“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like that.”
“Oh, sure it’s not. We all know what you’re like. Can’t shut your legs for one moment, can you?”
“Shut up, Mercy,” Josh sneered.
“Vera,” my mother whispered, holding on to the edge of the island. “Please tell me this is all a joke.”
I shook my head. “It’s not. He’s flying me to Spain. I’m going to live with him. I love him.” She gasped. I continued. “It’s not a joke, it’s just life and it’s happening.”
“You’re such a slut,” Mercy said, practically spitting at me. “After what Dad did to Mom? After the mess you both became? What about me? I’m getting married next year, married, and you’re such a selfish whorish brat that you go and take up with a fucking married man, some Spanish scum, and you think you’re so cool about it?”
I couldn’t breathe. My face turned red, hot, tight. I felt a panic attack coming on, anchoring me in a terrible state of paralysis. I was afraid if I did move, I was going to punch my sister right in her self-righteous face.
“Hey, why don’t we all calm down here,” Josh said commandingly, raising his hands.
“Oh fuck off, Josh,” Mercy said. “You’re getting in the way and this has nothing to do with you.”
I didn’t care anymore if Josh did go. I couldn’t get any more hurt than I already was. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but damn, I didn’t think their words would be so vicious, so hateful.
“Vera Elizabeth Miles,” my mother said, her tone suddenly hard. I eyed her wearily, suddenly afraid again. I did not like that tone, the dead tone of indifference and disappointment.
She breathed in sharply through her nose. “If you leave this house, if you forgo your studies, you will never get a dime from me for tuition. And you will never be allowed back in this house.”
“Mom!” Josh yelled at her. “Are you crazy?”
“Oh shut up, Joshua,” she snapped, eyes flashing. “I expected more from you. Instead, you’re supporting your sister during her most idiotic move ever.”
Okay. Apparently I could get more hurt. My insides twisted around, the pain physical, as if my whole body was under fire. But she couldn’t be serious, could she? She was just overheated, overreacting because of what happened with her and Dad and Jude, right?
I swallowed painfully and stared at her. She stared right back at me. There was no love in her eyes.
“Do you hear me?” she went on, her expression made of ice. “If you walk out that door next week, you aren’t allowed back here. You’ll get no help with school. You’ll be totally on your own. And don’t even think your dad will help you either, because he won’t. You understand? If you’re going to be a damn homewrecker, throwing away your future for a man who can’t keep it in his pants, then you are going to suffer the consequences. These kinds of things do not go unpunished in life. Hope you learn from this, sweetie.”
The sweetie part was a killer. Tears came to my eyes, the front of my face feeling hot and tight. I nodded, able to keep them at bay, and turned around, walking quickly back to my room, my heart in my throat, my lungs deprived of air.
I shut the door behind me and stood there for a few minutes, trying to absorb what had just happened, trying to hold my body together. It felt as if it would come falling apart at any moment.
I was risking the chance at a new life on uncertainty, and the only thing that was certain was that if I ever returned, I’d come back to no life at all.
I collapsed to the floor.
I had made my choice.
Part Three
Madrid
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Shame on us, doomed from the start. May god have mercy on our dirty little hearts,” Trent Reznor sang softly in my ear. I don’t know what it is about listening to music 35,000 feet in the air, staring out the window at just clouds and rounded horizons, but life seems so much more profound. So fleeting. Maybe it was because at any moment you could plummet to your death. Maybe because it made you realize how small your life really was and the music was the soundtrack to your epiphany.
Or maybe it was because you were listening to a depressing and intensely relatable song. I sighed and skipped to the next one just as the seatbelt signs came on and the pilot announced our descent into the Madrid-Barajas Airport.
I didn’t need to buckle my belt—I never took that shit off when flying—so I rested my head against the wall, staring out the window as the clouds came up to meet the plane. I was having immense déjà vu, which made sense since I had landed in London back in late May with the same misfiring nerves coursing through my system. But there was more than just buzzing nerves this time: my entire heart, soul, and life was on the line.
The last week in Vancouver had been as miserable as you could imagine. My mother wouldn’t even look at me, and I never saw Mercy again after that. Josh was my saving grace. He was the buffer between me and the world of disappointment and hate. He made me feel loved when others didn’t.
I was extremely busy as well, trying to figure out if I needed to apply for a permit to work and stay in Spain for longer than normal. Because I was Canadian, working in Spain would be a fairly easy process but it was something I would have to deal with later. The most important thing was for me to just get there.
Naturally, my mother did talk to my father, and he didn’t sound too impressed with me either. He thought I was making a mistake. But he did say that if I ever came back home, I could live with him in Calgary. I really hoped it didn’t come to that, but it was nice to know it was there.
I didn’t want to think about that, about returning to Canada with my tail between my legs. My mind kept going to the “what ifs” all throughout the flight. What if Mateo’s friends and family hated me? What if the spark had died while I was away? What if he decided to reconcile with his wife for the sake of their daughter? What if he had forgotten how to love me—or realized he never loved me to begin with?
I was still so caught up in the questions and the lack of sleep that I didn’t even flinch when we came upon horrid turbulence upon our arrival. The man next to me was gripping his seat rest until his knuckles were chalk white, his body rigid, and yet my only fear was losing love.
Soon we landed, and while everyone looked relieved to be alive, jonesing to get off the plane, I was stuck to my seat, strapped down by fear. Suddenly, I couldn’t do it. Suddenly, I realized what a giant leap I had just taken, something so ballsy and slightly irresponsible. That wasn’t just my mother talking in my head, that was me, that was the me that feared she may have risked everything on a huge mistake. I had five hundred Canadian dollars in my bank account, and no way to get back home if something went wrong. As the flight attendant came down the aisle and asked me if I needed assistance getting off the plane, I asked, “Is there any way I can just stay on this plane and have it take me back home?” She laughed politely then shot me dagger eyes that told me to get my ass up.
I walked through the airport as if in slow-motion, everything so familiar and yet foreign. It was nice to hear Spanish being spoken again, and though it filled me with trepidation because, of course, I didn’t speak Spanish, and unlike Las Palabras, English wouldn’t cut it, it made me feel alive again. It was a kick in the pants of “Hey, I made it, I’m here.”
I just wished I wasn’t so damn afraid. Mateo had said he’d meet me at baggage claim, and I was actually a nervous wreck about seeing him. Would he look different? Did I look different? Was this going to be passionate? Awkward? Was I going to cry?