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“Adrián? Are you... Are you okay?”
“Priscila, you need to come back to Spain. Right now.”
“What? Why? What happened?”
“It’s Alex...”
“What... What about Alex? What’s wrong?”
“He had an accident.”
“No.”
“Pris, it looks serious. Very. Come back.”
Just one “I love you”
Idon’t understand when it happened, but the summer is gone.
In two weeks and two days my brother is marrying Alicia. My house is a hive of nerves, preparations, dresses, suits, shoes, errands. Alicia is hysterical—in a good way—and Marcos has been working so much these past few weeks. He’s been called to every single emergency.
And three days after the wedding, on September 28th, I’ll return to the United States. It seems like only yesterday I was repeating the mantra “I’m going to stay here the thirteen weeks, then go back to Boston,” and now there’s only two weeks left. And, on top of that, I missed my chance to say “nine and a half weeks” like the movie.
Nope. I’m not doing well. I’m not doing well at all.
This last month has been too intense. Too perfect. I’d become unaccustomed to this. I’d forgotten what it was like to feel this good. What it was like to wake up excited to find out what the new day would bring. What it was like to open your eyes in the morning with a smile from ear to ear for no reason, and then look to my left and find him there. Sometimes asleep, sometimes not. I’d forgotten what it was like to be Alex and Priscila: stuffing ourselves with ice cream at sunset at our favorite ice cream parlor; enjoying the last rays of sun sprawled in the white wicker chairs on our terrace, facing the beach.
Loving each other, through sex, caresses, kisses. Through beautiful words. Through our eyes, communicating what we don’t express aloud.
We’ve eaten paella, gone all over the neighboring towns, bathed in my beloved Mediterranean Sea. Swum together in our cove, holding hands.
We’ve played with each other, played with words, played as if we were kids again, as it was before.
“Come on, Queen of the Desert, did you run out of steam over the years or what?”
“Not at all.”
“Then maybe it’s because your butt is bigger now.”
“What? That’s not true!” I looked at my rear just to check.
“Well, you’ve lost stamina then.”
“I’ll give you stamina.”
I overtook him, pedaling as hard as I could until I reached the bottom of the hill first.
“You let me win,” I said.
“No.”
“Then maybe your butt is bigger now,” I said, quoting him.
“Oh yeah?” he asked playfully.
“I think so, yeah.”
“Oh, you’re going to pay.”
