. My chest tightens instantly, and guilt settles like a stone in my throat. I’m here with Lidia, but at the same time I’m keeping another relationship alive with quick messages and harmless lies. All for me. All so I don’t lose anything. All so I don’t end up alone.