22. The Last Four Years
THE LAST FOUR YEARS
Dahlia
Barcelona during the summer will always be my favorite.
On a rainy day, the humidity can be insufferable but the irritation of such inclement weather pales in comparison to a day like today; low hanging sun, deep blue sky, and a light breeze.
I walk all of Placa de Ramon Berenuer el Gran until it turns into Carrer de la Tapineria and admire the view.
Tourists smiling for photos, a line of people gathering outside of the famous hot chocolate spot Lettie and I can never seem to get into, and a flurry of children run past as they chase each other in what seems to be an intense game of tag.
I catch snippets of German from their chastising mother as she tries to keep up with them.
Although I’ve lived here for years now, Barcelona still feels so new.
I may not be able to pronounce the Catalan street names properly or carry myself like a native but I almost prefer it that way.
Not quite Catalans and not quite a visitor but something in between.
An admirer, perhaps. I could walk these streets with my eyes closed and know that a few paces ahead, tucked into the alcove of the Museu Frederic Marès building, there’s a man who sits near the trees and plays old boleros on a guitar so lovely and frail, it must be decades old.
The way he caresses every note with such tenderness always sends a pang of longing through my chest.
He's there today, same as he is every Sunday and I leave five euros in his guitar case. I always catch him in the middle of a song so we’ve never really spoken except for when I compliment his music. But he smiles at me like he knows me and I suppose in a way, he does.
On Avinguda de la Catedral a street performer makes a pair of matching flowers out of red and purple balloons for two brunette little girls.
Wind whips through the vibrant green trees lining the avenue, rustling a few leaves free.
A couple shares an ice cream on a bench together with a toddler sitting in their stroller in front of them.
When the leaves fall and settle on the toddler’s lap, he squeals and holds up the leaves for his parents to see.
I cross the street and pass by Hotel Colón, wishing it was for sale because given the opportunity, I’d snap the property up for the Narvaez portfolio in a heartbeat.
The restaurant across the street from the Cathedral of Barcelona might be a bit of a tourist trap but my God is the view worth it.
Nearly eight hundred years of architecture history towers over the avenue like a feast for the eyes.
Having seen a number of renovations over the centuries, it’s current facade with lateral towers is only a hundred and some odd years old.
It's Gothic-style renovation was part of a broader movement in the 19th century to restore and complete other medieval structures in the city. Much of the Gothic Quarter isn’t even as old as it seems, a fact of which has always fascinated me.
I take it as a challenge. Identifying which buildings are truly medieval, which were restored, and which ones were constructed after the fact during the city’s expansion.
Luckily for me, my favorite table is open and so I duck under the shade of an umbrella and wait for a server to bring a pair of menus. I’m so lost in my own thoughts I hardly register the light touch of a woman’s hand on my shoulder.
“Am I interrupting?” Regina says.
I smile and get up from my seat. “Hardly.” We greet each other with a kiss on each cheek. “I was thinking about the Cathedral.”
“You and that Cathedral.” She sets her bags down on an empty chair and sits across from me. “I’d suggest you buy it but I don’t think the Pope would approve.”
“Neither would Alejandro,” I quip. “Even his wallet has limits.”
My comment manages to strangle an unwilling laugh from her. Regina is too serious a woman to ever be caught expressing joy which is why I take supreme pleasure in getting her out of character whenever I can.
“Did you order yet?” She asks.
“No and even if I wanted to, no menu. The waiters here hate me.”
She tsks. “Such an impatient American.”
“New Yorker, actually. And yes, there’s a difference.”
She makes a face before turning to catch the attention of a nearby waiter, a young, blond, pale-skinned girl who can’t be older than eighteen.
By the way she pops her hip and hands out the menus with pursed lips of disinterest, it’s evident she loathes her job but it doesn’t matter.
Neither of us needs recommendations and a single glance at the lunch options is all I need to place my order and then she’s off to grab our drinks.
“Before I forget,” Regina grabs the gift bag on the seat next to her and places it on the table. “This one’s personal. Your wedding registry was pretentious.”
