Page 94 of Cava with My Colleague

Carlos

I’ll be waiting.

I set down my phone and stare at the ceiling again, my heart racing.

Sunday I fly back to Madrid. This week, I pack up my apartment. But first, I figure out what the hell I’m going to do with the rest of my life.

But tonight, I’m here with my friends. And I’m letting myself imagine a future where I don’t run.

Where I choose Carlos. Where I choose Madrid. Where I choose to be brave enough to stay.

“You’re smiling,” Sara observes.

“I know.”

“It’s a good look on you.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It really is.”

31

Carlos

* * *

Sunday lunch at Fernando and Diana’s apartment has always been my favorite part of the week. The kitchen smells like Diana’s sofrito—garlic, tomatoes, and peppers simmering on the stove. Carmen is in her high chair, cheerfully smashing pieces of bread into paste. Izan is sprawled under the table, hoping for scraps.

It should feel like home. Like peace.

Instead, I feel like I’m watching it all from behind glass.

“Dad?” Fernando waves a hand in front of my face. “You with us?”

“Sorry. What?”

“I asked how the presentation tour went. You finished in Seville on Thursday, right?”

“Yes. Thursday.”

“And?” Diana prompts from the stove. “How was it?”

“Good. It went well. The tour was a success.”

Fernando and Diana exchange a look—the kind of look married couples develop, entire conversations happening without words.

“That’s it?” Fernando asks. “Two months of traveling across Europe and all you have to say is ‘it went well’?”

I pick up my wineglass, realize it’s empty, set it back down. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Something about the presentations? The cities? Jade?” Fernando’s watching me carefully.

My chest tightens at the sound of her name. “Jade?”

“How was working with her?”

“Fine. She’s very good at her job.”

Another loaded look between Fernando and Diana. Carmencita bangs her spoon on her tray, oblivious to the tension.