Cheers to the good life

by Lorena Franco

  I loved not going to work. Back at home, I stayed in bed with Alejandro, to go out to eat somethingandgobacktobedwithoutthinkingofanythingotherthantheoneanother.Wewent outfordrinkswithourfriends(yes,OUR,wastotallyintegratedinthegroup),weenjoyedthe fiestasinValenciadeAlcántara.Theirboothswithblaringmusic,theirattractionsatthefair, thebottlewheretodrinkandtalkinbroadsidenolongerseemedasfrighteningasthefirstdayI felt out of place ... some afternoons we watched the sunset from the top of the castle of Marvao,ournightsontheterracewatchingtheclearskyfullofstars...anendlessnumberof imagesandbeautifulmemoriesthatsurely,wouldcometomymemoryintheworstmoments.

  The worst day was not Saturday, when my vacation ended and I went back to work at the supermarketandintheafternoonatLoli’ssalon.No.TheworstdaywasSunday,September2, when I said good-bye to Alejandro, not knowing when I would see him again. Doubts about whether or not I was in love with Alejandro had dissipated throughout OUR (our) days together.WhatIfeltforhimmademefeelaliveandhappy.Morealiveandhappierthanever.If asLauraIwasluckyincertainaspectsofmylife,asMartahadwonthelottery.

  "Andnow...untilwhen?"Iasked,standingonmytiptoessoIcouldsurroundhimwithmy arms.

  "Youdon’tthinklongdistancerelationshiparedisastrousanymore?Isn’tthatyousaid?Ah

  ...yes...IfIfallinlovewithanotherpersonwhomakesmehappy,goahead."

  "Istillthinkthosethings...butIdon’twantthat.I'dratheryoubehappywithme."

  "Metoo.Idon’tknowwhenIcanreturn...Iwasn’tinmyplanstoworkonSaturdaysbut youseeIhavetobethere...we’llseeifsomeweekendinOctoberIcanescape."

  October!WehadbarelystartedSeptember.Thinkingaboutautumnwasanuphillbattle.I noddedsadly.WekissedforalongtimeandfromthedoorIsawhiscarmovingawayfromme.

  Rightthen,mycellphonerang.ItwasFelisa,shewaswaitingformeatthecafe.Ithadbecome atraditiontohavecoffeewithheronSundayafternoons.Wetalked,wesmokedandanything thatentertainedus.

  "Hejustleft..."Isaidbeforesippingmycoffeewithice.

  "Iamsorry.Consideringwhatyou'vebeenthrough...It’sbeenhard,right?"

  "SoyouwanttocheermeonFelisa?"

  "Well,toanotherbutterflything.I'vemetsomeone."

  "What?"Iopenedmyeyeswide.

  "Yeah,yeah...Ididn’ttellyouanythingbecauseyouwereverybusy,butnowthatyouare freeofmen..."shelaughed,"hisnameisFelipe.Evenournamesstartthesame!He'suglier thanthefirstsliceofwonderbreadpackbuthe'ssocute!..."

  "Butwhenwasthis?"

  "Atthefair!Doyourememberachubbymanwithgiantglasses,partiallybaldandwearing aStarWarsT-shirt?"Gosh...WhatwasinFelisa'scigarette?

  "Girl,dressedlikethat-well,no."

  "Well,thatone,"shesaid,smilingatmewithherfinger.

  "Andwhere’shefrom?"

  "Here'sthecatch..."shepouted."He’sfromBarcelona...heleftyesterday."

  "So?Howareyougoingtodoit?"

  "Marta,withthenewtechnologies.Skype,WhatsApp,socialnetworks,cellphones...And ifIworkupthenerve,I'mgoingtoseehiminBarcelona."

  "Butheseemsabitgeeky,doesn’the?"

  "Geeky?DoyourememberRodolfo?"IhadnoideawhoRodolfowas.AndIwasafraidto know."Thatonewasgeek.WiththatWarCraftgamealldaylong..."

  "It'sthatyougetyoursightssetonanyonethat..."

  "Heck!Theystandout!"

  Indeed,summerisanephemeralfest.Thevacationershadgonebacktothebustleoftheirgreat cities and to the usual. The people. In the supermarket, there was a great decrease in work, somethingmyhands,exhaustedfromtypingmyfriendthecashregister,werethankfulfor.And thedaysafterthatwouldwentbyslowly,...ImissedAlejandroandallthatIhadexperienced, withtheonlyconsolationofthememoriesIhadwithhim.SometimesIwouldsmilelikeafool, imaginingmyselfagaininAveiro,inthedesertedtownsquaredancingwithAlejandrotomusic thatplayinginthebackground.Sometimes,justsometimes,Icouldstillfeelhislipsonmine andhisgazefixedonme.Hecalledmeonceadaybutwehadlittletotell...workandmore work.WewouldsendWhatsAppmessages,photos,voicemessages..."Soyoudonotforget myvoice,"hewroteme,endingwithfunnyemojis.ButIwasafraidhisabsencewouldbreak ourstory.Itwasclearthatformeithadonlyjustbegun...itwassomethingnew,exciting,full of hope and looking forward to a promising future. For him, the story with Marta was long, stormyandfulloffailedopportunities.IrememberedSt.Peterandhiswarning,thevisionof my former life ... nothing could be worse than that sad experience. How many lives did we leavebehind?Howmanypeople?Howmuchlove?Howmuchpride?Itwasclearthateach

