99 Days

by Jessica Galera Andreu

  "How is it... that you are... engaged?" he managed to ask me. He turned his attention back to me and by that time I was already crying, aware of the price that badly managed confession could suppose for me.

  “When we met again, I... had a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend," I correct myself. “It's... it's an American boy and... our wedding was scheduled for a few months from now. I mean, he is, but I don't... I don't want to... marry... him.”

  Marcos smiled but in a very different way to those expressions on his face that illuminated the world.

  “And when were you going to tell me?”

  “I didn't do it in the beginning and I didn't know... I didn't know how to handle it. “

  "Wait, I get it," he replied. “I've been something like a parenthesis in your life, haven't I? Claudia opens a parenthesis: she disconnects a little from her stressful and spectacular life in the United States, even from her boyfriend, what the fuck. And she stumbles upon Marcos, laughs at him and... She sleeps with him; she plays with him, with what he feels, says or thinks. All in all, Marcos dies. The dead man dies in the hole, and the living man dies in the bun. Claudia closes the parenthesis and goes back to her own. Why should she leave her boyfriend?”

  I shook my head, horrified at that perception of things.

  “No, God. I swear it's not like that. I agreed to Marga and Victoria's proposal to look for you, just to greet you, to hear from you... or that was the excuse. I was dying to see you and when I was in front of you I realized that there were still many things that had survived the passage of time; the feelings of a baby girl that rose when they found you, that had always refused to die no matter how ridiculous it was. And no... I love you, Marcos. It's not a game or a lie, much less a parenthesis. I approached him when he leaned on the hood of the car, defeated and held his face between the palms of my hands. The coldness in his gaze was lethal to me. I have left everything for you and I do not regret it. I've been determined to break up with him for a long time, but I thought I deserved enough courage on my part to do it to my face.”

  “What about me? I didn't deserve anything from you? Not even a miserable truth?”

  “You had all of me, Marcos. Everything in me is yours, my life.”

  "God," he exclaimed, putting his hands away and standing up. “Do me the greatest favor of all you have done me since our reunion and forget the ridiculous I just did asking you to marry me.”

  “Marcos...” I implored, following him. “Marcos, please.”

  “So much for the game, Claudia. Leave me alone. It's all I ask of you.”

  He got into the car and I was unable to move. I was terrified, alone, empty.

  "Get in the car," he repeated. “I'll take you home and you can get your things.”

  I approached the window and clung to his arm as if it were the only thing in the world.

  “Don't push me away, Marcos, please. I know I've done things very badly, but I love you. I know I should have told you about him, that I should have left him a long time ago, but I only cared about you. I'm not proud to say it, but not even him; just you. I was afraid of...”

  “Come up, please. I have to return the car today.”

  Neither the trembling of my hands, nor that of my voice, nor that of my legs, nor that of my whole being, touched Marcos, and I could not blame him He felt betrayed, hurt, deceived. And my mind was so blurred that I limited myself to obeying his request, aware that that afternoon I would not find the words to obtain his forgiveness.

  ***

  An atrocious fear had crouched in my stomach like a deadly and cruel parasite while Marcos kept my clothes in the sports bag with which I had settled into his house. Tears burned in my face and I couldn't move. I was sitting on the bed, watching him pack my suitcase, in silence, without looking at me, alien to me and my state. “You selfish idiot,” I said to myself. Did you pretend that he was consoling me when it was I who had failed him? But the idea of getting away from him at that moment was devastating to me, unacceptable to my reason. If the fatal outcome happened and things were like this, I could not go on living. However, no matter how much I asked, Marcos did not accede to any of my requests and although a little voice repeated to me in my head that he needed time to digest the situation, the overwhelming voice of my heart shouted at me that there was no time, that I did not want to give him space or live a miserable second away from him.

  "I'd appreciate it if you weren't here first thing in the morning," he said, walking to the door of the room. “Call your friends, your boyfriend, or whomever you think is appropriate. Good night.”

  I didn't even open my mouth. His own voice came to me as if she were a thousand miles away, and all I could do that night was write Victoria asking her to come and get me if she could the next day; then I fell on the bed to cry until exhaustion took pity on me and I crawled into a necessary sleep.

  CHAPTER 8

  My face was still stinging, but I had stopped crying a long time ago. Victoria had come to pick me up around 10 a.m. and after three hours on the road, we went to my parents' house, where I could rest some more and think things over pragmatically. It was time to start putting into practice everything that had become a solid theory, whether it hurt or not: make the most of the time. Not in a hurry, but in intensity. I had never been a person who regretted the mistakes made or in the face of adversity, and if there was anything I could rescue from that Claudia, it was precisely that.

  I had taken a shower and unpacked the things I had taken to Marcos's house to wash my clothes. As soon as it had dried, I picked it up again in my suitcase.

  Two knocks on the door interrupted me momentarily but I resumed the rhythm and continued packing things.

  “Go ahead.”

