Chapter 12
Dawn enters the bedroom with a soft light, filtering through the curtains with that distinctive hue of mornings on the coast. The storm from the night before has left the air clean, humid, still permeated with that scent of wet earth rising from the street and seeping through the cracks of the half-open window.
Rebeca opens her eyes slowly.
For a second she remains motionless, trapped in that confused state that exists between sleep and wakefulness, where sensations arrive before thoughts. The first thing she perceives is silence. A deep silence, interrupted only by the distant murmur of a car passing through the still-sleepy street.
Then comes the awareness of her body.
The sheets tangled around her legs.
The lingering warmth on the mattress. And with it, the memory of another breath sharing the same pillow.
Rebeca turns her head toward the right side of the bed and sees the empty space. The pillowcase is slightly wrinkled, and the comforter is completely disheveled.
Martina has gone back to her apartment, and that certainty pierces her chest with an unexpected pang. Or maybe not.
Rebeca stares at that side of the bed for several seconds, as if somehow Martina might reappear if she keeps looking at the space long enough.
But it doesn’t happen.
Reality sets in with all its clarity.
And then, as if someone had turned on a light inside her head, the memories come flooding back.
The storm.
The beers.
The laughter.
The way Martina looked at her from across the room.
The silence that fell between them.
The hands.
The kiss.
And above all, the way their bodies sought each other out with urgency, as if six years hadn’t passed, as if time had only served to build up desire rather than extinguish it.
Rebeca sits up suddenly in bed.
“Oh my God…” she murmurs, bringing both hands to her face. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
A snort escapes her lips as she lets herself fall back onto the mattress.
She kicks her legs for a moment, as if she were a teenager caught in a situation she doesn’t know how to handle.
“How could I have done this?”
The question hangs in the air of the bedroom.
For a moment, she thinks of Julia. Of that kind smile she gave her when she saw her in the doorway. Of the normal way they talked during dinner.
“How could we have done this to Julia?”
But even as she asks the question, Rebeca knows that’s not exactly the wound that hurts her.
Because what really leaves her breathless is something else.
It’s the memory of Martina’s lips. The pressure against her body. The way her hands traced her body with a confidence that comes only from memory, from gestures that were once part of their daily routine.
Rebeca closes her eyes tightly.
It’s etched into her skin.
She’s always carried it with her, and…
“God…”
She rests her forearm on her forehead.
Her body still retains that almost electric sensation that comes after an intense night.
As if every inch of her skin remembered the exact spot where Martina caressed her.
The touch of her fingers on her waist, the pressure of her mouth on her neck, the way her hips moved against hers with a desperation that needed nothing more.
“They’re going to kill me when they find out,” she murmurs.
She thinks fleetingly of her mother.
Her brother.
Of how her family has such a direct way of reading other people’s emotions as if they were open pages.
But that thought vanishes almost as quickly as it arrives, because her gaze falls on the clock on the nightstand. And the world starts moving again.
“Shit!”
It’s almost ten in the morning, and Rebeca jumps up, clumsily pushing the sheets aside as she gets out of bed.
“I’m late!”
She runs toward the bathroom, practically tripping over her own feet. Hot water pours down her back as her mind tries to sort through the jumbled thoughts swirling in her head.
She has a meeting with Ariadna in forty minutes. And she still has to get dressed, leave the house, and cross half the city.
When she finally leaves the apartment, the sky has cleared completely. The storm has left the streets gleaming, with small reflections of light in the puddles still lingering on the sidewalks.
The bus makes its way through Santander’s morning traffic while Rebeca tries to mentally review the last few chapters she’s been translating.
But the truth is that her mind isn’t cooperating much, because every time she tries to concentrate, the image of Martina leaning toward her in the dim light of the living room pops into her head.
By the time she arrives at the publishing house, the clock already reads ten minutes past the agreed-upon time.
Rebeca practically runs inside and takes a deep breath before knocking on the door to Ariadna’s office.
“Come in.”
When she opens the door, Ariadna is sitting behind her desk, reviewing some papers. Rebeca clasps her hands in front of her chest and gives a slight bow.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be late,” Rebeca says. “Last night was crazy, and I didn’t hear the alarm. Although now that I think about it… I don’t even know if I set it.”
