| |
––––––––
It was the perfect setting for their last dinner in Barcelona: an outdoor patio set on Mount Tibidabo with a spectacular view of the entire city of Barcelona and the Mediterranean sea spread out below like a dark cape on a dazzling, bejeweled lady.
“It's beautiful Soren,” Angela said with breathless appreciation.
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I'm glad you like it. The food might not be up to your strict standards, but I thought the view might make up for some of that.” He gave Angela a weak smile.
It felt like they were always saying goodbye.
As if reading his mind, she said quietly, “I’m going to miss you too.”
They ordered their food and wine, and Soren took a sip from his glass. They still hadn’t discussed London, and his nerves were frayed by the anxious anticipation of wondering when they would. Then he remembered what Angela said in Hawaii, about not saying goodbye without knowing when their next hello would be.
“I can’t believe I’m leaving Barcelona permanently in a few days. I’ll be staying at my parents for a bit, but I expect to be moving into my new flat in the next few weeks.”
“That’s great,” she answered, her face a mystery.
The waiter delivered some olive and almonds, and he popped an olive in his mouth.
Angela turned to look at the view, her face studious.
Soren palmed the olive pit from his mouth and placed it in a bowl. “So do you think our next visit should be in L.A., or London, or somewhere else altogether?”
Angela took a thoughtful breath, and then frowned. “London I think. But it will have to wait until my book goes to the printer, so maybe late June or early July.”
“Almost exactly a year...” Soren murmured.
Angela breathed in sharply. “You’re right. It’s hard to believe it’s already been a year. So much has happened.” She ate a couple of olives, and after a thoughtful pause added, “But I can only stay for a week or so. I need to start editing my second book, Los Leones, and working on photography for it. I want to finish it before the end of the year.” Her eyes were bright with excitement.
But her excitement chilled Soren.
“And then you have to come to L.A. in October for my book launch, and I’m not sure about the holidays yet. I’d like to see my grandfather again before the end of the year...”
He didn’t hear the rest of her sentence because at that point, something clicked in his head.
She was never moving to London.
Soren’s heart ached as a waiter dropped off their bottle of wine. He watched the waiter pour the wine with obsessive attention, watching the green-hued glass tilting in slow motion. The stream of burgundy liquid gushing forth before slowing to a trickle. As soon as his glass was full, he grabbed it by the stem and took a long sip.
Angela’s loud voice finally caught his attention.
“The deconstructed tortilla española looks interesting. Don’t you think?” she asked in a voice that made it clear she was repeating herself.
He waved the question away with his fingers. “Order whatever you like. Order for me as well.”
She gave him a questioning look, spoke to the waiter, and then took a sip of her Rioja. She followed Soren’s gaze onto the city streets below. “I think I can see the street I lived on. It's just a bit below Diagonal over there.”
“You sound like you miss it.” He took another long sip of wine, draining his cup. He immediately poured himself another glass and took another big swallow.
Angela shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t miss the apartment itself. It wasn’t memorable in that way. But I feel like I grew a lot as a person during my time living there. So I guess in that way, it makes me nostalgic.”
He wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Grew as a person?”
She pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders and nodded. “Yes. I had never lived outside of Los Angeles before coming to Barcelona. It was powerful to be away from everyone and everything that defines me. I got to know myself better because of it, and I’m a different person now. When I go home to Los Angeles, I no longer feel like I’m there because that’s where I was born. I return home now because it’s where I choose to be.”
Soren was mid-sip when his throat constricted tightly. He put his wine glass down as he coughed, his throat burning. His heart felt like it was in free fall.
He looked down, trying to gather his wits.
He had to let her go. It was the only way he would ever know the place he held in her heart.
When he looked back up, he could see confusion in Angela's eyes.
“What's wrong?” she asked softly.
He tried to speak but the words were stuck in his throat, struggling for expression. Never in his life had his desires been at such odds. What he knew he must say was exactly what he didn't want to say.
“Soren?” she asked again more firmly, her voice full of concern.
He cleared his throat and sat up taller, willing himself to look into her bewitching, hazel eyes, now filled with uncertainty.
“Darling, darling Angela. I don't know how to say the words...”
Angela shivered noticeably. “What words?”
He inhaled a deep breath, and exhaled the words of his conscience. “Angela, I believe it is for the best if we go our separate ways.” He said the words quietly, as if that would soften the blow.
Angela inhaled sharply. “You want to break up?”
Soren closed his eyes and sighed. He kept his eyes shut, it was too hard to look at her and say the words that were a betrayal to his own heart. “I don't want that at all, but Angela darling, I don't think we've been completely honest with ourselves.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice was thick with confusion and disbelief.
Opening his eyes he said, “Angela,” his voice soothing, like a parent to a child. “Where do you want to live your life?”
“Live my life?”
