“Bullshit,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Matias.”
“I’m not here for a social call,” I declare loudly. “If I wanted to catch up with you, I would have called.”
Her lips begin to tremble. She’s trying to stay composed.
I go on. “I’m here for some answers. You may have moved on, but I haven’t.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“I’ll tell you what isn’t fair,” I say. “Why did you lie to me, Carin? Why did you keep writing home when I thought you and I had something real, something permanent? All along, I was the butt of your joke. All along, you knew you would leave.”
“Please, no. That wasn’t it. I—”
“What else? What else didn’t you tell me when I was foolishly thinking we were making a life together? Huh?” I challenged, standing and leaning over the table so that I hovered above her.
“What about you? You never told me that your father was one of the richest men in Madrid! Was that something that you just conveniently forgot to tell me?”
“What does that have to do with anything between you and me?”
“It tells me who you are, Matias. It’s where you’re from. It’s part of your story. We couldn’t just pick up and start over like blank slates, blank pieces of paper!”
“Why”—I bang my fist on her desk—”not?”
She just shakes her head over and over again. Looks at me as if I’ve grown a third head.
“And then you send me back the ring. Oh, no. Correction. You returned the fucking ring to the fucking store and sent me back the fucking money I paid. As if you were trying to erase every single trace of me from you.”
“That is not true!” she shrieked. “You paid so much money for it! It was only fair.”
“What else didn’t you tell me, huh? Were you making plans to go back to Jack too?”
She looks incensed, closes her eyes as if I caused her physical pain. “What?”
“You fucked me over, Carin.”
“I have a son! What did you want me to do? Really make him believe his mother had died? Scar him for life, which I did anyway—dead or alive—because his mother wanted to run off and start over with some guy she met at work?”
I laugh out loud. “Ha. Some guy!” I stand and fling the chair with so much force, it hits the brick wall and ricochets back to its original place. She flinches for a brief second and then moves toward me with resolve. “While you’ve found yourself and your altruistic atonement, I’ve been drifting, not knowing how to survive another year without you. But now I see it. Now I see it. I’m done here. Goodbye, Carin.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
The Letters
I dash out of there without looking back. I hear her screaming after me but I don’t pause. All of a sudden, that dark, dank basement is suffocating me. I need to get some air. I climb the steps, three at a time, bolt past the staff standing by the entrance. And then I am outside, running my hands through my hair, pacing in a circle.
My mind is a kaleidoscope of images, but there is one that is first and foremost.
I know that I am not going to marry Isabella. I am not going to settle.
I want to leave, but I know that I’ll never see her again. I didn’t want it to turn out this way. I didn’t even get to touch her. Say goodbye. Tell her that life from here on will be a compromise.
That life with her was the only thing I’d ever done for myself.
“Matias!” she screams from behind me, out of breath and red in the face. She proceeds to throw a bunch of envelopes at me. They hit me in the back and fall to the ground.
I scramble to collect them before the wind blows them away. I’m on my knees, in the middle of a busy sidewalk. Cars are zooming by on Canal Street, commuters with backpacks are running to the train station. The sun is out in full force, a beautiful summer day. I hold the letters as I stand up to face her.
“They were letters I sent,” she heaves. “Yes.”
“How many?”
“Once a month. So, five.”
“I see.”
Her arms swing back and forth and she can’t stay still. Tears are streaming down her face. I want to hold her but I know she won’t let me. She won’t come near. She keeps her distance. “But they were to Trish. Just to tell her I was fine. To tell her—them—not to worry. That I’d just gone on a break, followed my heart for once—but that I’d be back once you and I figured everything out. That I’d be back for Charlie. Losing a mother is devastating! Loss ruins you. I was not going to do that to my son!”
I look down at the letters and flip through each one. Each graying, linen envelope has no return address. I play with the dates in my head—the first one is dated one month after we settled in our home. The next time I hear her voice, it comes in spurts because she is crying profusely.
“And yes! I knew we’d have to leave. Our lives. They’re made up of our families—these are the people who have molded us. Even Isabella and Jack. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t just walk out on that. They came back to me in my dreams, in my thoughts. Every wonderful moment with you felt incomplete, felt like a farce.”
“A farce,” I repeat. “I loved you.”
“I’ve paid the price. You went back to your comfortable little life while I paid for my sins. So, go back. Just go back,” she says, turning away from me.
I rush to her. She tries to fight me off, pounding her fists on my chest and grimacing as she pushes me away. But I don’t let go. I hold her tightly, her chest against mine, muffling her sobs on my shoulder. I feel the weight of her body on me and it brings me back to the days when that had been all I needed to live. I fed off that touch, that body. I’ve never felt emptier in my life.
People stop to watch us. I don’t care. She mumbles through her tears. “I wanted all three of you. Why was it so wrong to want all of you?”
“Three of us?”
“I didn’t know I was pregnant!” she squeaked. “I lost our baby eight weeks after I left the island.”
With that, she collapses, her knees hitting the pavement. I want to fall on the ground too, but I know I have to hold her up.
“Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” I say, guiding her directly toward a Starbucks on the corner. She shakes her head and points to a metal bench on the edge of what looks like a small playground. There are colored benches adjacent to us, filled with parents, their voices reverberating in nonstop chatter. This time, we sit close to each other—side by side, but not touching. The sun is still out. It reminds me of the perennial summers I’d thought we’d have forever.
She is facing me, speaking quietly in my ear, conscious of the fact that there are people all around us. Before I say another word, she launches into her story, making sure to leave no detail, no question.
“I loved you,” she says, self-consciously wiping a tear. She looks to the side, wanting to see if anyone is watching us. Everyone is so engrossed in their own little ramblings, we are fine. “You were my life. I wanted to give up everything I had, everything I’d known, for you. But I have a son. I have a beautiful son with a bright future, who has no one else but me. I couldn’t abandon him forever. I am his mother. I didn’t even know I was pregnant until the miscarriage started. So you see, Matias. I died too.”
I gasp. I try to breathe but my lungs are locked up. It’s a physical sickness—the feeling of dying because there is no air left in the world to sustain you.
She sees the pain in my face, takes my hand and squeezes it. “We’ve lost so much because of what we did. Our credibility, our loved ones. It was reckless, random. In a way, I am happy you’re going to be married soon. You’ll have the family, the stability you’ve always wanted. You love so much, you give so much, you deserve someone who will love you with all her heart again.”
“And you? You don’t deserve to be happy?”
“I am happy. I was never at peace without Charlie, and now I am. We’re repairing our relationship. I�
�m reconnecting the pieces I’ve severed.”
“I died without you.”
“Soon, you will be married and have your very own family.”
“It’s not too late,” I cry too, pulling her to me. “I want that with you. We can still have that, Carin.”
She rattles her head, goes limp like a rag doll.
I want to explain. “I did it to appease my parents. I’ve hurt them so much. But I can’t hurt myself again. Why can’t we give this another chance?”
“We have so much to atone for. We can only move forward. There is no going back. Do you remember the vow I made to you? I loved you. More than life itself. I gave up my world for you. We had a life. We had a child. That’s the end of our story.”
“No,” I answer. “I won’t accept that.”
She stands before letting go of me. Slowly, she backs away, inch by inch until we are standing a few feet apart. There is a life-sucking vacuum that emerges out of nowhere. We are tired. Spent. I want to fight but she is right.
“For a while,” she says, “Olive refused to settle into her new life. She refused to eat, hardly slept, was overwhelmed by the sudden change in her environment. She would circle the house over and over again, as if trying to find something. It was you she was looking for. It took her three months, but now she is fine and well adjusted. Time heals all wounds, Matias. Pretty soon, the pain we feel will succumb to the travails of daily life. We will be fine. I promise.”
“You and I, we’ve made a mess, haven’t we?”
She laughs. “Understatement.”
“But we can fix it. Let me fix it. I’ll fix everything, okay? You deserve your peace, Car.”
“And so do you.” Her eyes glisten with tears.
We sit in silence for a few seconds, watch as a blond-haired little boy runs to his mother for a juice box. Another little girl is rolling around on the grass in what looks like a major tantrum. The colors of the summer are muted in this place. The metal bars and swing-set links are tarnished, the grass is brown and discolored. We all allow our feelings to mask the real view of the world. We see it all through different colored lenses. I saw mine in Technicolor. I don’t see that anymore.
“Carin! There you are!” A man in a blue suit dashes toward us, out of breath but smiling. “I was on my way to the Starbucks to look for you there.”
“What’s wrong, Josh?” she asks. I wonder if she’s relieved to have the perfect exit. She’s wanted to walk away ever since she got here.
“The Mayor is on the premises doing a surprise tour right this minute.”
“But,” she argues, looking at her watch. “We didn’t have an appointment today! We’re not ready!”
“I’m so sorry.” Josh turns to me with a slight bow of his head before getting back to her. “So sorry but you have to come back.”
We’re replacing every single selfish act we committed with this newfound selflessness. Helping others, sacrificing for our families. I get it. It’s our penance.
“I have to go,” she says, stepping in and wrapping her arms around me. I close my eyes and run my fingers through her hair for one last time.
“I’m not giving up on you, Juliet,” I whisper to her.
She flinches, squeezing her eyes shut and drawing a deep breath. “Goodbye, Matias,” she whispers back, her lips skimming the tip of my ear. Her breath is warm against my skin. “Please, if you want me to get better. Don’t come back.”
Epilogue –
Three Months Later
I can see her sitting in her favorite place, the booth facing out the window. Today, like most days, she has her sketchpad with her. She’s a creature of habit, it seems. Taking a break from three to four in the afternoon, ordering a tall, nonfat, toasted white chocolate mocha and drawing. I can’t see what she draws. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. But she’s always alone. Sometimes, she’ll be approached by different people. Men, mostly. But she’s always more interested in what’s on that piece of paper.
It’s been three months since she told me never to come back.