  Marga and Victoria crossed the threshold with a curious expression; they almost seemed frightened.

  "Can we pass?" asked the first.

  "Go ahead," I repeated.

  “How do you continue?” Victoria wanted to know.

  I had already talked to both of them about what had happened and apparently, as far as friendships were concerned, I was very well served, which I already knew. Marga and Victoria had only needed a few hours to plant themselves in my parents' house, although I told them myself it wasn't necessary. Victoria had also swallowed my drama on the way back.

  "I'm fine," I lied.

  Victoria dropped into my bed, sat down and began to put the things that were on top of her in the inside of my suitcase.

  "Are you sure what you're going to do?" asked Marga. “I mean... I don't want you to think I'm judging you, my friend, but... I'm sorry I was one of the forerunners of all this. And I think... you should just value what you've been through with Marcos and focus again.”

  I looked at her, embarrassed. Marga was a wonderful person and I did not doubt that one of her words did not have the firm intention of seeing me happy, but she maintained that concept of life that I had championed until a few weeks ago. "Focusing," she said. On what? As Marcos would have defined it, Marga was looking for a way to plan how to be happy while life slipped through those plans. And I didn't doubt that she already had everything she needed, but I did think that if she was conscious and could understand the way Marcos and I saw things, she could still be much happier.

  On the contrary, Victoria looked at me with that complicit smile of someone who, understanding or not understanding anything, simply urges you to do whatever is born to you because she knows that happiness is in those little or big madnesses. She herself had swum against the current more times than many of those around her, including myself, had come to understand. At that moment I regretted having questioned every foolish act she had carried out in her life. But I knew Victoria would forgive me.

  "Marcos is my life," I replied at last. “I've screwed up a lot with him. All of them. But I will do whatever it takes to get him back.”

  "And James?" Marga asked. “What about the American?”

  Victoria rolled her eyes.

 
; “I don't love him. I didn't realize it until I met Marcos, but there's no room for two people in a heart when one of them monopolizes everything. With Marcos there is no middle ground.”

  “He's in love with you.”

  I looked at Marga frowning. Why did she talk as if she knew James?

  "Shit, Marga, stop with the stories," complained Victoria, standing up. “The American is here.”

  “Victoria!” shouted my other friend. Then she looked at me. “Your mother asked us not to tell you anything. She's seen you very overwhelmed in the last few hours and since she has no idea what's going on because you haven't deigned to tell her anything, she's asked James to stay at the hotel until...”

  The door opened at that moment and James looked out from the other side.

  “God, I couldn't believe it. And as you can see,” Victoria concluded, “your American is all understanding and comprehension.”

  She walked like a rampage toward the exit and left, almost pushing James. Marga looked at me and then followed her.

  James approached, visibly worried and held my face in his hands.

  “What's going on, Claudia? I haven't been able to contact you for weeks, without receiving an answer in the messages or in the calls. You didn't give me your parents' number and I had to move heaven and earth to find this place that doesn't even appear on maps. And believe me, it's not a made phrase.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  "I think I'm the one who deserves some explanation or other," he said, letting me go and taking a couple of steps back. “You leave for three days, four at the most, in order to close a damned sale and suddenly you tell me that you're staying here, that you don't know for how long or if you'll be back. You don't take my calls; you don't answer my messages. And now you reproach me for being here?”

  “You're right. I've fallen in love with someone else. That happens.”

  Hell, my particular sense of justice was in full swing: if Marcos had had to suffer my null touch, James would too.

  “What?” said James.

  “It wasn't planned, James, it happened... I met him again after many years and... I don't know. It just happened.”

  James smiled as he shook his head.

  “Have you left everything in New York because you're tangled up with someone?”

  “No, I'm not entangled with someone; I'm in love with someone, who's different. And if he accepts me, we're going to get married.”

  “How?”

  “Shit, James, you heard me. I know I've done everything so badly and I can only ask your forgiveness. No... I don't love you and it's absurd to prolong this any longer. I wanted to say it to your face and that's why... I just got it tangled up more to finish doing it equally badly. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve this.”

  James scratched his forehead and rested his hip on the dresser.

  “Do you want to take advantage of everything we had already hired?”

  I looked at him, absorbed. Then he burst out laughing.

  Obviously he wasn't serious.

  "Who is he?" he asked me.

  “You don't know him. He's a boy who studied with me in high school. We met again and...”

  “Marcos?”

  I felt that my blood was freezing when I heard his name in James' mouth.

  “How do you know...?”

  “Is that him? Fuck, Claudia, it can't be. If you have any doubts about the wedding, tell me. We can talk things over and that's it, but you don't have to come up with any bullshit to stop it. You can trust me and that's what you should do instead of running away like a child.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Your mother told me you've been on the coast, visiting an old high school classmate, a certain Marcos. It can't be him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Isn't he dying?”

  A new jug of cold water. How did my mother know that? I hadn't told him at any time and... Marga. I was sure it had been her, because from what Marga herself had told me, my mother called her assiduously to talk to her, since it had been impossible to do it with me in the last few weeks.

