Page 100 of A Perfect Disaster

“Coming from the woman who’s supposed to love me, yes, Gonzalo, that’s what I expected. That she’d at least give me the benefit of the doubt and five minutes to explain myself.”

Gonzalo comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the sidewalk. He turns toward me, fixes me with a stare, and raises an eyebrow with his usual theatrical flair.

“Yeah, right. The little technical problem is that you didn’t say any of that to her face. Not a single word. You just pulled strings in the ship’s administration department behind her back, using your contacts, and now you’re complaining that she feels her pride has been hurt.”

I open my mouth, ready to fire back. But I close it again. I hate it with all my soul when he’s right.

Exactly five days have passed since the Marine IV docked at this pier. Five days since that blessed meeting with Arturo and Julianne. Five days since the perfect future—the one that wouldn’t fit in a suitcase—unfolded before my eyes. And five days, too, since Maika crucified me with her gaze, called me a liar and a traitor in front of the bosses, and walked away.

Since that damn moment, she hasn’t replied to a single message. Not a single sign of life.

Since the ship is in port for maintenance before setting out on its next voyage, the crew will enjoy a few days off. Some have booked express flights to see their families; others prefer to stay on the island, soak up the terraces, and sleep soundly in their hotels. I, on paper, should be popping open champagne. Because as soon as this contract ends, I’ll be saying goodbye to life at sea. And yet, for the past five days, I’ve been carrying a void right below my sternum.

“She doesn’t even bother to read my WhatsApp messages,” I murmur, feeling pathetic.

Gonzalo starts walking again, glancing at me sideways with a hint of compassion.

“She sent the kids a message saying she was going to be with her grandmother. Give it some time, Helen.”

“What if she decides she’ll never forgive me?” I ask.

“Well, in that case, you’ll have to turn into that typical tragic, stuck-up lady who stares at the horizon from the bridge window, sighing every time a passenger asks for lemon juice,” he mocks.

I slap him.

“I’m not in the mood for your jokes, Gonzalo, I’m warning you.”

“I know. That’s why I’m giving you my watered-down version, the one without rhymes or jokes about emotional shipwrecks.”

We keep wandering the streets, climbing the cobblestone slopes of Dalt Vila, moving away from the tourist hubbub of the port. This part of Ibiza is beautiful at this hour, and my gaze settles on a couple of young girls laughing as they sit on a stone staircase, kissing freely.

God, I’m so fucking jealous of them.

“It’s just that I wanted to get that dead weight off her back…”

Gonzalo lets out a sigh.

“I know, Helen.”

“And Maika is so incredibly proud that if I ever handed her the money, she’d make me eat it bill by bill. She would never have accepted it.”

“I know that too, and so does anyone who knows her,” he agrees.

“So! What was I supposed to do, just stand there and watch her world fall apart?” I exclaim, stopping in the middle of a small square.

Gonzalo stops in front of me. Behind him, a couple of kids are playing with a worn-out ball, and an old man is dozing in the sun on a bench.

“Talk to her. Face to face, looking into those beautiful eyes of hers and treating her as an equal.”

“It wasn’t that simple,” I protest, crossing my arms.

“Nothing is simple with you, because you turn ‘I love you and I want to help you’ into an operation with international implications and hidden agendas.”

“I didn’t want her to feel inferior, or to think I was pitying her,” I confess.

“And you really think finding out from a call from the director of the nursing home made her feel very dignified?” he fires back.

I shut my eyes tight. Yeah, I’ve earned her hatred fair and square.