  andeveryoneofuscarriedaheavybackpackonourbacks...ThenIthoughtofmyparents-in Laura's parents. How sad it is to survive the death of a child. Even if she were a wretch ...

  How were they? Have they overcome my loss? One sunny Sunday morning, I instinctively dialedmymother'scellphone.Afterfour"Hellos",Iaskedforaninventedname.Shesaidthat Ihadmadeamistakeandhungup.Ineededtohearhervoiceastonottoforgetabouther.

  Chapter8

  BACKTOTHEPAST

  September,hotandlonely,vanished.AndafteritcameOctoberwithAlejandro’sunfulfilled promises.Itwasalwaysimpossibleforhimtocometotown,hehadalotofwork.Ourphone calls had diminished noticeably and our WhatsApp conversations did not have so many romanticemojis.Myfearshadcometrue.Hisabsencewaskillingourlovestory.Something goodhadcomeoutofit...Ilost12pounds.Myoctogenarianangel,wasveryworriedabout me,tellingmedailythatIwastooskinnyandneededtoeatmore.Ofcourse,Angustiaskept givingmeherdinnersfullofsucculentandgreasyfoodthatIstockpiledinthefridge.Iwastoo sadtoeat...mynewlifeasMartadidn’tsatisfymesomuchdespitehavingnewprofessional frontsinsightandgoodfriendswithwhomtotalk,gooutandclearmymind.

  OneSaturdayafternoonatthesalon,LolimademeaofferthatIcouldn’trefuse,although thatmeantIhadstopworkingatthesupermarket.

  "Thecustomersaredelightedwithyou,Marta,"Lolitoldme,withscissorsinonehandand acombintheotheraswasusualinher.Andthetruth,IneedyouheremorethanonSaturday afternoons. I can’t pay you much, but I see you like makeup and I know you would enjoy workinghere.IwouldliketoteachyoutobeahairdresserandgiventhegoodtastethatIsee youhave,thatyoucouldalsomakeoverclients."Myoctogenarianghosts,sittingontheblack leather chairs, looked at me expectantly. Say yes, say yes, they told me with their eyes wrinkled.

  "Whatdoyoupropose?"Iaskedsmiling.

  "FromMondaytoSaturday.Fromteninthemorningtosevenintheafternoonwithanhour free to eat. Eight hundred euros per month and double pay in December and July. Will you stay?"

  "Ofcourse.I’llstay."Moremoneyandhoursofsleep.Great!"But...thisweekend,ifyou donotmind..."Isaidwithsomeregret,becauseevenIdoubtedwhatIwantedtodo."Ihave pendingbusinesstoresolve."

  "Donotworry,dowhatyouhavetodo."

  I talked to Manuel, the supermarket manager. He was very sorry that after so much time workingforhimIwasleaving;Buthewasgladaboutmynewopportunityandpromisedtogo andgethishaircutontheconditionthatImakehimlook"handsome".Clara,ontheotherhand, didn’ttakeitwell."WhowillIshareahangoverwithonSaturdays?"sheaskedlaughingatthe sametimeshehuggedme.Iwouldmissthem,forsure.

  After my first successful week at the Loli’s salon, the dreaded weekend
came. Seated in my shabby Suzuki, with a small suitcase in the back seat, my cell phone and cigarette packs stacked in my glove compartment, I held the steering wheel with shaking hands. I started the engineandImovedawayfrommylittlehouseofthePinetoreturntoapastthatIneededto remember. Four hours of travel to the airport in Madrid, smoking non-stop and singing, screaming,ImeansingingsongslikeMalditaNerea,LaOrejadeVanGogh,Melendi,Estopa

  ... avoiding any songs by Carlos Baute and Bisbal, as they reminded me of the night I met Alejandro...andIdidn’twanttobemoredepressedanymorethanIalreadywas.

  Thatweekend,myhandstremblingandmylegs,Ireturnedbyplane,andasignwelcomed

  metoChicago,wheremyparentslived-Laura's-foreightyearsaftersellingtheapartment whereIgrewup.Theyleftbehindthebustleofthebigcity,lookingforalittletranquilityjust halfanhourfromthecity,inatownhousewithcommunalpool.Ionlywenttovisitthemonce.

