Page 9 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

“No,” I tell myself firmly. “I can’t go back to this.”

After our divorce, I promised myself I’d do exactly what she did: move on with my life and not look back. But what I tell myself is one thing, and what my mind wants to do is another. Or much worse, my heart. Because it has a life of its own.

The first time I saw Barbara was at that resort in the Maldives. I had just arrived at the resort, I was dying of thirst, and I was trying to order a bottle of water in English, but the waiter didn’t understand me, and the more I gestured, the thinner my patience wore. She appeared like a breath of fresh air, wearing huge sunglasses and a smile that seemed to light up everything.

“Do you want me to help you?” she asked me then, in a playful, teasing tone that made me smile almost instantly.

That simple question kicked off a conversation and the beginning of a story that changed my life and, at the same time, shattered it. Because now, all those beautiful memories we shared are mixed with others that hurt and remain lodged in my heart.

Arguments between us ended up becoming a daily occurrence in our relationship. Every time we talked, we ended up fighting. The silences that settled between us made living together heavy and uncomfortable. I had the constant feeling that I was competing against something invisible that I could never defeat and that no matter how hard I tried, nothing would change.

I ended up feeling misunderstood, and much worse, inadequate. Because for Barbara, nothing I did ever seemed to make her happy.

“You can’t ask me to drop everything just because you feel like having dinner with me,” she told me once when I called her before her workday was over. “The team needs me, and I have to stay to work out some issues with a player.”

“We haven’t had a moment alone in over a week,” I replied. “I’m not asking you to drop everything, just to… be here. To choose me, even if it’s only for a few hours.”

But it was never that easy. Our love gradually filled with small cracks that seemed insignificant at first, and before we knew it, there was no way to fix them. Every silence, every time she was absent, became another wound; every broken promise, another weight on my heart.

Despite all that, I loved her intensely. I didn’t even want to imagine a life without her, and when it all came to nothing, I realized that I hadn’t just lost her—I’d lost myself, too.

I take a deep breath and look away from the suitcase. There’s no point in reliving all that now. This trip isn’t about Barbara or what we were. It’s about my father, his happiness, a new love story I’ve been a spectator to, and a day I want to be part of.

I look at Jota, who’s still watching, and give him a smile.

“This trip is going to be wonderful,” I assure him, as if the dog needed an official explanation, “and I plan to enjoy it to the fullest.”

Jota barely wags his tail, as if he totally agrees with my words and wants to give me his canine approval.

“Beach, sun, good food… and not a single emotional crisis, I promise.” I point my finger at him to make it clear that I mean business.

Jota yawns with the utmost audacity.

“Thanks for your enthusiasm,” I say ironically, though I can’t help but smile.

I move slightly to grab another pile of clothes when the doorbell rings in the living room. I freeze for a moment, surprised. I’m not expecting anyone. Jota, on the other hand, reacts instantly and dashes toward the entrance, wagging his tail as if he’d just received the best news of the day.

“Calm down, champ,” I say as I walk toward the door. “We don’t know who it is yet.”

I open the door, and instantly a smile spreads across my lips.

“Alex.”

One of my best friends is leaning against the doorframe with that playful expression she always has. Her hair is slicked back, held in place by a pair of oversized glasses that double as a headband.

“I knew I’d find you in trouble,” she says as she walks in without waiting for me to invite her in.

“Trouble?”

“Packing,” she replies, pointing to the mess in the living room. “That always ends up being a problem. Especially when you realize your shoes don’t fit and you have to take everything out again.”

I close the door as Jota moves around her, demanding a little attention.

“Hi, traitor,” she says, crouching down to pet him affectionately. “How are you, roommate? Is your owner giving you those treats I bought you last time?”

The dog lets himself be pampered, closing his eyes in pure pleasure.

“You came here just to say hi to my dog, didn’t you?” I ask, crossing my arms and feigning indignation.