  “Are you going to marry him? Are you serious?”

  “I'm really sorry to do this to you, James.”

  “What about when he dies? Are you getting married for four days? I don't mean to be insensitive to that poor man, Claudia, but you have to be a little smarter. This whole thing is ridiculous. He came closer to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. Look, I can understand that the typical fears of before the wedding have entered you and... Fuck, I love you, Claudia. I can forgive that you got entangled with him, confused as you are, frightened. But we love each other and we can make an effort to leave all this behind and start a life together. We're doing well in New York. We can come here to see your parents whenever you want and spend time in Spain if you want but your life is there, with me, in the firm. If things go well, you can start your own, leave your boss's asshole on the side and be the one to lead things. We have a fantastic future ahead of us, my love. Don't throw it away because of simple fears. I didn't say anything. Claudia, I know you're confused now and I'm willing to give you all the time you need but it's obvious that this guy doesn't care about you at all. Why else would he want to marry you? He doesn't care, destroying a couple, confusing you, putting you between a sword and a wall. All he's doing is taking advantage of his latest...”

  “Don't finish that sentence, James. Don't destroy the image I have of you. You have no fucking idea, so shut your mouth. Marcos didn't know about your existence because I deceived him the same way I deceived you but... everything you just said, the life you just drew... everything is so empty, so superficial... I appreciate your understanding, that you have not lost your nerve and have called me everything; I would have understood. But I can only tell you what I feel... and I prefer four days with him to 90 years with you. Because at his side, I would live.”

  “And mine isn't?” he asked, after a long silence.

  “By your side, I'd just breathe.”

  He snorted, laughing and shook his head.

  “You're going to regret all this, Claudia. You know I'm right. When he dies and you see yourself alone, you'll start spinning your head and you'll realize the mistake you're making. And I may not be there for you anymore. Think about it.”

  “I have nothing to think about. But thank you for coming... poor man.”

  James turned around as he was leaving.

  “That's how you referred to him, but the only one who inspires pity is you.”

  “And why? Because my girlfriend gave them to me?”

  “No, I'm sure you've taken off a good one on top of it. But you have no fucking idea what life is and no matter how many years go by you'll never know.”

  James nodded, smiled and left. That was the last time I saw him. I couldn't consider him a bad person, despite the unfortunate expressions he had used to refer to Marcos. I assumed or wanted to assume that he had had enough endurance dealing with the subject, even though Marcos was the least guilty in all that.

  Victoria returned to the room as soon as James had left.

  "Did you break up with him?" she asked me.

  I nodded.

  "Yes..." I mumbled.

  "Shock," she ordered, as she raised her hand.

  I shook my head and saluted him reluctantly. It's not that I wanted to celebrate anything; that was something I should have done a long time ago and in a very different way.

  Marga also came in and looked at me. It was curious: we were friends but Marga's maturity meant that I always needed something like her approval and I feared that this time it wouldn't come. But I was wrong.

  “If you've done what you think you should do, go ahead.”

  She hugged me with the outside and Victoria joined in the spontaneous gesture.

  "Girls, I need you to do something," I said to them, "or more specifically, the boyfriend to the altar."

  "Do you think he will accept?" asked Marga.
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  “I don't know, but I can't do anything but invest my life in trying.”

  “But if he doesn't...”

  "Oh, will you shut the fuck up?" exclaimed Victoria, upset. “Marcos won't reject her because he's not an idiot. You hear me? It's gonna be okay. And if he doesn't accept, then I'll marry him to stop any other bitch from doing it.”

  I laughed as I shook my head.

  “Thank you, Victoria... You're a friend.

  “I know. That's what we're here for. Anyway, ask him for Martin's number, will you?”

  "Martin is married," replied Marga.

  “¿And?”

  “Girls, now I'm the priority, so keep your mouth shut.”

  We laughed and left my room as soon as I had finished with my luggage, ready to use my penultimate cartridge. With Marcos I would always be the penultimate.

  ***

  It had taken me a couple of days, 48 hours, not to stop to think, to weigh risks or fears. 48 hours dedicated one and exclusively to move and act. Now that I only had to wait, my stomach was wrinkled like the wrong piece of paper. I looked up and found Diana's complicit expression. Victoria and Marga stood behind me, often reaching out to me to shake my hand and comfort me. My mother chatted discreetly with Marcos' mother, while my father walked around and Marcos' father sat on a rock.

  The grotto was cold but the enormous amount of candles that splashed it not only gave it a magical atmosphere, but even managed to give it a certain feeling of warmth. It had cost me a world that most of them would not go out, but luckily, the wind had subsided and the tide would still take time to rise. In the distance I heard the rumor of the waves, banging against the rocks. Trying to avoid the impatient gaze of Don Tomas, the only person authorized at the time to carry out marriage ceremonies in the village, I fixed my eyes on the entrance to the grotto from which a small path of candles was lost.