“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 overbetween 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.