“Yes, where do you want to settle down? Where do you see yourself living, perhaps married, maybe even with a child? Where is that place that you see in your mind’s eye?” The words fell over one another as they tumbled out of Soren’s mouth.
Angela blinked rapidly. “I haven't really thought about it.”
He cocked his head. “Really? Because I think you already know.”
She broke eye contact and fidgeted in her seat.
He sat up straighter, attempting to strengthen his resolve for what he had to say. “I think you see yourself in Los Angeles.”
Her brows knit together. “Why is that?”
“Because the way you talk about Los Angeles is how I feel about Denmark. I know with one-hundred percent certainty that I'm going to eventually settle down in Denmark.” He paused, adjusted his napkin, and then continued more quietly, “Can you imagine living happily in Denmark?”
Angela blinked rapidly. “I don't know. I've never been.”
He leaned back in his seat. “Well, it's even farther away from Los Angeles than London is both in location and culture. It's nothing like L.A. or even Barcelona. It's cold, the people there don't dance, and I know we have at least one Chinese restaurant in Copenhagen, but I’ve never eaten there so I can’t vouch for its quality,” he forced a laugh.
He paused allowing Angela to absorb his words. Her face was a screen of conflicting emotions. Clearly she was shocked. Hell, he was shocked. Breaking up had not been on his agenda for this evening either.
But the more he said, the more he knew his words to be true.
He exhaled and looked at her somberly. “Can you imagine ever being happy some place like that?”
She shrugged and said softly, “That wasn't the best sales job I've ever heard.”
He smiled sadly. “Angela, I don't want to sell you on Denmark. I want you to be happy. I know that my happiness can only be complete living in Denmark. I would love for you to be a part of that happiness but,” he paused taking in the pained and confused expression on her face before saying, “But I can't be happy if you are unhappy in the process.”
She looked down at her hands in her lap. “Why would I be unhappy?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Because, I don’t think you can be happy settling down outside of Los Angeles, just like I can’t be happy settling down outside of Denmark. We are both seeds who want to root where we were planted.”
Angela’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She studied her hands, lost in thought. After a few moments, she said, “Soren, I can see you don't want to break up with me either. Why don't we just wait and see what happens?”
There it was; the crucial difference between them. The difference that had always been there ever since the beginning. Angela was driven by passion and emotions, Soren by logic and facts. The valley between these two ways of thinking was what was driving them apart.
It was the same wedge that had come between them at Heathrow Airport.
Soren smiled sadly. “Angela, if we do that, if we continue to 'see what happens,' do you think it will be more painful or less painful for us to break up in another three, six or twelve months?”
Angela narrowed her eyes at him. “But that's just it; you are assuming we will break up. What if we don't?”
Soren was flooded with all of the memories of the times she had proclaimed her love for Los Angeles. He remembered how different she had seemed in her own city, how comfortable she was with the loud, sprawling melting pot of L.A. How uncomfortable he had been in the same setting.
London and Denmark would smother Angela's flame and eventually their passion. He loved her too much to do that too her. He loved himself too much to put himself through that.
He knew he was right.
It was easier to break up with her knowing this. It was always easier to do something hard when he knew it was the right thing to do.
He squared his jaw and in a steely tone said, “Angela. This isn't easy for me, but I know it's for the best. One day you'll see that too.”
Angela’s eyes flew open. She shook her head and looked out towards the city. She wiped the corners of her eyes with her pinkie.
She didn't know what to say. She could tell that there would be no changing his mind. He was wearing a suit of cold, hard logic, and it repelled her.
She wasn't afraid of the pain of a future potential break up, but she also didn't understand someone who could throw away what they shared without even trying. She looked out towards the cityscape below, however, even though she was staring at one of her favorite sites in the world, she saw nothing.
She was numb.
Soren cleared his throat quietly. “I’ll have my things moved to a separate room in the hotel.”
Angela heard Soren as though he spoke through a muffled hose. He sounded distant and unclear. Of course, he thought of everything. His intended thoughtfulness seemed cold and calculating; further proof of his icy heart. She shifted her vision to focus on the city lights and drew power from them. She inhaled deeply the sea air that reminded her of home and felt comforted.
Fortified, she stood up, adjusted her wrap around her shoulders, and walked away from the table, towards the taxi stand at the front of the restaurant.
“Angela,” he called towards her back.
She pretended not to hear.
The doorman held the cab door open for her and she entered quietly. With her hand on the car door, she tilted her head towards Soren, and without looking back said, “Don't.” She pulled the door closed behind her.
She gazed straight ahead, as the cab pulled away from the curb. The 20-minute ride back to the hotel, passed in an instant as Angela volleyed between numb mindlessness and light-speed mental racing.
She opened the door to her hotel room and saw that all of Soren’s possessions were gone, but she was too numb to care.
As she fell asleep she realized that she had not shed a single tear.
Her heart felt cold.
Maybe she had learned something from Soren after all.
