CHAPTER 15
EMOTIONS UNDERWATER
Lidia
The engine cuts out with one final deep, rumbling chug, and the silence that settles afterward spreads over the water, covering everything.
The boat is no longer moving forward, though it continues to rock gently, swayed by a sea that from up here looks like an immense sheet of turquoise glass, sparkling and almost unreal under the midday sun.
I rest my forearms on the warm railing and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with that distinct air that exists only in the middle of the sea.
Cleaner, saltier, rawer, and more honest than the air you breathe on dry land.
The smell of salt fills my nose and seeps into my skin, as if to remind me where I am and with whom.
“Well,” says Miriam, clapping her hands softly to break the stillness a little. “Welcome to paradise, girls.”
She isn’t exaggerating one bit. The water is so clear it makes my head spin.
I can make out the reefs clearly, teeming with twisted corals, patches of intense colors moving lazily with the current, and fish of all sizes darting by like arrows of living light and disappearing into the crevices of the seabed.
“It’s incredible…” I murmur, barely realizing the words slipped out loud.
“I told you so,” my father replies with that smug, slightly boastful smile he wears when he knows he’s right. “You don’t see this in Valencia, do you?”
And he’s right, because only in a few coves and beaches along the Mediterranean can you find a sea as clear as this.
Though my focus isn’t on the details, but on Barbara and the effect she has on me every time she comes near.
I don’t know how she does it, but she makes everything else fade away, my senses narrow in on her, and my eyes drift over her hair and that look of concentration she puts on when she wants to pretend she’s in control of the situation.
“Are you feeling better now?” I ask without turning my head toward her, keeping my gaze fixed on the horizon.
“Yes,” she finally replies. “Much better.”
She’s lying. I know because I’d do the same in her place. I wouldn’t let myself show weakness, much less let her be the one to discover that my world falls apart when the scent of her perfume makes my knees tremble.
“Sure,” I murmur, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. “Your face doesn’t lie.”
“Thanks for the honesty,” she replies, and that ironic, playful tone slips into her voice—the one that always drew me in and was, on many occasions, the reason our fights ended in unforgettable sex.
“It’s one of my many charms—what can I say?”
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
The exchange flows lightly, almost casually, as if nothing had happened between us.
And that’s precisely why it’s dangerous.
During those few seconds, everything seems easy again.
Just like before. Just like when there were still no cracks, no heavy silences, no words stuck in our throats, no tears or disappointments between us.
“I’m going to get the snorkeling gear ready,” Miriam announces, breaking that fragile balance with her usual energy. “As soon as everything’s ready, we’ll jump in the water, okay?”
“I’m coming with you,” my father volunteers, quickly following her toward the stern.
We’re left alone, and the silence changes texture. It grows thicker. I force myself to look toward the horizon, searching that distant line for something to anchor me, but it doesn’t work. I feel her move and come a little closer to me.
“Thank you,” she says then, in a much softer, more intimate tone.
I swallow before answering.
“For what?”
“For earlier,” she clarifies softly.
“Oh. That.”
“It was nothing,” I reply quickly, downplaying it. “It was the least I could do.”
“Even so… thank you.”
I know she means it sincerely, and that throws me off balance.
A long time ago, we were everything to each other; I spent my days talking about her, dreaming of her; I felt fulfilled, happy, complete.
But even the greatest love in the world can’t save itself when it isn’t enough.
And for Barbara, it wasn’t. I shrug, trying to look nonchalant.
“I don’t like seeing people go through a hard time,” I add. “And even less when it comes to…” I stop myself mid-sentence.
“When it comes to me.”
I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence, but I don’t need to. The words hang between us like a half-shared secret.
“You’re just the same as always,” she says after a few seconds, with a half-smile barely touching her lips.
I furrow my brow slightly, intrigued.
“The same how?”
“The same as…” she hesitates, searching for the right word. “Transparent. You can see everything on your face, even when you try to hide it.”
I let out a short laugh, incredulous.
“I don’t know if that’s the word most of my friends would use to describe me.”
“Well, I would use it,” she insists. “It’s always been that way.”
I look at her then. Our eyes meet and stay there, locked. Suddenly I feel that invisible pull again, that undercurrent that drew me to her the first time I saw her. As if our bodies recognized each other again despite the time apart, the distance, or the decisions that led us to end our marriage.
“Well,” I say, looking away before she can completely draw me in. “Not everyone has your gift for reading people.”
“And I don’t need it,” she replies in that soft voice that sends shivers down my spine.
Before I can say anything else, Miriam returns with the masks and snorkels in her hands.
