Page 89 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

“You inherited that from your father, sweetheart.”

“My dad cries even at cologne commercials, Miriam. Don’t exaggerate.”

“Your father is so sensitive he’s capable of crying because he lost his favorite shirt,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh for real. This moment loosens the knot I’ve been carrying in my heart for days and lets me breathe a little easier. “When he wants to, he’s a little teddy bear.”

“I totally believe that,” I admit, still smiling.

Miriam looks at me again, and there’s tenderness in her smile, but also understanding and concern. Ever since what happened with Barbara, she and my father have been keeping a close eye on me. I know things haven’t been easy; I can see it in her eyes through the mirror’s reflection.

“How are you, sweetie?” she finally asks, with that sweetness that never fails.

I’ve been dodging that question for days, ever since that night at the restaurant when my world came crashing down. I look away toward the open window. Outside, the afternoon sun generously bathes the resort’s garden. Everything is ready for the wedding. I visited the area a few hours ago. The chairs are lined up facing the sea, the sheer fabrics have created a beautiful space, and the cream- and pale pink-colored flowers adorn every corner with a delicacy that seems straight out of a dream.

It’s beautiful. Everything is.

My father is marrying today the woman who has brought joy back into his life in such a pure, serene way that sometimes just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I should be happy. I am, truly. But I also feel a huge hole in my chest, a void I can’t seem to fill no matter how hard I try.

“I’m fine,” I lie with a smile I’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror more times than I care to admit. “Today, I’m not going to let anything ruin my day. There will be time to sort through all these emotions when I get home and back to my usual routine.”

Miriam raises an eyebrow skeptically yet affectionately.

“That sounded like, ‘If anyone asks you about Barbara, you’ll fall apart.’”

“Miriam…”

“No, sweetie,” she interrupts me gently. She turns on her stool to face me. “Don’t give me that ‘I’ve got everything under control’ look because I know you better than you think, and I know exactly when you’re about to break inside.”

And then, I break down a little. Just enough to make my heart ache. I sit on the edge of the bed, facing her, and look down at my hands. I clasp them together, let them go, clasp them again, searching in that repetitive gesture for a bit of calm that never quite comes.

“I’ll get better with time,” I say after a few seconds, my voice low and restrained. “I just have to accept that there are things that, no matter how much you want them, don’t work out.”

Miriam leans toward me and places a warm, firm hand on my knee.

“Last night I was with Barbara and…”

I jerk my head up. My heart lurches so violently in my chest that I even get angry at myself. Just hearing her name is enough to throw everything inside me into turmoil. And that scares me terribly.

Miriam holds my gaze with that infinite patience she’s always had with me.

She doesn’t need to add anything else. She doesn’t need to tell me exactly what they talked about, or how she was, or if she cried, or if she asked about me. Because the truth just spills from my lips on its own.

“I know,” I whisper, and my voice trembles like a leaf in the wind. “I miss her too.”

As soon as I say it, I feel the lump rise from my chest to my throat like a wave ready to drown me. I try to swallow, but I can’t. Tears fill my eyes instantly.

Miriam says nothing. She just waits, and that makes me crumble a little more, as if her silence had the power to open all the doors I’ve shut since that night.

“It’s ridiculous. After everything that’s happened, after how much she hurt me, after how she lied to me… I still miss her. I still wake up in the middle of the night needing her company, wondering if she’s awake or not, if she’s had dinner. I still avoid walking past her bungalow because I know that if I see her, I’ll want to run to her like an idiot.”

Tears roll down my cheeks. I wipe one away angrily, as if that gesture could also erase the feeling that caused it.

“And it makes me angry to be this way because I’ve fought so hard to be halfway okay, only for all this love to break me again just like it did before.”

Miriam gets up slowly, kneels in front of me, and takes my hands tenderly. Her fingers are warm, firm, confident.

“You’re not breaking because of love,” she tells me calmly. “You’re facing your fear, Lidia. And that’s very different.”

I look at her, my vision blurred by tears, my eyes swollen, and my heart racing.