“In my defense, Lettie was the one who put the Baccarat decanter on the registry, not me.” I smile. “But thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
The bag is considerably large—about the size of a square wall frame—and I wonder what it could be.
Too light to be glassware or any sort of statement piece, I assume it must be a coffee table book.
It isn’t until I remove the tissue paper and unwrap the gift inside do I realize it actually is a frame.
Preserved behind a glassy veneer is my wedding bouquet. I recognize the pale blue ribbon around the flower stems and the arrangement of burgundy, red, violet, pale pink, and white flowers all contained within an outer rim of greenery and baby’s-breath.
“Oh Regina…” For a moment I can’t find the words. “How did you—”
“At the end of the party, I pried it out of the cold, drunk hands of one of the wedding guests. Apologies if she was a relative of yours but I don’t think she was sober enough to notice.
” Regina replies. “The poor thing was massacred during the bouquet toss but I preserved what flowers were left thinking you might want them.”
“Believe me, I do. I intended to preserve something—the flowers, a table center piece, or maybe even one of the grape vines—but I’d been so overwhelmed I hadn’t had the chance to.” Touched by the gesture, I hold the frame close to my chest. “Thank you. I mean it.”
Regina’s mouth curves into a barely there smile. Just then, the waitress returns and sets our drinks on the table. I can tell Regina is relieved by the interruption and takes the opportunity to switch gears.
“As much as I’d love to hear all about your honeymoon, there are a few time sensitive items on the agenda.”
I take a sip of my sangria. “Working on a Sunday in August…shameful.”
“No rest for the wicked.” She shuffles through the various folders and documents in her leather attaché case before producing the one she was looking for. “While I was in Turkey last week, I visited a property you might be interested in.”
“Speaking of boyfriends.”
She does her best not to roll her eyes. “No one said anything about boyfriends.”
“Where is that yummy piece of eye candy of yours? Is he wandering around?” My eyes scan the crowd. “I don’t see your seven-foot Adonis anywhere.”
“He’s not that tall and he’s not my boyfriend, can you focus please?
” She opens up the folder and flips to a series of photos inside.
“Another developer is closing in on the property and there will likely be a sale before week’s end.
If you want it, you should put an offer in now.
And a competitive one too. Late Ottoman era with good bones and—”
“Oh! Look! Found him!” I exclaim. “He’s standing by the taverna pretending to be on the phone.”
I wait for Regina’s “secret” boyfriend to turn in our direction and wave giddily. His brows furrow as he glares at me before turning away. Color blooms across Regina’s sandy cheeks and she rubs her temples.
“I don’t know how Alejo puts up with you.”
“I’ll let you talk business if you tell me whether or not he fucks as good as he looks.”
She tilts her head at me. “About as good as Alejandro if that’s what you’re asking,”
My jaw comes unhinged but no words come out. I reach for my glass and lift it in her direction. “You know what? Touché. I deserved that.”
“This is work and so is he. Besides, shouldn’t you have a guard somewhere?” She lifts her head and glances around. “Where’s Beni?”
“Alex and I haven’t walked around with a proper security detail in ages. Times have changed.”
“And so has the family business.” Regina remarks.
“Thank God for that.” I take the pen she offers.
No one understands Regina and me. At first glance, we’re a match made in Hell, two women who were once in love and engaged to the same man at different moments in time.
In the beginning, I hated and envied her for all she was as a woman and everything she’d once represented for Alejandro.
Years passed and I learned the root of my envy was simply a lack of knowledge.
“And don’t forget we still have to settle on a date for the lounge’s re-opening.” She reminds me. “How do you feel about the fall?”
I scan the documents awaiting my signature. “October should be fine unless you have any objections.”
“No objections only a word of advice. There are still the Twelve Families to think about.”
I suck on my teeth. “Ah, yes, twelve lovely thorns in my side. I thought when Alejandro finally decided to turn the business around we wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore.”
“Do you think there’ll ever be enough time for that? Or will it be another generation before you’re finally free?”
I pause. “I’m not sure.”