Sunsets in Barcelona

There was danger in our meeting. Nothing immediate—nothing to raise the hair on the back of anyone’s neck or spike the pulse. An uneasiness infected the stomach lining. Whether bugs crawling or butterflies fluttering, it was enough to cause fidgeting and a constant shifting in the seat. I could not read him.

His restricted smile invoked more questions than it answered. Was he mocking me, or was this a flirtatious dance? I pulled at my shirt sleeves and took another sip of water.

“The numbers don’t lie. If we continue on this trajectory, profits should triple by this time next year.”

His pen scratched across his notes. The silence filled the space between us. The table seemed to stretch a continent. My hand rested next to my untouched plate. How did it creep towards the middle without my knowing? His eyes fell upon it, and my cheeks burned. I withdrew those searching fingers—snapping them safe into my lap. The click of his pen made me jump.

“Mimi.”

There it was. My eyes closed as adrenaline washed over me. The way he said my nickname—his name for me—stirred all the emotions I tried again and again to suffocate. My breath rattled.

“Charles,” I whispered.

“I did not call you here for a report.”

“I know.”

I could not look at him. All of this was information for an annual e-mail—not something to fly half a world away to communicate. Anger rippled through me.

“What do you want, Charles?”

He opened his mouth and then paused. “Look at me.”

My mouth contorted against my will. It took greater effort to meet those brown eyes, and when I did it was like a gate opened inside of me.

“Please,” my words shook. “Don’t do this. We can’t go back.”

Charles straightened his spine and cleared his throat. “Walk with me?”

The look he gave me made my knees weak. I was a powerful woman. Few men made me feel like he did—like a small girl. My words caught in my throat.

I was not lost on how he neither agreed nor denied my statement. I knew I should not entertain him, but being this close to him—I took a deep breath and nodded. Two fingers snapped in the air. A waiter appeared in response to his call to take the check, and before I knew it, his hand was at the small of my back, ushering me out the front door.

Rich spices mingled with his cologne. I closed my eyes as memories flashed, awakened by the scent of cinnamon, roasted chilis, and his signature musk. I knew I should run. Bid him adieu before he pulled me in too deep. Charles’s hand never left my back—firm and possessive—as if I never stopped being his.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?”

The plaza was booming in stark contrast to the quiet café.

“How could I forget?”

I touched my lips as reverie pulled a smile from the corners. The way he looked at me then—so much love and youthful passion. As quick as it rose in me, the bliss faded. Time taught us the harsh separation between dream and reality.

“Why are you doing this?” A fist tightened around my heart. “I know you’re still with her.”

The warmth of his touch disappeared from my back. “I’ve never been with her.”

I scoffed, “You’re still fucking her, Charles. Don’t play games with me. You owe me at least that.”

I became aware of the trash littering the busy street. Wrappers and sodden paper scraps, the mucus of humanity sliding down old gutters. His silence reminded me of why I could not trust him. Omission was his strategy—clever word play protecting his claim to honesty. Up ahead, drumbeats rattled a seductive beat.

“Come,” he said.

His hand clasped mine, leading us through the thick crowds toward the music. There were a million things I wished to ask him, but I knew—even if he were honest, would I want to know the truth? My anguish washed away as he pulled me in against him. Our hips aligned, in sync with the rhythm. Just like that, I was young again.

My feet remembered a dance I tried desperately to forget in his absence. Twisting and turning in tandem. Before I knew what was happening, we were both laughing. Our hearts raced, and I found my hand resting on his chest as if no time passed. We stumbled away from the crowd to catch our breath.

He looked younger—the stress faded from his eyes. We were alone. Verdant vines cascaded over the ancient alley walls.

“Can’t we just pretend, Mimi?” He touched his chest as he struggled to calm his heart. “Pretend, just for the week that things were different.”

I eyed him with suspicion. This was not like him—an almost desperate plea for my company.

“And then?” I wrapped my arms around my heart. “You return to your blue-light-special Barbie, and I am left licking my wounds once more?”

Charles stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“I was too young.”

The heat rose in me, fanning my temper. “Said a thousand men to justify their cowardice.”

