Sleeping alone without Seb last night felt wrong. His absence was a gnawing reminder that things aren’t okay between us. And yet somehow, I feel more rested than I have in weeks.
As the sun spreads across the sea this morning, I make coffee and toast in the kitchen. Alma and Ana are in the living room with the physiotherapist. With my breakfast in hand, I make my way back up the stairs to the bedroom, trying to motivate myself.
Today you might actually write something.
I do. And it’s all rubbish. After a few hours of trying—and failing—to write down words with meaning, I open InCheck on my old phone and scan my counsellor’s profile.
Alice Huntington.
She looks American, and I feel a strange disappointment. Was I hoping for someone more… well, British? But as I look at her chestnut hair and blue eyes, I feel calmer. She looks kind, like someone who doesn’t just judge.
According to the app, she’s a certified therapist with more than 100 clients. Worked as a private practitioner for eight years. At the bottom of the page, a button prompts me to schedule a call, or send her a text.
My mind wrestles with the options. A call would be a good start, right?
I’m about to schedule the call when there’s a knock at the door.
“Lisa?”
I shove the phone under a pillow. “Come in.”
“Hey,” Ana says, peeking her head in.
“Hi.”
“How’s the writing going?”
I glance back at my closed laptop on the bed, the heat rising to my cheeks. “Oh, slowly. But you know what they say… it takes time.”
I hate my words. As if you’re a pro, right?
Ana’s smile doesn’t fade. “I was wondering if you wanted to go for a walk? And get some lunch?”
“Right now?”
“If you’re not too busy?”
“No,” I say. “Not busy. I need a break anyway.”
A break from doing nothing.
I take a quick shower to freshen up, and meet Ana in the hall. She walks into the living room and says a few words to Alma, who is watching TV from her recliner chair. From behind Ana, I awkwardly wave goodbye to her.
Outside, the sky is bright, the sun shining through a few desultory clouds.
“I asked Seb to meet us for lunch,” Ana says, walking ahead. For a second, my body is rigid, like the act of saying his name is a sin. We haven’t spoken since he sent me that text last night, telling me he won’t be coming home.
“He’s on his way back from the vineyard,” Ana continues. “He’ll meet us at Casa Lucio.”
I nod like all of this is normal. Like Seb and I are fine, and he has a perfectly functioning relationship with his sister. “Great.”
As we walk side by side, the cool breeze gives me goosebumps, even through my coat. Despite the chill in the air, the sun is warm on my head and shoulders. “It’s nice out today.”
“It is,” Ana says.
She takes her sunglasses from her jacket pocket as I look out across the bay, the water glistening in the sun. “How was Alma’s physio today?”
“Good, the physiotherapist is very hopeful,” she says, sunglasses over her eyes. “He says she’ll be able to use the stairs again in a few weeks.”
“That’s great news.”
“I guess that means we can all go back to normal,” she says. “Are you and Seb planning to go back to the UK?”
Despite myself, I frown at Ana’s question. I don’t know the answer, and I doubt Seb does either. It’s like we’re stuck in limbo, our future uncertain. There’s a fork in the road, compelling us to answer the inevitable question—can we move on from this?
The kiss with Greg, the ugly parts of Seb I’ve seen since being here, the ever-growing distance between us. All negative points on our scorecard.
“I don’t know what we’ll do,” I tell Ana.
What if my marriage is over before it’s even started?
She takes a breath, hands jammed into her jacket pockets. The wind tugs gently at her hair. I find myself wondering how someone so beautiful can be so understated at the same time.
“My brother is stubborn,” she says. “I don’t know what happened between you, but I know that whatever it is, he’s taking it too far.”
It takes a few beats for me to register her words, but when I do, relief comes flooding in. Thank God she doesn’t know what I did. All this time I’ve been wondering if she or Alma knows.
“He always does that,” she says.
I shake my head. “I don’t know if he’ll be able to move past it.” My eyes are glued to the road, the faded line on the tar my anchor.
“He will,” she says. “He likes to sometimes—how do you say it?” she looks up and creates a tsk sound with her tongue as she searches for words. “Sit in his pain. Sulk.”
I smile. It’s something an older sister would say. But despite that, the words ring true. I remember us back in the UK, when Seb would catch a cold. How he’d wallow in his pity like he was on the verge of death.
And when he was upset over a business call, he’d often sit in silence for hours, refusing to talk. The memory of him sitting at the dining table the other day comes to mind. Folded arms and pursed lips, like a child on the verge of a tantrum.
“Give him some time, he’ll get over it,” Ana says. “And then you can leave.”
That last part catches me off guard, and I stop walking. Ana notices and turns to face me. “What?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be here,” I say.
“I know.”
“It’s so beautiful here, really,” I say, motioning at the scenery. My eyes roam across the docked boats bobbing in the water. I feel the fresh air rolling down from the hills.
