36. How It Ended
36
HOW IT ENDED
Dahlia
The Past
I t’s well after midnight by the time I return home.
I drove all the way to the Andorran border before I realized I’d be fucked if I ended up there without a passport or a wallet and drove back. The close proximity of European countries is something I’ve not yet become accustomed to. Roughly five hours of driving in New York won’t get you from Manhattan to Buffalo but in this part of Spain, it’ll take you to the border of another country.
As soon as I pull onto our street, I prepare myself for the confrontation awaiting me at the door. Alejandro is going to rip me a new one. If I thought I was being held captive last summer, I have no doubt he’ll sedate me and have a doctor put a weird tracking device in one of my molars. And then he’ll handcuff me to the bedpost and make Do?a Ana bring me my meals on a silver tray until the end of time. Although exhausted from the drive and emotionally drained from the events of the past week, I can’t say I’m dreading it.
At least someone cares about me enough to be furious when I disappear. In fact, as I unlock the front door, a weight melts off my shoulders.
Finally, I think. He’s going to remember I exist.
I love main the foyer of our house.
It’s all white stone, iron railings, and elaborate stained glass. Swooping arches, marble floors, and a twirling stone staircase that’ll bring me upstairs to the principal hall. Often times I wonder what to do with all this palatial space. Our family isn’t big enough to necessitate a house of this size nor do we receive many visitors.
Oh, but I love it. I love it with my whole heart. I walk through the front doors and am transported to a place outside of time. One where women float through the halls wearing large bustles and swooping skirts and the men still carry walking canes and top hats. What’s always appealed to me about Barcelona is its beauty and how at every turn, you’re astonished by the capacity of human imagination. Of all the cities I’ve been to, it’s one of the very few whose uniqueness and creativity loans it an air of magic and mysticism that others do not.
And this little piece of heaven is mine . It’s the closest to feeling at home that I’ve ever been.
Much to my surprise, the only light that’s on is the standing lamppost at the foot of the stairs. Otherwise, the only other light comes from the upstairs windows as they cast downward shadows of red, blue, green, and purple on the white floors. And sitting right beneath the lamp under an array of colorful darkness is Alejandro.
He sits with his elbows on his knees, fingers on his temples, eyes shut. I have no idea how long he’s been here but his scarf and gloves are discarded beside him and his coat hangs open. He doesn’t hear me approaching and only looks up once I’m standing toe to toe with him. When he lifts his head I hold my breath and brace myself for the impact only, the verbal hit never comes.
Alejandro gets up, looks at me for a long while, and briefly touches my cheek. I’m not sure how to react. Is this the calm before the storm? Will he ream me out in the morning? Is he waiting until we get upstairs?
Wrought with uncertainty, I decide to break the silence. “How long have you been down here?”
“I have no idea,” he answers honestly.
I press my lips together. “Alex, I’m so?—”
“Let’s go to bed.”
He turns around and heads up the stairs, each step more laborious than the last. I can see the effort it takes him to move, as if every time he lifts his leg another weight falls down on his shoulders. And like an idiot, I just stand there. Dumbstruck and fumbling for a response, for anything to say in the face of such indifference. I almost can’t believe this is happening.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
He reaches the top of the stairs and sighs. “Not tonight, Dahlia. Please .”
He walks into the apartment and the finality of his absence from the halls lights a fire under me.
Sensation returns to my outer extremities and I race up the stairs and into the apartment, trailing after him as he leaves his coat in the closet by the door and his keys on the table.
“How long were you out there waiting?”
“Waiting?” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Waiting for what?”
“For me.”
He looks at me but he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking through me.
“Dahlia.”
The way he says my name…I hate it. Each syllable is elongated and heavy, as if being drawn from his lips by force. When did he start saying my name like that? And why am I only noticing now?
“Please, we can talk in the morning?—”
“I don’t want to talk in the morning, I want to talk now ,” I say. “Did you even notice I was gone?”
He frowns. “You left? When?”
Right then and there something in me just snaps .
“I’ve been gone six hours. Six hours! No phone, no wallet, no ID.” I rattle each item off on my fingers. “Nothing. You mean to tell me you had no idea I was gone for that long? Where the fuck did you think I was?”
“Your room.”
He turns and walks away. Leaves me by the front door of our apartment as if he can’t be bothered. I refuse to be ignored by him any longer.
I follow him down the gallery hall where one wall is flowery stained glass mosaics and the other is fine chinoiserie I spent weeks restoring by hand. The lights are off so I turn on the first lamp I encounter.
“I’m not done talking to you.”
“Dahlia, ya te dije que no quiero hablar. Mejor esperamos hasta la ma?ana y lo prometo que?—”
“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow, I want to talk now. So either talk to me or I won’t be here in the morning.”
With a heavy exhalation, he turns to face me. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”
I can’t tell if it’s exhaustion or condescension in his voice. Either way, it disgusts me.
“For once I would like my presence to be acknowledged without such a strenuous effort on your part. I’d like to feel that my desire for your attention isn’t such a burden.”
“No one said your desire for attention was a burden?—”
“But that’s the way you make me feel!”
It all rushes out of me at once. A high-pitched scream I don’t recognize, the sound of a neglected creature begging not to be abandoned. It strikes a nerve and suddenly I’m a little girl again waiting at the door of our apartment for a father who may not come back. I’m sitting at the end of a hospital bed awaiting the recovery of a mother who’d rather die than stay with me. It’s Lyss moving to the other side of the country without telling me and it’s all the years of isolation that follow.