“Team ready!” she exclaims enthusiastically. “Come on, let’s see who jumps in first.”
“Me,” my father announces, and without a second thought, he yanks off his T-shirt. “I’m not going to let you beat me, you know.”
“So competitive, please,” Miriam teases with a laugh.
The atmosphere relaxes instantly. There’s laughter, movement, preparations. I grab one of the masks, grateful for the distraction that pulls me out of the whirlpool of thoughts.
“Are you coming in yet?” Miriam asks me as she adjusts her fins.
“I’m coming,” I reply. “Give me a second.”
I only need one. I walk over to the railing again and look at the water. It’s so clear it’s almost frightening, as if it has nothing to hide. And then I jump.
The impact is cool and enveloping. The water embraces me all at once, washing away the sticky heat of the air, the noise of the world, even the weight of my own thoughts for a precious moment.
Below the surface, everything changes. Sound fades away, replaced by a liquid, eerie silence that envelops everything.
Sunlight filters through in irregular rays, casting dancing shadows on the seabed, and in my ears, I hear only my heart.
I swim slowly, letting my body get used to the sway of the water.
Fish brush past me, indifferent. The corals open up like tiny living cities, full of colors and textures that seem otherworldly.
For a moment, I manage to forget about Valencia, about Alex, about Barbara, and about how complicated everything has become—about what still hurts when I take a deep breath.
But then my attention returns to her.
Barbara is a few feet away from me, moving cautiously, still a little stiff, as if her body doesn’t quite trust its balance yet. Even so, there’s something about the way she glides, the way she tilts her head to look at the water, that feels painfully familiar to me. All too familiar.
I stand there watching her, and it’s a huge mistake.
Because the moment I do, the memories come flooding back like a cold current dragging me backward.
To those weeks when it all began without either of us seeing it coming.
To the first time I realized that her laughter had stolen everything from me in two seconds.
To how she gradually crept into my head and into my heart.
And then to everything else: the accidental brush of her fingers that stopped being accidental, the closeness that became more and more necessary, the warmth of her skin against mine on those nights we didn’t want to end, and the way she looked at me when she thought I didn’t notice.
A shiver runs down my spine, and it has nothing to do with the water’s temperature. I try to look away, but I can’t. There’s something magnetic about her that’s always been there, and now, surrounded by this endless blue and this absolute silence, it grows stronger.
My mind tries to make sense of it all. She reminds me of Alex.
Of her easy laugh, of how effortless it is to be with her, of how good she makes me feel, of how much we could build if I let myself go completely.
But my body won’t listen to reason. My body remembers.
And it desires. It desires as if time had stood still, as if the wounds had suddenly healed and nothing existed beyond this moment.
I press my lips together beneath the mask, struggling to maintain control, to raise the barriers I worked so hard to build.
But then Barbara turns her head and sees me.
Through the fogged-up glass, despite the distance between us, I know she’s looking at me and can read in my eyes everything I’m holding inside.
My heart is racing down here, where everything should be calm and still. I feel noise inside me, too much noise. I move closer without realizing it, just a little, just enough for the space between us to shrink and the past to blend with the present in a dangerous way.
I could reach out my hand. I could brush her arm, check if her skin still feels the same beneath my fingers.
The thought pierces me with an intensity that frightens me.
Because I want to do it. I want to know if she’s still her, if I’m still me when I’m this close.
But I don’t do it because I know what’s at stake.
I know how hard it was for me to climb out of that pit.
I know there are things that, once broken, can’t be put back together.
Even so, neither of us moves away. We remain suspended in the midst of that seemingly endless blue, looking at each other as if there were no world above filled with all those things we abandoned, those promises we broke, and those dreams we never made come true.
As if it were enough to just let ourselves go.
But it isn’t enough. It has never been enough. And we both know it.
Finally, I look away. It’s a small gesture, almost insignificant, but it costs me everything. I swim in the other direction, searching for air, even though my lungs aren’t asking for it, searching for distance, even though my skin rejects it.
When I lift my head out of the water, the sun hits me hard again, bringing me back to reality with almost cruel clarity. I take a deep breath, too deep a breath.
“Everything okay?” Miriam asks from the boat’s rail, her voice cheerful.
“Yes,” I reply, forcing a normalcy I don’t feel. “It’s… incredible.”
And it is. But not because of the corals or the fish. Not for the reasons they think.
I rest my hands on the edge of the boat without climbing back on yet.
I need one more second. One to pull myself together, to remember who I am now, who I want to be.
But as I close my eyes to give myself that moment, I know that no matter how much I want to move forward, there are emotions that, like the water surrounding me, always find a way to envelop you and drag you back to the place where it all began.