“I’ll see you in a bit,” I told Claudia, and then hung up, immediately ringing Mateo’s phone.

“Did you forget something?” he asked as he answered. “I just left the store.”

“What did you tell that Sonia woman?” I asked through grinding teeth.

“What?”

“The woman, your old friend, the one who caught us fucking in the bathroom. I went outside and you talked to her. What did you tell her about us?”

He paused and I could almost hear his mind racing. “I only…wait, why?”

“Just tell me!”

He sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know.”

“Did you tell her my name?”

“I introduced you as Vera, remember?”

“Did you tell her where we met? Where I was from?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Mateo!”

“Don’t fucking scream at me,” he sniped.

Don’t fucking tell me not to fucking scream at you, I wanted to yell back. It took a lot out of me to hold it in. “She told the magazine about us,” I seethed.

A pause. “How do you mean?”

“Well, come home and I’ll show you. But the photos, they now have my name and where you met me. And that I live with you now in Madrid, in the Salamanca neighbourhood. Did you tell her all of that?”

There was silence. I could hear him breathing hard, his footsteps through the phone. Finally he said, “Yes, I did.”

“Mateo!”

“Listen, Vera. I do not like it when you use that tone, all right? You know I have never done anything to hurt you, not on purpose. How am I supposed to know that Sonia would take useless bits of information and report them to the magazine?”

“Didn’t you know what kind of person she was?”

“I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think,” I retorted. “That keeps on being your excuse. That you didn’t think. Well start fucking thinking.”

And then I hung up, my heart in my throat, my gut coated with despair. I had never yelled at him like that before, never hung up on him. Even during our heated arguments over the phone, when the long distance aspect of our relationship was really getting to us, I had never hung up on him.

Luckily, he’d be in the house at any moment and I could immediately apologize to his face. I sat on the edge of the sofa and rubbed my hands on my dress, so fucking sick I felt like I was going to vomit.

The door opened and Mateo came in, carrying a canvas bag full of liquor. He kicked it shut, and that’s when I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He was in a bad mood now and I feared that I wouldn’t have a partner in this battle. I couldn’t handle this alone.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately said to him as he put the bag on the counter. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and I’m sorry I hung up on you.”

He plunked his elbows down on the counter and leaned over, running his hands through his hair in anger before burying his face in his palms. I watched him with bated breath, unsure of what he was going to say or do. When he still didn’t move, I started to get really worried. Maybe I pushed him, pushed us, too far. I knew that this, that everything, was either both of our faults or neither of our faults, but no matter what we were in it together.

I got up and walked carefully over to him. I gently placed my hand on his lower back as if he were made of glass.

“Mateo,” I whispered.

He nodded, then suddenly stood up and pulled me into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around my back. I felt my whole body give into his, too exhausted to even stand. I relished the feeling of his warmth, his strength, his support. It felt like I was given a tiny piece of relief, an anchor to prepare for the oncoming storm.

“Please do not fight me,” he said into my hair, kissing the top of my head. “Please do not get angry. I am angry too, enough for the both of us. I am more scared than you. But I cannot take it out on you because you did not ask for this. Please don’t take it out on me. I need you with me, not apart.”

I nodded, feeling tears pricking at my eyes. I managed to keep them inside, on the other side of the dam. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. And I am sorry that Sonia went and told the magazine. Sometimes you don’t really know a person, though I should have figured and that was my mistake. All I can tell you is,” he pulled back and peered down at my face, “more mistakes will be made. I don’t know what I am doing, but I will do everything in my power to keep my daughter and to keep you.”

And what happens if it comes time to choose between me and her? I thought. But of course I knew the answer to that.

I’d like to say that our spirits picked up for the party, but they didn’t. Not until Claudia and Ricardo showed up with even more bottles of wine, which in turn got Mateo and I buzzed in a hurry. I did what I could to put on my party face, ignoring that weight on my back.

Though we invited every local person that was at Las Palabras and all of them had RSVPed, not all of them showed up. It reminded me of the one time I threw a party in high school and only a handful of the guests actually came. Luckily, Mateo told me to not take it personally—people were notorious when it came to being flakes, always promising to be places and then never following through.

The first to arrive was Lucia and the infamous Carlos, even though they hadn’t been at the program. Lucia seemed a little tipsy, her cheeks dark red and she was constantly giggling. Carlos seemed to be an all right guy, in his early thirties and a bit stuck-up. Not at all whom I thought Lucia would be with. But he seemed nice enough, even though Mateo would not stop giving him the stink-eye, sizing him up like he was debating tossing him out of the party or not. His brotherly love made me love him a little more.

After Lucia and Carlos came Jerry, Angel, and his equally timid date, Patricia. It was so nice to see them again that I almost started crying. It didn’t matter that Jerry was still a huge overenthusiastic dork or that geeky Angel forgot all his English, just having them there was like opening a door to another life, flooding me with shiny, sunny memories.

Soon Antonio came, still cute and portly with his bushy mustache and a joke for everything, then Manuel with his rocker look, gentle Nerea (now with bright pink hair), and pervy Eduardo. Lucia and Carlos seemed to get along with everyone too, with Carlos and Antonio talking about business and the rest of us just drinking and eating and reminiscing about the old times. More than once I caught myself getting teary-eyed over shit, especially when the alcohol started getting to everyone. The damn Spaniards and their emotions—it was hard not to be affected when everyone else was so obviously missing what we had back at Las Palabras.

At some point though, Lucia, since she wasn’t affected by the Las Palabras effect, put on some dance music. Then the party went from brooding and emotional to happy and drunk. I danced in an Eduardo and Angel sandwich that Mateo pretended not to care about, but I still knew he was watching carefully, making sure Eduardo didn’t try any “Sex Pest” moves.

“Do you still talk to Polly?” I asked him, whipping my hair around.

He shook his head, looking a bit sad. “Not really. On Facebook, yes. More or less. But we are not…together. Not like you and Mateo are.”

“Mateo is lucky,” Angel said from behind me as my hair unceremoniously whacked him in the face.

“Well, I am lucky too,” I said.

“Si,” Eduardo said, “because now you live in Spain with the rest of us. How you like it here?”

“It’s great,” I said, and for the first time, I noticed my smile was a little forced as I said that. “Madrid is a wonderful city,” I added, so it wouldn’t seem like a lie.

Eduardo nodded, seemingly happy with that answer, and we went on dancing again until Patricia pulled Angel away and I needed a break. I went straight over to Mateo, who was leaning against the wall and nursing a glass of scotch. He seemed distant from everyone else.