It’s Karina. Leaving me in Barcelona to chase after Brent, planning her wedding on a holiday that used to be special to us, and choosing him at every step of the way, even at the cost of painting me as a liar.
For once, I’d like to be chosen in return. Just once I’d like to be enough. Me, Dahlia. As I am, without having to bend backward for the people around me. No choosing colleges to accommodate other people, no tolerating boyfriends I hate, no moving halfway across the world with the promise of being loved only to be discarded within the year.
Alejandro stands at the other end of the hall and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. I want him to say something but he never does.
“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
“Dahlia…” His fists clench and unclench at his side. “I…I just don’t have the capacity for this right now. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have the capacity ?”
Silence engulfs us. If not for the flickering lamp at my side, I’d not be able to see him behind the haze of tears clouding my vision. As it is, he’s a glowing shadow at the end of a long, empty hall of which I have no desire to set sight on ever again.
What’s the point in yelling and screaming when he isn’t going to hear a word? What’s the point in this house if there’s no family living inside of it?
I expected us to go down in flames. Something catastrophic, explosive, and cataclysmic. There’d be screaming, crying, shattered objects. Emotion .
In reality, it is very quiet and very sad. I don’t think either of us is speaking the same language anymore. We’re completely lost in translation so what would be the point in trying?
Yet still, I wait. Maybe he’ll come to his senses. He’ll look at me and I’ll see the moment my Alejandro comes back. He’ll embrace me, apologize to me, tell me he loves me. I’ll be the center of his universe again and everything will be right with the world. In the morning he’ll tell me what’s on his mind and I’ll tell him how I’ve felt all these months. We’ll work through it together and we’ll be okay.
Too much time passes and I hold my breath. No, of course he wouldn’t do those things.
He doesn’t have the capacity for them. And I respect myself too much to sit around and wait for him to remember I exist.
“Está bien, Alejandro. Como quieras.”
I walk past him and for a moment—a split second of time and nothing more—I think he reaches for me. I feel the brush of his arm against mine.
I keep walking and he doesn’t follow. I go all the way to our bedroom where I lock the door behind me and come up with a plan. Within the hour, I’ve showered, changed, and packed everything I could into the only two pieces of luggage I’m confident I can wheel by myself. Only the necessities and my keepsake box are coming with me.
Once I’ve allowed my mind and body to shut down it becomes easier to move through the motions. I wheel my luggage out of the apartment and down the steps of the foyer. The house doors open and a stream of laughter and singing echoes throughout the room. Diego and Lettie enter first, presumably having just returned from their grandfather’s party in Vallvidrera, followed by their security detail.
Lettie is the first one to see me and the light in her expression diminishes upon seeing my luggage. “Dahlia?”
“I need someone to drive me to the airport. I was going to do it myself but I can’t leave my car there.” I look at Diego. “Can you drive me? Or have you been drinking?”
He stumbles over his words. “I…well, um, I haven’t.”
“Then I need you to drive. Please.” Sensing the question before it comes, I say, “Your brother is here…somewhere.”
Paco steps out from behind Diego and makes for the stairs but I cast my eyes in his direction, pinning him in place.
“Don’t bother him until morning.” My voice is firm when I speak and so unlike how I feel on the inside. “ I mean it .”
Lettie’s eyes well with tears as she approaches. “Dee, please…”
“You can come with us if you’d like.” I extend one of the suitcases to her. “Could you help me?”
Diego, whom up until now, had been frozen in place finally leaps to action. He takes the handle of both suitcases from me and when the men look to him for instruction, his expression hardens.
“You heard her. Not a word until morning.”
T he drive to the airport is spent mostly in silence, save Diego’s occasional plea for me to wait until morning. Or at least until he can charter a plane for me. I tell him there’s no need. From the backseat, I purchase a ticket on my phone and text Lyss the details. She’s confused at first, but I promise to call her in a bit and fill her in. Instinctively, I almost send a text to Karina too when I remember we aren’t speaking anymore and likely won’t ever again.
Lettie cries quietly from the front seat but makes no effort to dissuade me from my decision. If anything, she keeps her chin held high and even fixes my hair when we get out of the car. Something about the wind tousling my waves.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to go in with you?” Diego asks.
“I’m fine. I promise.”
I hug him first and then Lettie who holds on much tighter and for much longer. As soon as we pull away, the reality of my decision begins to settle in.
Is this a mistake?
Am I being irrational?
Should I wait until morning like Alejandro asked?
The doubt must be written across my face because Lettie says, “We could call him. There’s still time.”
Time? Time for what?
They could call but what if he doesn’t answer his phone? They could call and he could answer but what if he doesn’t want to stop me from leaving? What if deep down he’s been pushing me away for this exact reason; so that I’d make the decision to leave on my own.
Maybe it makes me prideful or self-absorbed but he’s wounded my ego enough. I won’t allow another rejection from him to cut me to the core.
“Don’t bother. He won’t answer anyway.”
He never does.
Luggage in hand, I still hesitate to leave them behind. This feels so permanent. So final. At the last second, I turn around and I can see the hope in their eyes as they wait for me to speak. Unfortunately, I shatter their illusions swiftly and without prejudice.
“I want you to know this doesn’t change anything. What’s happened between Alejandro and me is separate from the way I feel about you. And I love you, both of you. Very much. Nothing will ever change that.”
This time when I turn to leave, I don’t look back.