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“You should eat something...” he comments, misinterpreting my imbalance.
“I am fine.”
“You haven’t eaten anything today, Antonella. You are surviving on cups and more cups of coffee...”
“I’m fine, Marcos...” I reply more firmly and regret the next instant, when his eyes narrow to me, daring me to challenge him, because, God, I want to!I want to challenge him and send him to hell for thinking he has a right to tell me what to do. “Why are you here, Marcos?Why did you bother to spend the day in that hospital?Why, in the first place, did you follow me out of your apartment?” I release several questions at once, needing much more than a vague answer.
Needing to understand, needing anything to distract me from my other thousands of problems.Marcos laughs, and I frown.
“It’s not every day a woman turns her back on me and leaves me talking to myself, you know, Antonella?If some of them knew that this is a good way to make me go after them, they probably would have tried it by now, but until today, even I didn’t know that...”
“I had no intention of making you go after me!” I protest, indignant at the suggestion.
“Oh, I know.And that’s all the fun of it.You didn’t even realize I existed until I stopped you from continuing in the elevator...”
“I don’t understand,” I say, and again he laughs.
“I’m sorry, I suck at this and you’re going to have to excuse me for that too. But I’m trying to apologize to you...”
“You? Apologizing?” I question, and his reaction makes me wonder if I should paint his face a clown, because, again, he laughs. “You know, laughing at someone is not the best way to apologize for something...”
“I’m not laughing at you, Antonella, I’m laughing at how vulnerable you have me and the fact that there’s nothing I can do to remedy that, since I deserve every single one of your conclusions about me…”
“And either I’m exhausted, or you’re really not making any sense today.”
“It’s probably a mix of the two things...”
“And you still haven’t answered any of my questions.”
“That’s not true, I told you why I went after you...”
“Because I left you talking to yourself?”
“Exactly.This is curiously frustrating…” he replies, putting his hands in his short’s pockets, and I shake my head, unable to believe that this man is serious.I mean, it’s not possible that no one’s ever turned their back on him before, is it?
“Ok, and why did you stay?”
“Why did I stay?” He repeats my words, but seems to talk to himself, as if he also wanted to find out the answer to that question, but instead of giving me an answer, his next speech sounds almost like an accusation. “You have a daughter...” It’s my turn to laugh.
I look around me, seeing all the signs of Bella scattered around the apartment.
“I do...”
“At twenty-one…”
“At twenty-one…”
“And she is three...”
“And she is three, almost four...”
“How did this happen, Antonella?” I raise my eyes, finding his.My desire is to ask:seriously, Asshole Marcos? You really don’t know?Instead, I choose a diplomatic reply.
“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Marcos…” I admit, tired.Exhausted, actually, and he shakes his head, nodding in agreement.
“Where’s her father, Antonella?” A sound of derision leaves my throat without me being able to stop it.
“I’m her father, Marcos.Her father, her mother, and whatever else she needs me to be.” His face takes on a serious expression.
