Juan called a few days after their conversation. The job was Pablo’s for the taking.
He could hardly believe it. It was actually happening.
He was going to Barcelona.
There was, however, one thing standing between him and a new life up north.
He had put it off. He’d done his best to put it out of his mind. Now he had to put his best foot forward.
He had to tell his mom.
Pablo made his way downstairs. Before he could see her, he heard her in the kitchen unloading some bags. For him, the day was only just getting started. For his mother, it was already well underway.
He was only half awake. But he had to tell her now. He had to tell her before he thought too much about it and lost his nerve.
“Buenos días Mamá.”
“Buenos días hijo.”
“Great news!” she said as she lay three packages of lentils on the table, each assuming its own random, lopsided form. “I heard back from the insurance company. Everything is good with our claim, and we can move forward with the repairs!”
The news was great. The timing could hardly have been worse.
“Now I just have to get some estimates and get a contractor in. I already talked to Carlos, and he’ll probably do it. Still, I want to check with a few different people to make sure he’s the one.”
Pablo hadn’t seen his mother this upbeat since the fire. Was now really the time to tell her?
“How long do you think it’ll take to rebuild?” he asked, intent on showing his interest, while buying himself some time.
“I’m not sure. You know these things always take longer than expected. The good news is that—even though it looks bad—the building is so solid most of the damage wasn’t structural—other than part of the roof, obviously. So, most of the work will be gutting and replacing the interior. And since the space isn’t that big, if I can get someone in there right away, hopefully we’ll be up and running sooner rather than later.”
We. Sooner rather than later.
He had to tell her.
Now.
“I talked to cousin Juan in Barcelona this morning.”
“Did you? What’d he have to say?”
Pablo took a deep breath. His whole body had tensed, and his throat was dry.
“He said there’s a job in the warehouse.”
He paused to see if his mother had any reaction. When, showing none, she continued unloading the bag, he mustered his courage to add, “He said I could probably take it, if I wanted it.”
Carmen stopped what she was doing, wheels now spinning as reality hit. This wasn’t merely a causal morning conversation of little consequence. There was more going on here.
Leaving the bag for later, she turned to the coffee pot and started a fresh brew. She then opened a drawer, dug around briefly, and extracted an almost empty pack of cigarettes before taking a seat at the table with Pablo.
“Barcelona?” she said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
Pablo couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her smoke.
“Yeah.”
“Not exactly down the street!” she remarked as lightheartedly as she could, given the gravity of the news. Pablo was surprised.
“And I’m guessing that if you’re mentioning it, it’s because you do want this job?” she surmised, exhaling her first drag.
“Yes.”
He felt the urge to explain, to justify and rationalize. But his gut said otherwise, his inner voice silencing his outer one. There was no need.
“You’ve changed since the fire. I’m sure we all have,” she said, as much to herself as to Pablo. “I guess it’s inevitable.”
The comforting aroma of fresh coffee began to mingle with the pungent odor of spent tobacco.
“I always wondered if you’d ever get the itch. Seems like almost everyone your age does, but you’ve always been so in your element here—not like your sister, who was always down in Málaga every chance she could get. Of course, I’ve never wanted you to leave, but I can understand why you might want to see some of the rest of the world.”
Her voice trailed off as she withdrew into her thoughts. For the moment she said nothing. Pablo could sense there was more.
“I held your father back. I can’t make that same mistake with you.”
Pablo was now even more surprised.
“Held him back?” He had no idea what she was talking about.
“It was one of our only real fights,” she explained, inhaling deeply. “The only time I wasn’t sure we’d make it through. Of course we did. But it wasn’t easy, and it sure didn’t get resolved overnight.”
“What happened?”
“He had a friend in Granada who was opening a bar and needed a partner. I had no desire to leave the village and go all the way to Granada to live in the city. And I sure as hell did not want to own a bar. The food. The alcohol. The horrible hours. No way. We fought and fought, and in the end he let it go. Once it was over it was over—Antonio had too big a heart to hold a grudge. But even so, I’m not sure he could ever completely forgive me. I came between him and his dream. And don’t misunderstand—I don’t regret it. It was not a dream I shared. It was not something we ever talked about before getting married. It was way out of left field, and he waited longer than he should have to tell me. But I can only imagine how tempting for him it must have been, every time something went wrong here, to wonder how different, how much better it would have been if only we’d gone to Granada. But we didn’t. We stayed, and we opened the market instead.”
Pablo let his mother’s words sink in until, unable to help himself, he asked, “And what if I go, what about it? The market, I mean?” He couldn’t believe he was the one bringing it up, but he had to know.
“Looks like you’re in luck there, too. Your tía Lucrecia called a couple days ago and said your cousin José is coming back from Madrid. It turns out he didn’t like it there, which doesn’t surprise me—he’s not the big-city type. Anyway, she told me to let her know if we needed any help. Of course, I told her we didn’t. But now it looks like we do. So, it just might work out for everyone. I guess one’s coming back, so another can go.”
Pablo was astonished. She was actually letting him do it. She was sad and thoughtful as she contemplated her only son’s unexpected departure, but she wasn’t going to offer any of the resistance Pablo had dreaded from the first time the idea of leaving had occurred to him. There would be no fighting, no endless discussions or begging or pleading. Maybe there had been so much drama since the fire she was simply too drained to put up a fight. Or, perhaps this was how she always would have reacted. Perhaps all the worst-case scenarios—all the what-ifs—had been purely of his own creation, self-serving scapegoats to prevent him from taking risks he hadn’t been ready to take.
Whatever the case, the one remaining obstacle between Pablo and Barcelona had just proven to be little more than a chimera, and his whole life was about to change.
He gave his mother a long, warm embrace, lingering as if they were both contemplating the good-bye they would have to say in a not-too-distant future. She then got up to wash her mug, while he ran upstairs to shower.
Most of Pablo’s activities over the next few weeks would be spent preparing for his transition. He'd have to decide what to take with him and start packing. There would be countless trips down to town to run an endless list of errands. He'd also be socializing as much as his busy schedule would allow, since once news got out of his impending departure, he’d be the man of the hour. All his family and friends would want to see as much of him as possible before he left the village behind for the big city in the north.