  WegatheredthewholefamilyandmadearichbarbecuethatIdidnottry...Ijustatelettuce andconstantlylookatthemobilephonewithoutenjoyingmyparents,mybrothers...

  Iparkedinfrontofasmallbakery.Igotoutofthetaxiwatchingtheterracedvillasinfront ofme.Theywereallthesame,symmetricallyperfect.Iwenttonumbertwenty-two.Istopped at the gate and looked at the stairs leading to the main entrance. I was still shaking. Finally, afterafewseconds,Irangthedoorbell.Afewstepsapproached,slowly,calmly...andthere she was. My mother Carlota. Much taller than I remembered her, with her dark brown hair freshly washed, her blue eyes and her thin lips that smiled at me amicably. Given my short height, I had to look her up, trying to find a way to start the conversation I needed. She scrutinizedmygazeandfrownedwhenIcouldn’tspeak.ThelasttimeIsawher,Iwasaspirit atmyownfuneral.Sheworeblackanddespitecriticizingmyattitudeandbehavior,hereyes wereredandswollenfromcryingforme...forthedeathofherdaughter.Nowshehaddark circlesandsomemorewrinkles,butshewasstillbeautifulasinheryouthfulyears.

  "Hello,doyouwantsomething?"shesaidatlast.

  "Sorry. Carlota?" She nodded. "My name is Marta and ... well, I was a friend of your daughterLaura."

  It made sense that my mother looked at me in surprise. Laura, friend of someone like ...

  Me?Whowouldbelievethat?

  "AFriendofmydaughterLaura?Really?"sheaskedhesitantly.

  "Yes,wemetinNewYork.Iwashermakeupartistseveraltimes."Ilied.Shestilldidn’t believeinme.

  "Yes?Well,comeonin,comeonin...don’tstayatthedoor.Doyouwantacoffee?"

  "Yes,thatwouldbefine...thankyouverymuch."Iwasdyingforcoffee.

  "Howwouldyoulikeit?"

  "Icedcoffee."Shestoppedandstaredatmewithouthesitation,thoughtful.

  "Sugar?"

  "Nothanks."

  "That'swhatmydaughterusedtodrink..."shesighed.

  We sat at the dining table. To my surprise, Carlota lit a cigarette. Since when did Mom smoke?Sheofferedmeone.Iaccepted.Wrappedinacloudofsmoke,Carlota'seyescontinued toscrutinizeMarta'ssimpleandhumbleappearance,notbelievingthatLaurahadbeeninlife, friendofsomeonesounattractive.

  "Imustadmit,itsurprisesmethatyouwerefriendswithLaura.ButI'mcurious."

  "Ijustcametooffermycondolencestoherfamily."And...Icouldnotgetthewordsout.It was the first time my mother imposed me, she was seen by someone far superior to me. A feelingthatasLauraIneverexperienced,neitherwithhernorwithBradPitthimself.

  "And...?"

  "Lauratalkedalotaboutyou."Ifelttheneedtoembraceher.Embraceherforalongtime, tell her that I was there, that I was her daughter ... and that I loved her. That in spite of everythingalwaysIhadlovedher.

  "Idonotbelieveit,"shesaidwithalaugh.

  "It'strue,"mymotheropenedhereyeswide.Ontheonehand,sheseemedpleased,happy tohearthatLaurawastalkingaboutthem."Shesaidherparentswereherrolemodel."

  "Ineverheardhertalklikethat...Excuseme,whatdidyousayyournamewas?"

  "Marta."

  "Marth.Mydaughtercameonlyoncetothishouse.Beforewelivedinaflatinthecenterof Madrid. We held a barbecue with her brothers and she didn’t speak to us all day. That will make...youknow...Fouryears?Itwasthelasttimewesawher."

  "Shealsotoldmeaboutthat,"Isaid.Iwasherfriendthispastyear.Shewantedtocome andseeyou,tohavemorecontactwithyou.Buttimeneverplayedinherfavor,shehadalotof work." Carlota nodded, sad, pensive. I saw her the day before her death and we just talked aboutthesubject,asifshesensedthatsomethingbadwasgoingtohappentoher..."Boy,didI lie."Ihadtocomeandtellyouthatshelovedyouverymuchinspiteofeverything.IfeelifI removethingsthatitisbettertoleavethemwheretheyarebut..."

  "No...it'sallright,Marta.It'sallright,"shesaid,restingherlong,thinperfectlymanicured fingersontopofmyhand.Asinceretearrandownhercheek.Shelookeddownathercupof coffeeandlookedbackatme."Pleasecontinue."

  "Time.Shedidn’thaveenoughtimetodowhatshereallywantedtodo.Beingwithyouand her brothers ... changing her ways and her habits. And showing that she did love you. I am sorry.Ireallyamsosorry..."