The words spit out—an acidic, base attack met by surprise and sad eyes. The look he gave me shook my defenses. He gave me no time to analyze his vulnerability. With a quick step, the distance closed between us.

His lips pressed against mine. His hands tangled in my hair, pushing me back into the fresh vines. There was no fighting in that moment. My heart yearned years for this. It did not take long for my senses to clear—for my mind to recall the nights crying myself to sleep—the broken dreams and promises—the countless dates seeking out something lost.

My hand moved of its own accord, and the loud slap startled me about as much as him. My fingertips covered my mouth as Charles stumbled back in astonishment. His hands held his jaw for a moment, registering what happened.

“I,” the words stuttered, “I’m so sorry, Charles.”

His hand rubbed his stubbled jawline and when it dropped my heart unclenched at the sight of his smile.

“It’s quite alright,” he chuckled, wagging his graying head. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“What were you thinking?” I gasped.

He was still laughing. “That it was worth a shot.”

His smile infected me. There was a time when he was my best friend.

“Well,” I smirked. “Was it?”

“Without a doubt, my dear.”

Our eyes caught, and I felt the blush warm my cheeks. What harm could one week do? After all, I already endured the worst of it. A seriousness cast over me.

“Tell me the truth, Charles.”

He pivoted on his heel in one slick, fluid motion, presenting a bent elbow for me to grip. My body moved before my mind could rebuke me. He smiled and patted my wrinkled hand.

“The truth is, Mimi, that age has softened my ego and changed my priorities.”

The anger faded and all that remained was genuine curiosity.

“Why isn’t she here?” My voice weakened, “I mean, why me? Why now?”

Charles did not answer just then. They walked beneath the equator sun, letting its heat lull them into a surreal dream state. We found ourselves in one of the many overpriced resorts insulting the average man’s humble lifestyle and hard work.

Reality was left in the concrete world of alarm clocks and hand watches. I stretched out, letting my skirt slip, exposing my ankles to the sun’s warmth.

“Why now, Charles?”

He swirled his glass, the red almost opaque even with mid-noon’s light beaming through. I watched his lips constrict into a hard line. My hand reached out with a delicate touch, encouraging him to be vulnerable.

“Must we do this?” He scowled.

I pushed myself up in my chair. “I need this—I need to hear it.”

Charles sighed and set the glass down. He stared at his laced fingers as he spoke.

“I made mistakes, Mimi. We both know it. What more do you want?”

“Why isn’t she here, Charles?”

I prayed he could not hear how my voice peaked—over eager for some form of closure.

“Cut to the chase, Mimi. I’m not good at this. Just ask what you want to know.”

My throat dried as my heart ticked faster. If it were not for the sangria, I would have bit my tongue.

“Your connection with her,” my thumb rubbed the back of my hand, small circles drawing blood to the surface. I looked up, afraid of his rejection. “Is it like ours?”

It was only a flicker, but it said everything I wanted to know. Deep pain in a quick flash. She recognized her suffering reflected back at her.

“No.”

I leaned forward, afraid to press. The action was enough. He emptied his glass and sighed. His eyes drifted over the open water.

“I can’t talk to her, Mimi.”

His tongue untied, and I waited, hanging on every syllable. A youthful excitement overcame him. He leaned in close and whispered.

“We used to laugh until our sides hurt, Mimi, that’s why you’re here—we’re here. I can’t remember the last time—”

His words faded into bent brows. He did not need to explain further. I understood. It was not that life was void of laughter without him—it was that she questioned it—analyzed it—tore it apart. There was no room for abandon when she recalled how bad it hurt to be blindsided.

“I never intended to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

She could feel the tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

“I was so happy,” I lamented.

“Me too.”

“Then why,” her voice was breaking.

Charles hid his face, “What do you want me to say, Mimi?” He peeked through spread fingers. “If I knew then what I know now—”

“Oh, come off it,” I leaned back and crossed my legs. “You still would have fucked her, Charles.”