“It is,” Ana says, smiling out at the ocean like it’s an old friend. “But this is not a place for a new life.”
“What do you mean?”
“This place is stuck in time. It’s old, and it’s fading.”
I suddenly think of Alma, sitting in that house for years. Of the tired faces at the taverns, the empty streets devoid of laughter.
Ana keeps talking. “And it’s beautiful because it’s old and fading. But apart from the nature, nothing else grows here.”
I look out at the greenery, the distant peaks with their clusters of trees. From here it all looks so lush. The rich green, the deep blue of the ocean. An incubator of life. But I see the steady deterioration of the buildings, and how the people in town look at foreigners like me.
“Is that why you moved to Barcelona?” I ask.
Ana’s lips turn up faintly at the corners, like she’s smiling. “My mom is here, and she’ll always be here. But my family is in Barcelona now.”
Her words are filled with warmth and love. It makes me sad. Makes me wonder where my own family is—back in the UK, or wherever Seb is?
We get to Casa Lucio, with its name painted across the top of the wooden door, the smell of the ocean rolling in from the bay. Outside, wooden tables and chairs face the sea, the walls painted a light blue. Ana greets a man with skin like leather, the result of being seasoned by the sun for decades. He ushers us to a table.
“Are you okay to sit outside?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say.
We order two beers. There’s silence as she types away at her phone. “Seb will be here in a few minutes,” she says.
When he arrives, I watch him park his car down the road. I’m not used to seeing him drive so much. Back in the UK, he was fine with walking or taking public transport. But here, it’s different. Just like so many other things about him.
Seb strides over to us, looking calm and collected. It’s only when he sits down at the table that I’m propelled out of the spell of staring at him, forced to act.
“How was the vineyard?” I ask.
“Busy,” he says, unzipping his jacket. I can smell his aftershave. Familiar. “But definitely needed.”
There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, and my insides relax a bit.
The three of us make easy conversation. We talk about the weather and the changing seasons that Gexta experiences—often all in one day. When the waiter comes to take our order, Ana gives me an uncertain look. “I was thinking of ordering a few things for the table. I know you don’t like fish, but maybe you’ll like some of the dishes here.”
I hold my breath, look at Seb. His eyes are soft.
“I’ll try it,” I say.
And instantly, there’s a shift in the energy at the table. The sun breaks through the clouds, rays hitting the water. I move closer to Seb, and he doesn’t move away. Instead, he’s smiling, stretching out his arms like he’s on holiday. Ana sips her beer with an expression that says, I told you so.
The food arrives, and I immediately grab for the breadbasket. Better line the stomach before trying the fish.
“Just try a little bit like this,” Seb says, holding out a small piece of the fish on his fork. I lean in and take the bite, careful to chew and process the flavour. There’s a briny tang, with a hint of lemony butteriness.
“It’s all right, actually,” I say. “I was expecting worse.”
Ana and Seb chuckle. I join in, but move my plate closer to the potatoes.
“Good. But you don’t need to eat more of it,” Ana says, a grin playing on her face.
“She loves bread more, anyway,” Seb says.
His words make my insides dance. Yes, yes. You know me. You still love me.
And then I hear my name being called.
For a second, it’s like I misheard. But then Ana turns and looks around. Something bubbles in the pit of my stomach, rises like heat in my throat. I look up and he’s there, in the street, walking towards us.
Greg.
Seeing him here feels surreal, like a character from one movie jumping into another. Misplaced. I haven’t spoken to him since the day he leaned in and kissed me. There’s a girl with him. Skinny as a broom, her light hair faded in the sunlight. As he walks closer to the restaurant, my eyes dart to the wooden railing separating our table from the street, willing it to rise up and block us from view.
Greg calls out to me again, oblivious. “Lisa, hey!”
“Who’s that?” Ana asks.
I say nothing, but that’s all it takes for Seb to stand. My eyes dart to his face. He’s frowning, suddenly on defence. “Is that him?” he asks me.
I nod. It’s the only thing I can do.
The chair scratches on stone as Seb pushes it back, bolting for the street. Aware of what’s happened, Greg stops, eyes focused on my fiancé. It’s like I’m watching a speeding car head towards a pedestrian, a collision inevitable. Seb’s hands are raised, like a cat about to pounce, and I can hear Ana speaking, but it’s like I’m underwater.
Greg’s eyes are wide. “Mate, look I—”
But Seb pushes him hard in his chest. Greg falters, steps back. “Mate, just—”
Seb’s voice is a growl. “Get out of here, mate.”
He bares his teeth, and the image I had of him as a grumpy child is replaced with something darker, more intimidating. A full-blown, violent man.
Ana blinks, looks from me back to her brother. I steady my hands on the table, my breathing shallow. A wet bitterness takes over my mouth, acid rising in my throat. I swallow to push it down, but the more I do, the more it climbs.
The next thing I know, I’m retching on the floor.