  "Thankyousomuchforcoming.Itstillseemsincredibletomethatthosewordscamefrom mydaughterbut...it’squiteprobablethatshecouldhaverepentedofeverything."

  "Wasn’tsheagoodperson?"Iwantedtoknow.

  "She was the best, through and through. But she was very independent and she let her careergettoherhead."

  "Butshewasyourdaughterand-"

  "AndIlovedher,ofcourse.AndIloveherandIwillalwaysloveher.Theworstthingthat canhappentoaparentislosingachild.We'rehavingareallyhardtimecoping."

  "Ican’tevenimagine..."Ialmostcriedalongwithher.ButIrestrainedmyself.Itookasip ofmycoffeeandafinaldraftofmycigarette.IstaredintohertearyeyesandIhadacrazyurge totellherthetruth.Thatherdaughterwasinthatnewbodyandwithanewwayofliving.

  "Where are you from, Marta? By your accent you look Spanish," she asked becoming interested.

  "Yes,fromasmalltownnexttoPortugal."

  "Andyoucamefromtherejusttoseeus?"Inodded."Well,I'mnotgoingtotakenoforan answer.Stayforlunch.Mychildrenandmygranddaughterarecoming...she'sonlytwomonths old,she'sbeautiful!"

  "Really?"Myniecewasborn!Agirl...

  "You eat it. They were going to call her Chloe ... but my son was very upset about her sister's death, so he finally changed her name to Laura, like her aunt." Upon hearing that, I cried. Disconsolately, with hiccup included. Carlota (mother), was very surprised. "Miss, don’tcry..."

  "I'msorry...I’mverysentimental..."Sheofferedmeahandkerchief."Thankyou..."

  Afterhalfanhour,"myfather"arrived,GustavoshecalledhimwhenMomintroducedhim to me. Fatter and bald, he had shaved. Mom told him who I was and the reason for my unexpected visit. Dad nodded and looked at me curiously, thanking me for the trouble of comingto see them.I felt happywith to them, butsad because Icouldn’t any show affection andtellthemthetruth.Wewentouttothegarden,itwasawarmOctobermonth,withaclear skyandlotsofsun.WehadmorecoffeeandCarlotaandIsharedcigarettes.

  "IsmokedwhenIwasyoung,"sheexplained.IkickedthehabitwhenIhadmychildrenand now...AfterLaura'sdeath,Igothookedagain.

  "Wow..."Is
ighed.

  "ButIcanstopwheneverIwant,"saidCarlota,smiling.

  "That'swhattheyallsay,"Dadgrumbled,whohadalwaysbeentotallyanti-tobacco.Wash yourhands,ifnot,theywon’tletyounearthegirl."Thegirl!Iwassoeagertomeether...it wasgreattohavethatopportunity.

  "Laurawould’velovedtomeetherniece."

  "Can you believe it? She didn’t like children," Dad said, shrugging his shoulders. I ... I remember.

  "But ... she’s her first niece! That's special," I said excitedly. Dad also looked at me in surprise, as my mother had done before. But he didn’t say anything, he kept looking into my eyes,lookingforsomething.

  "YouremindmeofsomebodyandIdon’tknowwho..."hesaidthen.Comeondad,look...

  look for me ... I'm here, I'm close ... Can some parents recognize a son who has moved to another body? The looks can speak. "I don’t know, something seems familiar. I give up," he said,dismissingit.

  Anhourlater,mysisterMiriamarrived.Energetic,hyperactiveandbusyasever.Attentive to the telephone and to what was happening around her. We always said that Miriam looked different. Her curly red hair, her small honey-colored eyes, her small, sharp nose, and her plumplipsdidnotcomefromanyfamiliaroneweknew.Atleastshewastall,muchtallerthan Laura was and we had inherited the height from our parents. She liked to think it came from someIrishancestor.Butevenmygrandparentsdidn’tknowifwehadancestorscomingfrom Ireland.

  "Youwereafriendofmysister?"Sheasked."Betweenyouandme...shewasabitofa witch,right?Iwasabouttostabherinherthinface.ButIsmiled.

  "No,she’s...shewasverynice."

  "Nice?Laura?Comenow!"shehappilywenttothekitchentohelpMomfinishpreparing thefood.Ifnot,I’mnotsurewhatwouldhavehappenedtohercurlymane.

  ThencamemybrotherAdrianwithhiswifeIreneand...anangel.LittleLaurawasasleep inmybrother'sarms.Weallapproachedher,mewithmoredissimulationanddistancethanthe restandshethenopenedtheeyes.Large,round,blue,andbrighteyes.Cheeksrosy,blondhair wellplacedandaroundandperfectnose.HewasthemostbeautifulbabyIhadeverseen.