And so, a week after Las Palabras, Mateo taught me how to swear properly in Spanish until five in the morning, when the stars in the sky started to fade.

Compared to the previous month, the month of July crawled by at a sloth’s pace. In some ways this was good since every day that passed was a day that took me further and further from the Spain version of Vera. It made the memories harder to recreate in detail, it made me forget conversations, forget myself. Every day brought me closer and closer to becoming the old Vera Miles, the one I didn’t want to go back to, so the slower the month went, the better it was.

There was only one thing that kept me going throughout the days, and that was Mateo. Sure, I was enjoying the summer weather and the gorgeous beaches now that the rain had let up. I had gone to Calgary to see my father and Jude, and that was a nice little escape where my dad still spoiled me rotten. I got my job at Waves Coffee back, only I couldn’t get full-time, so I just picked up shifts when I could. I even briefly saw Jocelyn when she came to town, which ended up in a night of debauchery on Granville Street and me in tears because I’d had too much to drink. I couldn’t blame her for hurrying back to Saskatchewan after that.

But, even with all that, it was Mateo who got me up in the morning, looking forward to each day. He was a busy man, still looking into opening a restaurant in London thanks to his fancy English skills, so we didn’t talk on the phone every day. But we texted as much as we could, and sent emails when texting wasn’t good enough.

Sometimes we would talk for hours about everything under the rainbow. Other times we would watch a movie together, trying to get our DVDs on our computer to synch up. The other night we tried phone sex, which was an absolute first for me. I never asked where he was when we were talking dirty to each other, but I tried not to think about it too much. He would pleasure himself while talking wildly in Spanish, and that was such a fucking turn on that it only took me seconds before I was coming. My vibrators definitely got a work out, as did my voice control. No one wants to be a screamer when you live with your mom and brother.

We were pushing the limits with that and yet it only felt natural.

So, in some ways, I was satisfied. My sex life was healthy in its own fantastical way, I was able to keep in contact with him, to hear his voice, to talk and understand and enjoy each other. It was like part two of the relationship, a slower, distant version of what we had at Las Palabras.

But in other ways, I was absolutely miserable. There were only so many times I could hear him whisper that he was biting my nipples without needing him to physically be there biting my nipples. There were only so many times he could tell me he loved me and wanted to hold me without me feeling that hollow ache that he couldn’t hold me in his arms.

The only high point in my day was him, and after a while, that just wasn’t good enough anymore. That depression, that descent into Crazyville that happened right after I landed, that was coming back to me. To make matters worse, I had to start picking courses for the school year and concentrate on what my future would bring—a future that didn’t contain the man who had my heart.

On one extraordinarily hot and humid day, I felt pretty close to snapping. It didn’t help that Mateo and I had a fight of sorts over the phone in the wee hours of the morning. It wasn’t even over anything in particular, I was just being super bitchy and snippy, and he didn’t take that attitude very well, so the angry Spanish stallion in him came out. I didn’t see that side of him very often, but it made me realize I couldn’t be a bitch for no reason and not get called out on it.

Sleep-deprived and even more pissed off because of our fight, I had spent the morning listening to angry music, which was Faith No More’s King for a Day album. I had it on repeat as I cleaned my room over and over again.

“All right, that’s it,” Josh boomed above the music, suddenly appearing in the doorway. He walked over to the iPod dock and pushed the volume slider down, then leaned against my desk and stared at me, arms folded across his chest. “This has got to stop.”

I spritzed Windex onto my window for the millionth time and frowned. “What?’

“This. Your angry music.”

“So? Don’t be a Patton hater.”

“I’m not a hater. But you’re fucking driving me crazy, Vera,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “To be honest with you, you’re worrying me a little bit.”

Now he had my attention. I turned around fully and faced him, putting the cleaner on the windowsill. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my heart picking up a beat.

He gestured to the music. “You’re playing your angry album every day. You’re cleaning and you never clean. I talk to you, and half the time you’re not even there. You’re just this ghost of who my sister used to be.”

That kind of hurt hearing it from him. Was I really that obvious? I opened my mouth to protest but he went on.

“Then later in the day, or sometimes in the morning, I don’t know anymore, you’re happy like a pig in shit. You’re all goofy, googly eyes, like a fucking muppet, and you’re smiling and it’s great. But you still don’t seem like you’re here. And then you descend into your daily bout of PMS again.” He threw his hands up. “Look, I know we don’t tell each other everything. I know you’re older and you’ve got your own problems and I get it. But, you know, just let me in a bit. It’s hard sometimes, just living life, you know? I feel like you never even came back from Spain at all.”

My throat hurt. My eyes stung. He was right. I hadn’t come back from Spain at all.

He reached over and shut the door. “You don’t have to tell me what happened over there, but…I think it might do us both some good.”

My brother was right. I hadn’t really told him anything. I told him I missed my friends and he knew what the trip had meant to me. But when it came to Mateo, I hadn’t uttered a word. Josh never even knew his name.

He was the only family I could truly trust, could truly count on. He’d been there for me when others hadn’t. I owed him the truth, as silly as it would probably seem in the end.

With a heavy sigh, I sat down on the bed and patted the spot beside me.

“Take a seat,” I said. “I’m about to go all Nicolas Sparks on your ass.”

He reluctantly took a seat, knowing full well how much I hated Nicolas Sparks’ books and movies. I launched into it, from the very moment I stepped on the bus in Madrid, to when I got in the cab and watched Mateo through the rear view mirror.

Josh was wide-eyed, speechless. I went and got myself a glass of water, my throat raw from talking, and then told him about the last month, about our phone calls and how it was all taking its toll on me.

“So,” I said, exhaling loudly. “That’s the whole story. That is the dirty, shameful truth. Do you hate me now?”

He frowned, giving me a puzzled look. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because,” I said. “I slept with a married man.”

“But you’re in love with him,” he said earnestly. “And I’ve never seen you like this before. You don’t do love, Vera. You keep everyone at a distance.”

“I do?”

He nodded. “You may not realize it, but you do. You’re just so wrapped up in your head sometimes, I think. All my girlfriends wouldn’t shut up over the slightest thing, but getting you to open up, it’s like pulling teeth. And this dude, this Mateo, if he can manage to get through to you…I don’t know. I think it’s a good thing.”

Hmmm. The things you find out about yourself.

“That said, I don’t envy you, like, at all.” He got up and stretched his arms above his head. “Because if the two of you are ever going to be together again, even if you just keep doing what you’re doing and talking on the phone like you are, there are going to be consequences. At some point, shit will hit the fan. It always does.”