Chapter 5
“In a couple of days I’ll send you what I have so far, and we’ll talk a bit about how we’re going to continue conveying the author’s style.”
Rebeca holds the phone between her ear and shoulder as she rummages through her bag for the building key.
The afternoon in Santander has turned colder than usual; a damp breeze carries the scent of the sea through the streets near El Sardinero, and the sky begins to take on the colors of dusk.
The chill creeps up her jacket collar, but she barely notices it: her mind remains caught up in the sentences she’s been polishing for hours, in the care she must take with the text so it captures the original’s meaning perfectly.
“Perfect,” Ariadna’s voice replies on the other end of the line. “I’m really interested to see how you handle the more introspective passages. The author is very careful with the rhythm of the sentences. I don’t want that pause between the lines to be lost.”
Rebeca smiles slightly as she manages to find the key.
“I know. That’s exactly why I’m going over it carefully. I want the tone to retain the weight of the original. I want it to feel as if the narrator is inside the narrative the whole time.”
“That’s why I knew I’d enjoy working with you,” Ariadna says, laughing a little. “You don’t just translate words; you translate atmospheres. And in this book, that’s almost more important than the plot itself.”
Rebeca turns the key in the lock. But just then, another hand appears on the door from the other side and pushes it slightly inward before she can open it.
The movement forces her to look up. And for a split second, her mind goes completely blank.
“But what…?”
Ariadna keeps talking on the other end of the phone.
“And let me know if Saturday’s movie plans are still on. There’s a screening of the adaptation of…”
Rebeca barely registers the words.
Time seems to have stopped in that small space between the front door and Julia’s direct gaze, in those brown eyes that have always had a certain glow of their own.
“Ariadna, I’m hanging up,” Rebeca blurts out suddenly.
She ends the call and tucks the phone into her coat pocket while trying to catch her breath. Julia watches her with a cheerful smile, almost as if she’s actually happy to see her.
“I bet the last thing you expected was to find me here, right?” she says, and her voice sounds exactly as Rebeca remembered it.
Before Rebeca has time to react, Julia steps closer and wraps her in a tight embrace.
The gesture catches her completely off guard.
Julia’s body presses against hers for a few seconds, and Rebeca stands stiff, her arms motionless at her sides, trying to figure out exactly what’s going on with her.
Finally, she manages to react and pulls away somewhat awkwardly, feeling the heat rise to her neck.
“Actually, yes,” Rebeca says once she regains a little control of the situation.
Her eyes continue to study Julia’s face with bewilderment.
Years have passed. But Julia has barely changed.
Perhaps her gaze is more mature, with a few fine lines here and there, but the open energy that always characterized her seems intact.
Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a few loose strands framing her face, and she’s wearing a denim jacket that fits her perfectly.
“What are you doing here?” Rebeca asks.
Julia tilts her head, clearly amused.
“Didn’t Martina tell you we’re married?”
The world stops.
Literally.
Rebeca blinks once. Then again. And again, and again.
For several seconds, her mind refuses to process what she has just heard.
“Married.”
The word hangs in her head.
“Excuse me?” she murmurs, and she has the feeling that it’s not her speaking, but someone else.
Julia frowns slightly, surprised by her reaction.
“Martina and I,” she clarifies casually, as if she were discussing what’s been happening in the neighborhood. “We got married four years ago. It was a small ceremony on the beach. Just family and close friends.”
Rebeca feels something inside her chest tighten with unexpected force. The air grows thick, making it hard to breathe. The expression must be clearly visible on her face, because Julia looks at her with some concern.
All these years, Rebeca has made sure not to know anything about Martina.
Not out of disinterest. But out of self-preservation.
When the relationship ended, the blow was too deep.
Not just because of the breakup itself, but because of everything that came after.
After the controversy with the publisher, and for months afterward, she tried to move on surrounded by memories that surfaced in every conversation, every encounter with mutual friends, every piece of news someone mentioned without malice.
Until she realized she couldn’t go on like that.
One night, before leaving for her first temporary assignment, she made it very clear that she didn’t want to hear anything about Martina.
Whether she was doing well or poorly. Whether she had rebuilt her life with someone else or not.
She needed silence—a silence that would allow her to rebuild herself without every fragment of the past reopening the wound.
