Page 102 of A Perfect Disaster

I let out a laugh.

“You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m right, as usual,” Gonzalo says, a smile playing on his lips.

I lean on his shoulder and sigh.

“The only thing I can tell you is that I’m absolutely certain Maika loves with all her heart, full throttle and no brakes. As soon as she gets over it, she’ll listen to you.”

“Since when have you become the love guru, if I may ask?”

“Ever since my favorite girls decided to turn a cruise into a romance novel.”

I smile despite the knot in my stomach.

“Well, I hope you’re right.”

“Be patient. She’ll forgive you. And when she does, you’ll be ten times better off than before. Because this time, you both know exactly how much it hurts to lose each other on the high seas.”

For the first time in five days, I see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Maika deserves for me to swim across the ocean if I have to in order to win her back. And I’m willing to give it my all.

34

Maika

“Maika, dear, if you keep staring at that little piece of paper, you’re going to wear your eyes out,” says my grandmother in that voice made of honey and with the natural authority of someone who has lived several lives in one.

“No way,” I reply.

“Sure. And I’m the Queen of England in a floral robe,” she retorts, raising an eyebrow with that mischievousness that neither the years nor her falls have managed to erase.

I give a half-smile and set the note on the nightstand, pretending I’m fine. My grandmother’s room at the nursing home smells of lavender cologne, moisturizer, fresh-cut flowers, and that unmistakable blend of clean sheets and afternoon sun that you only breathe in places where someone cares for you with true affection. It’s not a perfect place. But this room has always felt like home. Maybe because she’s in it.

My grandmother is sitting in her armchair by the window, with a light blanket draped over her legs and her white hair—soft and slightly tousled—bathed in the calm morning light. On the nightstand is a vase with white daisies, small roses, and green branches that still carry the scent of the countryside. Next to the vase, the handwritten note Helen sent her stares back at me. I’ve read it so many times I could recite it by heart: “I hope she gets well soon. Maika talks about you as the safe haven that you are. Thank you for taking care of her before the world was lucky enough to meet her.”

“Come on, I’m going to comb your hair,” my grandmother says, patting the arm of the chair. “Your hair looks like you’ve been wrestling with a pillow.”

“The pillow has always been so unkind to me,” I reply.

It’s wonderful that my grandmother still spoils me like that. True love. I turn my head and sigh.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she murmurs.

“What?”

“As if I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. I just took a little stumble. You’ll see, I’ll be just fine in no time,” she replies casually.

“Grandma…”

I sit on the bed across from her and take her hands. They’re warm, full of little blue veins and stories no book could ever tell. Hands that braided my hair perfectly when I was a little girl, that made unforgettable snacks, that signed complicated papers so I could study, work, and fly far away. Hands that let go of everything to hold me tight.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and my voice breaks before I can continue.

Catalina frowns gently.

“Why, my girl?”

She closes her mouth, but squeezes my fingers tightly, encouraging me in silence.