She shakes her head to clear her mind and refocuses on the screen, though her eyes no longer see the photos with the same clarity.
The hours pass without her hardly noticing. The light outside grows dimmer, and when she finally closes her laptop, the living room is lit only by the lamps that have turned on automatically as night falls.
Martina stands up and stretches her arms, trying to release the tension built up in her back as she makes her way to the kitchen.
Minutes later, she hears the sound of a key turning in the lock.
The familiar sound of the door opening fills the entryway, followed by the jingle of keys as they fall into the ceramic bowl.
“Martina?” Julia calls from the entrance.
“In the kitchen,” she replies, raising her voice just enough.
Julia appears in the doorway with that natural elegance that always accompanies her, even after a long day at work. Her dark hair falls neatly over her shoulders, and her intelligent,observant gaze sweeps across the kitchen until it settles on Martina.
“It smells so good,” she says, stepping closer.
She leans in and kisses her on the lips, her hand resting lightly on her waist. Martina responds to the gesture naturally, though somewhere deep inside she feels a slight unease she can’t quite explain.
“How was your day?” Julia asks as she sets her bag on the table and unbuttons the top buttons of her blouse, revealing the curve of her collarbone.
“Intense,” Martina replies, stirring the pan energetically. “I’ve been going over the photos from the port project. I think I’m starting to see where the series for the feature might go.”
Julia nods with interest, leaning against the kitchen island.
“I can’t wait to see it finished. I’m sure you’ll outdo yourself again, as always.”
Martina takes a small sip from the glass of wine resting next to the countertop. The dark red liquid leaves a warm aftertaste on her tongue.
“By the way…” Julia adds casually. “I heard we have a new neighbor.”
Martina looks up. Her heart lurches in her chest, and for a second the world seems to tilt.
Julia smiles slightly, oblivious to the whirlwind raging inside her wife.
“The doorman mentioned it to me when I came in,” she adds.
Martina slowly swirls the glass between her fingers. The wine forms a small dark swirl in the glass, reflecting the light from the lamp.
Then she looks up and locks eyes with her wife. There is a moment of silence, a heartbeat suspended in the air.
“Yes,” she says, trying not to give anything else away. Then she takes a sip of wine and adds, “Our new neighbor is Rebeca.”
Chapter 3
“Are you settled in yet, honey?”
Rebeca’s mother’s voice comes through the phone with a slightly worried tone, as if she knew her daughter needed to talk at that very moment. Rebeca holds the phone between her shoulder and her ear while pushing the shopping cart she grabbed upon entering the supermarket with one hand.
She’s in a small store in the Sardinero neighborhood, just a few blocks from her new apartment. The store is bright, with narrow aisles that smell of freshly baked bread and fruit, a homely aroma that contrasts with the unease still throbbing beneath her skin. At this hour of the morning, there are few people around. A couple of elderly neighbors are chatting near the produce section with the leisurely pace of those who have all the time in the world, and a young woman is absentmindedly examining a shelf of canned goods.
Rebeca picks up a package of coffee and places it in the cart next to a package of her favorite Gullón cookies.
“More or less,” she replies, trying to make her words sound calm, almost carefree. “You know how I am. Until everything is in its place, I won’t feel completely at ease.”
As she speaks, she runs through the mental list she’s been compiling since she left home. Coffee, milk, some fruit, detergent, a light bulb for the living room lamp she decided toinstall the night before. Little things. Everyday objects that help turn an empty apartment into a livable place.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” her mother says with a soft laugh on the other end of the line, that laugh that has always been able to ease any tension. “You’ve always been like that. When you were little, you couldn’t start your homework unless the table was perfectly tidy. I remember you’d get absolutely furious if anyone moved a pencil.”