For a second, Ariadna stares at her in silence.
Then she raises an eyebrow. Next, she bites the tip of the pen she’s holding between her fingers as an amused smile spreads across her face.
“I think this is the first time someone has walked into this office without blaming traffic for being late.”
Rebeca lets out a nervous laugh.
“I thought it would be better to tell the truth.”
Ariadna points to the chair across from her desk.
“Go on, sit down.”
Rebeca plops down in the chair as she tries to regain her composure.
“Would you like some coffee?” Ariadna asks, standing up.
“Yes, please.”
As the coffee maker starts up, Ariadna sits back down and flips through one of the documents on the table.
“I spoke with the author this morning.”
Rebeca looks up.
“Oh, really?”
“And he’s thrilled.”
Ariadna hands her the cup of coffee.
“That’s a good sign,” Rebeca replies, feeling the warmth of the cup spread through her arms.
“Not just that,” Ariadna continues. “The editorial team is also very happy. The style is fluid, very natural, and that’s exactly what we’re looking for.”
Rebeca looks down at her coffee, trying to hide the satisfaction she feels at hearing those words.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Especially in the dialogue,” adds Ariadna. “You’ve managed to preserve the original’s intent without making it sound artificial.”
For the next half hour, they go over specific passages of the manuscript together. They discuss the pacing of certain scenes, how to convey particular emotional nuances from English to Spanish without losing intensity.
The conversation flows easily. And when they finally take a break, Ariadna leans back in her chair with a thoughtful expression.
“By the way,” she says. “This Thursday I’m going out with some friends. We’re going to grab a drink, see what we can find around town. You should come along.”
An amused smile spreads across Ariadna’s face as Rebeca blinks.
“Me?”
“Sure.” Ariadna rests her elbows on the table. “That way you can get to know the city a little better. And meet new people. You must be the only lesbian who moves to a new city and doesn’t go out to check out the scene from day one.”
Rebeca laughs and hides her lips in her coffee cup.
“Maybe,” she replies, shrugging slightly. “My mom would say I’m a control freak.”
Ariadna raises an eyebrow.
“And is she right?”
“Pretty much.”
Rebeca takes a sip of coffee.
“Until I had the apartment completely tidy, I didn’t allow myself a single moment of rest after work.”
Ariadna shakes her head.
“That has to change.”
“I suppose so,” Rebeca replies, shrugging. She keeps smiling, but inside, a thought strikes her with brutal clarity.
Because she knows she has to do it.
She has to get out.
She has to take her mind off things.
And above all, she has to fill her head with other faces, other conversations, other names besides Martina’s.
“I don’t even know what I’m going to say to her when I see her again.”
She shakes her head inwardly and looks back at Ariadna.
“I accept.”
“I knew you’d say yes,” she says, flashing a smile.
“But don’t complain later if you find out I don’t handle alcohol very well.”
Ariadna bursts out laughing.
“Don’t worry.” She waves her hand dismissively. “My best friend is way worse.”
The two of them go back to poring over the papers.
And as the conversation turns back to work, Rebeca tries to convince herself that going out on Thursday is exactly what she needs. Although deep down, very deep down, she knows there are memories that don’t fade so easily.
When the meeting ends, Rebeca leaves the building with her head full of notes and her heart filled with a whirlwind of emotions.
The cool morning air feels like a soothing balm.
She walks slowly along the Paseo de Pereda, letting the sound of the sea accompany her.
The Cantabrian Sea glistens under the timid sun that has managed to break through the clouds, and for a moment she stops in front of the bay and takes a deep breath.
Her skin still feels sensitive, as if Martina had left invisible marks on every inch of her body.
She takes out her phone and opens the chat with Bruno to write a short message.
“Something happened last night.”
She deletes it.
She types again.
“I hope you can come soon. We have a lot to talk about.”
She hits send before she can change her mind, and the reply comes almost instantly.
“I’ll be there this weekend. Are you okay?”
She decides not to reply for now. Rebeca smiles bitterly, accompanied by a sun that’s already warming up a little more.
Santander slowly awakens around her. And Rebeca feels that she is awake too.
Even if she isn’t quite sure where that awakening will take her.