Rage burned through me in a way I had not felt in years. Her mind filled with roses and bouquets that made her flush with pride and overwhelming joy. She remembered contemplating the divine—the possibility of soulmates existing in her well-ordered mind—as she inhaled the grand gestures. The petals dried, their stems rot, long before their time, cheapened by the passive aggressive intentional marker of another woman redefining territories. Black lace, freshly creamed and delicately placed—a second gift intentionally placed by his mistress for Mimi to find.

My hands trembled. I could not breathe. The sun dipped closer towards the ocean, and I fled before he could witness more of my pain.

“Mimi,” he whispered, reaching out.

I raised a single hand to stay him, begging him to stand down. Charles was not that man. After all these years, he knew me. His hands pulled me in; his fingertips caressed my cheeks, the skin thinner than before, but just as warm.

“How long until it stops?” I gasped, struggling against the pain in my chest. “You promised me this was for the best.”

Full panic overcame me, and for the first time in years, I stood in front of my husband again.

“I know I was wrong,” his hands ran over my hair—soothing me in a way no one else had figured out how.

“You said you didn’t believe in monogamy!” My hand hit his chest as I remembered his words just before leaving, “Six years, Charles! You’ve been with her six years! Why now? Why am I here?” The pain tore me open. All the old wounds split, letting the infection drain.

“I’m sorry, Mimi,” he was crying. “I was wrong. I’ve wanted to come back a thousand times, but how could I after all I’d done—you’ve seemed so happy.”

“Well, I wasn’t—I’m not,” there was no point in holding back. “You ruined flowers for me. You killed a part of me that day—that naïve dreamer you loved so much vanished.”

“I know, Mimi, I know.”

“Why now?”

“Because we’re not getting younger—because I can’t take another day of hollow—almost happy.”

“She looks just like me.” The words dripped with disdain.

Charles nodded. “She’s not you, though.”

“How can I trust any of this?”

“You can’t.”

“What’s the point then? We do what—open all this up—go back to New York, and you’ll return to her—and I’ll what?”

Charles shook his head. “I’m stubborn, Mimi.”

“No, shit.”

A weak smile spread over his lips. “Can we just pretend our story didn’t end?”

I locked the ‘yes’ away, shielded by the list of wrongs trespassed against me. “I don’t want to hear the numbers, I want to hear your rants—that brilliant mind. I want to go back and keep myself from watering the neighbor’s grass—you’re right, Mimi, it was cowardice—it was fixable.”

I shrugged my shoulders, the tears slipping down. “Why are you still with her?”

“I don’t know. Atonement—I guess—fear,” his voice lowered. “She was easy.” He sighed. “It will never take the pain away, but I have changed.”

“I sure as shit hope so after fifteen years.”

“And you have too.” He caressed my cheek, and I felt a piece of me crumble.

I had regrets too. It was easy to blame him for it all, such a visible and clear transgression that others would sympathize with, and yet she remembered the times she was hard on him. When she nagged him and acted like he was something that could never break, only be pushed to be better. She knew his strength hid a hurt, insecure child because she was there to see him then. She’d thought of it—how this woman probably looked at him in a way she forgot how to years before they fell apart.

“I still love you, Mimi. Not a day has passed without you on my mind.”

The ache swallowed her. “When will it go away?” she asked.

“I’m starting to think it won’t.”

His fingers touched my hair. I stood there, his hands holding me as they had for years, as she longed for on the nights she cried herself asleep, wondering if he was as happy as he seemed.

“I never stopped loving you, Charles. You were wrong—I was not better off. You should have come back.”

“But look how much you’ve grown, Mimi. You’ve seemed so happy.”

“I never stopped looking for you.” I could hardly see him through the tears as every disappointing false start flashed in my mind’s eye.

“Can we just pretend?”

I could not answer. I surrendered to him. Our hearts beat as one, and it was all like a bad dream. The sun set, and the moon brought pained laughter. The stars awakened a million stories begging for years to be shared. The sun rose with tangled arms, hearts, and sheets. The heat lulled them into a permanent dream. Lost forever in the reverie of old love. Wrinkled hands, paper lips, sickness and health, but no rings. Compassion replaced pain. The moon brought laughter, and secrets twinkled with the stars. The sun rose. Honesty replaced fear and insecurity. Alarm clocks and wrist watches forgotten in the reverie of old love, perennial as summer’s green.