Chapter 11
THINGS ALWAYS GET WORSE
ELENA
Back in the day, Saturday was the perfect excuse to steal some of my mom’s makeup and wear the sexiest clothes I had hidden in my closet.
Carol, Ana, Vicky, and I would text each other throughout the week to plan the perfect night out, while the first two were pining for Jorge and Inaki, respectively.
And I would just read their messages and laugh, since Victoria was there and it was impossible for me to express how I felt when I was with her.
We’d spend those nights on the beach with music, have picnics under the moonlight, dance, laugh, and live life to the fullest. I was a kid who couldn’t put a name to her feelings, but I really liked my ex-wife; I felt comfortable, I was happy in her company, and without her I felt very strange.
Now, it’s my only day off, and I’ve decided to free myself from the temptation of responsibilities—and my fears—to visit my mother.
I’ve always believed that the northern part of the island is what perfectly represents the Ibizan lifestyle everyone talks about.
There are no bars, celebrities, or noise here; tourists are few and far between, and there’s a peace that seeps into your soul and washes away all the bad stuff.
Before heading home, I took a moment to stroll through the narrow streets, returning to those days when I was a girl who thought of nothing but having fun.
Today I feel cold and unflappable, and, in contrast to the sea, I’m a pool of water that makes no sound and has no rhythm.
I’m stuck; I’m unable to let go of what’s inside me, and I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces if I can’t break down these barriers.
I thought that in my therapy sessions with the psychologist I had learned not to bottle everything up, not to be afraid to open up, and to express my opinion.
But it’s clear that I’m still the same person who came back from Valencia frozen solid; with a broken heart and a soul in turmoil, insecure and insignificant.
Victoria has moved on, and I’m sure she’s very happy.
Part of me is glad, but the other part—the part that has always waited and held onto hope—is hurting and crying.
With the sadness of the news weighing on my mind, I climb the small cobblestone hill that leads straight to the little square where the house I was born in stands.
The palm tree is still in the same spot, and my mother’s red geraniums add a different touch to those blue planters resting on the white facade.
I can’t help but smile, and that helps clear my mind and make me feel less tired as I ring the doorbell and wait for my mother to open the door.
“Elena?” I don’t know how much time passes before she greets me with two kisses and a worried look. Work has taken up more of my time than I’d like, and I haven’t been able to visit her these past few weeks. “Is something wrong?”
“Have you heard the summer gossip yet?”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, confused and worried. “No one’s told me anything, but come in and tell me yourself.”
Silently, I make my way inside the house and immediately catch the aroma of the paella sofrito.
“I was cooking,” she explains as we walk toward the kitchen. “Your brother and Carolina are coming over for lunch. Do you want to stay? I can make a little more.”
“I’d love to.”
“That way you can give me a hand and tell me what’s going on.”
As if I were in my own home, I walk around her and look for a clean apron in the dish towel drawer. I don’t need her to give me any instructions because we always share these moments together—something that changed when I married Victoria and moved to Valencia.
“How are the wedding preparations going?” she asks as she dices the cuttlefish and starts adding it to the sofrito. “I hope your brother is behaving himself. I asked him nicely not to give you any more work than you already have.”
“You know that’s impossible, Mom…” I murmur as I grate a couple of tomatoes. “A wedding isn’t easy to organize, but if it’s your brother’s, even less so. I don’t want him to have just any ceremony; it has to be something special.”
“Oh, my girl… you’re so sweet,” she says affectionately and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m proud to know that my children get along so well.”
“It hasn’t always been like this; when he was little, he was unbearable.”
“But that’s just part of growing up!” she says with a smile. “You’ve had your share of rough patches, too.”
“Don’t even remind me,” I plead, and burst out laughing. “They were horrible.”
“Life isn’t easy, sweetheart. If it were, we wouldn’t learn anything.”
The sizzling of the oil silences our conversation as I toss the tomatoes into the paella pan and the aroma rises into the air, awakening all my senses. Suddenly, I’m transported back to the past, reliving the image of my father, and those memories are what push me to tell my mother what’s going on.
“Do you know that Victoria is coming to the wedding?” I ask without taking my eyes off the stove. “Carol told me yesterday that she called her to confirm it and that, well, she won’t be coming alone. Apparently she has a partner.”
“And what do you think about that?”
“It’s not my place to comment on her life,” I reply, trying to sound as cold as possible. “If she’s happy, I’m glad for her.”
“I was talking about her coming with someone,” she clarifies, snatching the wooden spatula from my hand. “But it’s good to know you’re happy for her.”
Suddenly, silence falls in the kitchen; we look at each other, and I’m not quite sure what to say.
I know she’s waiting for me to open up, to let out what’s inside me and explain why I came to see her; however, I can’t, and that frustrates me enough to pull away from her, avoid her gaze, and look for something to drink in the fridge.
“Elena…” she says softly, getting my attention. “You know you can’t hide anything from me, right?”
“I’m not…”
“It must be really hard knowing that your ex-wife has moved on with her life.” She crosses her arms and leans against the kitchen counter. “You had a really hard time when you split up, and I’d find it natural if you started crying right now.”
“That would be a bit dramatic of me, don’t you think?” With my eyes fixed on what’s inside the fridge, I feel my throat tighten and my eyes well up; I’d forgotten how easily my mother can bring out all my emotions.
“Honey, look at me…” One of her hands cups my face and forces me to look at her; and when I do, I break down and fall into her arms. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried like this, and as the tears stream down my cheeks, I feel the pain I’ve been carrying these past few days begin to ease.
“Come on, sweetheart, you know this was bound to happen.”
“But I never imagined I’d have to see it firsthand… It just couldn’t get any worse!”
“I think it could have,” she says, stroking my hair.
“If Victoria had decided not to come to the wedding, it would have meant that she doesn’t care about Carolina and your brother at all,” she reflects with the maternal gesture that has always characterized her.
“And that would have created a sense of unease among the group that would have clouded a happy moment.”
“But that’s going to happen anyway…”
“Are you sure?” she asks curiously. “I think you’re afraid of what will happen once you meet again. Am I wrong?” I shake my head a couple of times. “You can’t dwell on a future you don’t know will happen or not, my love.”
“I can’t help it…”
“Well, try to focus on what really matters.” She takes my hands. “It’s your brother’s wedding. You deserve to enjoy yourself and have a good time, too. We’re in Ibiza, the island of fun, and you can’t let work, Victoria, or whatever it is, stop you from smiling.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I see her, Mom,” I say, wiping away my tears. “I’d like to tell you I’ll be okay, but I guess I won’t know until it happens.”
“Don’t overthink things. Overthinking makes it worse sometimes,” she encourages me, and after one more hug, everything goes back to normal. “Let’s get back to the food, or your brother will grumble about it not being on the table when he gets here!”