Martina appears wearing her tracksuit, her hair already brushed, falling in soft strands over her shoulders. The clothes are slightly too big for her, but that only makes her figure look even more beautiful and natural. The sleeves partially cover her hands, and the pants drag a little on the floor.
Rebeca has placed two plates on the coffee table. A blanket lies on the sofa, and the aroma of hot pizza fills the room once more.
Martina watches the scene with a broad smile.
“Were you planning on eating two?”
Rebeca looks up from the kitchen with a raised eyebrow.
“I was going to save one for tomorrow, don’t worry.”
Martina sinks onto the sofa as she takes a slice.
“Yeah, right.” She chews the first piece slowly before adding with a crooked smile, “Just like you used to do at home. You always asked for extra, just in case.”
The words come out with unexpected ease, and Rebeca’s heart skips a beat.
For a moment, she isn’t quite sure what to say.
But finally she smiles.
“I guess some habits never die.”
Martina raises her soda can.
“Here’s to that.”
The two clink their cans as the rain continues to fall heavily on the other side of the window.
The conversation begins to flow little by little. First with comments about how Rebeca’s move went, about the small details of the building.
“Have you noticed that the neighbor on the fourth floor always comes down at eight o’clock sharp with his dog? He’s the neighborhood alarm clock, like clockwork,” Martina says, nodding toward the window.
Rebeca laughs.
“Yeah. And he barks exactly three times before he goes out. I think he’s trained him.”
Martina nods, amused.
“He’s methodical. I like that.”
And little by little, the memories come flooding back.
“Do you remember the storm in Galicia?” Martina asks suddenly. Rebeca pauses for a second. “The one that forced us to take shelter in that tiny bookstore. Where we found one of your first translated books.”
“Of course I remember.”
“They had such beautiful covers,” Martina recalls, holding another slice of pizza. “And they smelled like old paper. That always drove you crazy.”
Rebeca laughs too.
“It still happens to me.”
Martina covers her mouth with her hand, smiling as she eats with sparkling eyes, and Rebeca feels the heat rising up her neck.
Martina realizes where the conversation has turned.
“Sorry,” Martina murmurs. “I shouldn’t…”
