Page 2 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

Suddenly, she picks up one of the envelopes and studies it closely.

“Wait,” she says, furrowing her brow slightly. “A wedding invitation?”

I look up at her, intrigued.

“What?”

She hands me the envelope with curiosity and a raised eyebrow.

“It looks like one, yes. Look at the envelope—it’s too elegant to be anything else.”

I hold it between my fingers. The paper is thicker than the rest of the mail, with a simple but carefully designed finish, and my name is written neatly across one side. I open it slowly, feeling the curiosity growing inside me, and as soon as I read the first few lines, something inside me comes to a halt.

“Pablo?” I read to myself, and a smile crosses my lips.

“Wow,” I murmur, almost to myself. “I honestly didn’t think he’d get married again.”

Ingrid watches me with interest, still leaning against the table.

“Who’s Pablo?”

I look up at her and answer casually.

“Lidia’s father. My ex’s father,” I explain without going into too much detail. She and I haven’t talked much about Lidia, about what happened, about how everything fell apart. I preferred to keep that part of myself locked away in a trunk. It’s been two years now, and even so, it all still feels too recent.

Ingrid leans a little closer to the table and nods.

“Oh, I see.”

Her reaction is calm, with no questions or awkward silences, and that’s another thing I’ve always appreciated about her: she doesn’t feel the need to pry where it’s unnecessary. She respects the private corners each of us keeps hidden away. Although I’m aware that everything I carry with me could jeopardize the relationship we have.

I look at the invitation more closely again. The image of the sunset on a tropical beach takes up almost the entire card; the water looks so clear that for a moment I can almost imagine the sound of the waves breaking against the white sand, the heat of the sun on my skin, and the salty scent wrapping around everything.

“The Maldives…”

“It’s a beautiful place for a wedding, that’s for sure,” Ingrid remarks, reading over my shoulder with a soft smile. “Paradise turned into a postcard.”

“Yes, it is,” I reply, unable to stop myself from remembering that Lidia and I met there. It was a moment that marked a turning point in my life, the beginning of a story that ended in the worst possible way.

“And it’s all your fault,” a little voice in my head reminds me.

I carefully set the invitation back down on the table, feeling a slight ache in my chest.

“You know what I told you about my family. Pablo was like a father to me,” I finally say thoughtfully. “He was always there when I needed him.”

“Was?” Ingrid asks curiously.

“He still is, I suppose,” I reply with a faint smile. “Time doesn’t change that. Since I came to London, we’ve called each other a few times and exchanged messages. But we haven’t exactly stayed very close.”

Ingrid takes a small sip from her water bottle and studies me carefully.

“It seems like he thinks about you a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” I say honestly. “The truth is, I’m really happy to know he’s found another woman to be happy with.”

I stare at the invitation, and for a few seconds, I feel something in my chest, like when you hear a song on the radio and instantly know it affects you because it brings back memories you thought were buried away.

Ingrid notices, and her hand brushes against mine for a moment.