And everyone respected that boundary.
For six years, no one mentioned her again. But it’s clear that fate always has cards to play.
“Wow… I hadn’t heard about that,” Rebeca remarks shortly afterward.
Julia looks at her for a second longer before smiling.
“Well, I guess that makes sense.”
“Why?”
“Because when things ended between you two, you disappeared completely,” Julia explains without a trace of reproach. “No one heard from you. Not even whether you were still in Spain. Some of us thought you’d gone abroad for good.”
Rebeca looks away for a moment. She isn’t surprised that’s how it appeared from the outside.
“It was what I needed at the time,” Rebeca replies without a hint of hesitation.
Julia nods slowly.
“I understand. More than you think.”
Then she opens the door wide and gestures for her to come in.
“Anyway,” Julia adds in a more cheerful tone, “now fate has decided that we’ll cross paths again. And honestly, I’m glad.”
Rebeca enters the building still feeling as if she’s walking through a strange dream. The lobby is lit by a warm light that highlights the light-colored marble floor. Everything feels too ordinary for the whirlwind that has just taken hold of her mind.
“When I found out you were our neighbor,” Julia continues as they head toward the elevator, “I thought about throwing you a welcome dinner. Something simple, unpretentious. Just to catch up.”
Rebeca blinks.
“A dinner?”
Julia nods enthusiastically.
“Of course. After so many years, it would be nice. Martina cooks very well, even if it doesn’t seem that way at first glance. And I’ll take care of dessert. I’ve always been better with sugar than with vegetables.”
The ease with which she says it gives Rebeca an almost surreal feeling.
“Is she trying to pull my leg or what?”
The invitation takes on a completely different dimension. A challenge. A provocation. Or perhaps, simply, a way to close a chapter that none of the three of them has finished writing and that continues to fill the same page.
Julia presses the elevator button.
“So,” she continues as they step inside, “why don’t you come over tonight? Nothing formal. A few drinks, something to eat, chat for a while. Just like the old days.”
Rebeca stares at her.
For a few seconds, she can’t come up with a coherent response. The scene is so absurd that her mind keeps trying to piece it all together.
Julia. Married to Martina. Inviting her to dinner. That very night.
The elevator doors close slowly.
Julia keeps talking as they start going up. She says something about the neighborhood, about how nice it is to live near the sea, about how much the area has changed in recent years. But Rebeca is barely listening.
The words reach her ears like a distant hum, a murmur without clear meaning, because her mind is occupied with something else.
With the image of Martina opening the door that night.
With the word “married” repeating itself over and over between the two of them.
With the certainty that, if she accepts that dinner, she’ll find herself face-to-face with her again in a space too intimate to pretend that the past is the past. With the terrifying possibility that, as she sits down at the table, she’ll feel that tug in her stomach again, that treacherous heat she’s never been able to control.
“So then,” Julia asks as the elevator doors open again, “are you coming to dinner or not?”
The silence stretches for another second.
Rebeca feels her heart pounding in her chest. She knows perfectly well what the most sensible decision would be. To say no. To come up with any reasonable excuse. To put some distance between them before the situation gets even more complicated.
But the shock, the surprise, and the pressure of the moment mix in a strange way inside her. And beneath all that, deep down, a dark, almost masochistic curiosity whispers to her that perhaps she needs to see it with her own eyes: Martina married, happy, unattainable.
And so, the answer slips out before she can stop it.
“Yes.”
Julia smiles with obvious satisfaction.
“Perfect. Around nine, does that work for you? Bring your good humor—we’re going to need it.”
Rebeca nods almost automatically.
“Yeah… okay.”
They walk down the hall together, and when they reach the door to Julia and Martina’s apartment, Julia turns around one last time.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Rebeca,” she says, and the comment has a sincerity that’s quite overwhelming. “Really.”
Then she goes inside and closes the door.
Rebeca stands motionless for a moment, staring at the wood of the door in front of her. She takes out her key, unlocks her own apartment, and steps inside quickly.
As soon as the door closes behind her, the pent-up tension explodes all at once.
She practically runs into the living room and tosses her bag onto the sofa while trying to catch her breath. She fumbles for her phone in her pocket and dials the number of the only person who could keep reality from eating her alive.