Instead, I did the opposite.
I repented for my sins. Made everything right back home. My parents were consoled by the truth I finally told them. That I could never be the son they wanted. My mother cried and said that all along, I’d misunderstood their intentions. They never wanted me to be someone I wasn’t. All they wanted was for me to have a stable future. Something that my father had worked so hard all his life to give to his family.
Isabella’s heart broke a second time, but she told me that she’d met someone during the time I disappeared. Like me, she felt it was her duty to her parents to rekindle what we’d had in the hopes of setting the universe on its original course.
Our duty. Our parents. The people we love. We’re wired to please, to compensate. We forget most times that the thread that follows one act is often indestructible. That’s life, you know. Finding that balance between being selfish, taking care of your happiness without upsetting the ties that are intricately wound around every single decision you make. In making amends with my loved ones, I realized how truly selfish I’d been with my love for Carin.
Starting over.
That’s what I did.
I may not be running my father’s business in Spain, but I set up an import/export company right here in town. My office is a two-room flat in the Lincoln Park neighborhood. My father is my partner. Our business, Casa Olivia, grossed three million dollars in three months. I’m beginning to believe that my parents’ days of disappointment are over.
I live in a three-bedroom penthouse on the 21st floor in a building in the North Shore area. I know I’m by myself right now, but who knows what can happen in the near future. I have so much hope. Love does that for you, gives you hope. I believe with all my heart that she loved me before. If I show her I’ve righted all wrongs as best as I could, then maybe she can love me again.
Today is finally that day. I’ve worked my way, prepared myself, set a new life in motion. I want her in it. I want to try. This time, no lies, no false pretenses, and no living on islands away from the people we love.
Christmas is in the air. All the heavy promotions about pumpkin spiced lattes and gingerbread cookies line the counters. The barista is humming to “O Holy Night” by Alicia Keys. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner all decked out in red, peppermint sticks hanging like ornaments, free for the taking.
I take a deep breath before approaching her table. Today, she sits by the front door on a raised two-top, her legs are dangling above the floor, one furry brown boot hooked around the leg of the chair. She’s drawing furiously and there are colors today. I watch her vigorously shade her pad with a green crayon.
“Hi,” I say, hands in pockets, tone subtle and quiet.
She looks up to find me there, her eyes wide with surprise. I see her lean forward as if wanting to greet me with a hug, but she pulls back just as quickly. Her eyes light up for a second, and then she looks away. I can tell she has many questions, but she doesn’t say a word.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask.
“No, it isn’t,” she answers with a smile.
It’s a sunny day on the island. The breeze is blowing softly and we are making love on the sand.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling the chair back and taking a seat. “My name is Matias Torres.” I offer my hand.
She plays along.
“I’m Carin Miller. So nice to meet you.” Her hand is warm, her thumb brushes lightly against my wrist.
I lean in to see what she’s drawing. I finally see it, and it brings me to tears. Of course, I try my best not to show any emotion. It was the intensity of my love, the greediness of my need that separated us and I don’t want to drive her away.
“Love those palm trees,” I say. “What beautiful scenery. The ocean is so blue and the clouds are luminous. How does one translate such a vivid image on paper?”
“I still see it clearly, you know,” she whispers timidly, her
eyes remain fixed on her pad. “The happiest time of my life.”
“I’ve had those times too,” I answer.
She puts down the crayon and takes a sip of her coffee. “So, Matias Torres—what is it that you do and what brings you all the way to this neighborhood?”
“I own a furniture store. We import handcrafted furniture from Spain. My father is my business partner, and we just opened in Lincoln Park two months ago. You should come visit it sometime,” I say, afraid I’ve overdone it. “We’re online, you can look us up. Casa Olivia is the name.”
“Oh! That’s not going to be difficult to remember. I have a dog named Olive.”
“You do?” I laugh. “What a coincidence.”
“What kind of furniture do you make or import?”
“All kinds,” I answer. “Most of them, we custom make.”
“I bet you make really beautiful tables,” she says.
“Yes, tables.” I smile back. Our eyes meet. I’m careful not to take it there today. “Carin Miller, aside from having a dog named Olive, what else should I know about you?”
“I’m a divorced mother of a wonderful boy named Charlie. He just turned twelve! He goes to the Catholic school right in this neighborhood.”
I nod. “Sounds like he brings you so much joy. You two must be very close.”
“He does. And we are.” She smiles with her eyes this time. They curve down to touch the corners of her mouth. She glances at her watch and hurriedly begins to pack up her crayons, placing them in a zippered pouch together with some charcoal pencils. “I’m so sorry to have to run but I have a staff meeting in ten minutes. I loved meeting you, Mr. Torres. I hope I see you again.”
“Maybe we could have dinner sometime?” I ask nervously. As if this was my first date with the woman I am going to love all my life.
“I would love that,” she answers. “Have a good evening.”
And when she walks away, she takes with her every trace of a former life. And I let her. Because in its place, she’s left a part of her behind with me.
The Year I Left Page 23