Rebeca flashes a faint smile as she places a carton of milk in the cart. The gesture feels strange on her lips, as if her body hasn’t yet decided whether it’s allowed to smile after what happened as soon as she arrived.
“It ended up being useful,” she replies.
“Yeah, well…” Her mother pauses briefly, and Rebeca can almost see her frowning with that characteristic look of concern. “But it also means you’re working too hard. Not everything in life is about arranging books in alphabetical order, honey.”
The remark comes gently, though Rebeca recognizes the undertone of concern hidden behind it.
She moves on to the next aisle, where a small window lets in the light of the Santander sky. Outside, the wind gently rustles the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk, and the distant murmur of the sea filters through the neighborhood sounds.
“I’m behind on my work,” Rebeca explains, picking up a bottle of extra virgin olive oil. “Between the move and the trip, I’ve lost several days. I’d rather catch up as soon as possible.”
“But you just told me a moment ago that you hadn’t met with the people from the publishing house yet,” her mother insists, as if she could read between the lines even over thephone. “Are you sure everything’s okay? I don’t like it when you shut yourself off as soon as you arrive somewhere new. You’ve been doing that for years.”
Rebeca stops in front of the cleaning supplies aisle. Her fingers absentmindedly trace the labels on the bottles as she considers the question. The easy answer would be to say yes. That everything is fine. That the city is quiet, that the apartment is nice, that she can see the sea from the window, and that her new life has just begun with the serenity she’s been searching for.
For a few seconds, she’s on the verge of doing just that.
But then the image appears again, clear and cruel.
The landing and Martina’s eyes locking onto hers as if six years hadn’t passed at all.
Rebeca inhales slowly, and the air tastes of salt and memories.
“Mom…”
Her voice sounds different even to her.
“Yes?”
“There’s something I haven’t told you.”
There is a silence on the other end of the line, attentive, filled with anticipation.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
Rebeca feels the weight of the words building up in her throat before she can say them, as if speaking them aloud would make something she’s wanted to keep buried come true.
“Martina lives in my building.”
Rebeca can perfectly imagine the look on her mother’s face right now. In fact, she can already hear her shuffling her feet across the floor.
“Martina?” she repeats, as if she still can’t quite believe it. “Martina… you mean Martina?”
“Yes.”
Rebeca lets out a small sigh that turns into almost a snort. She turns her attention back to the cart and moves slowly toward the checkout, even though she still has a few things to buy. The aisles seem narrower now, as if the shelves had moved closer to eavesdrop on her conversation with her mother.
“She lives in the apartment across the hall,” she adds a moment later.
Her mother takes a few seconds to respond. Rebeca can almost hear her processing the information, searching for the right words.
“Wow…” she says finally. “And I suppose you’ve already talked about it a bit, haven’t you?”
“More or less.”
Rebeca runs a hand over her forehead, feeling the slight cold sweat dampening her skin.
“The truth is, it was an awkward situation,” Rebeca clarifies immediately. “More than awkward. It was as if time had stopped and, at the same time, suddenly sped up. I slammed the door in her face, Mom. Literally. I didn’t even know what to do.”
