by A. Constanza
Estella released an exaggerated and exhausted laugh. “If I don’t either give you sex or love, you’ll leave.” The way she said it sounded forced as if she didn’t believe it entirely herself. “I’m not capable of giving you either right now, and I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want you to resent me for wasting your time, money, or energy.”
I stared blankly at her and then shook my head in confusion. She couldn’t possibly believe that I was looking for something in return other than her company. Could she?
“I would never resent you; if anything I’m grateful for you. I don’t need sex; I don’t need to hear that you love me tomorrow or even the next month. I simply desire you. We can talk, laugh, play the piano, swim with our clothes on, anything and everything. All I want is to have you with me for hours upon hours, days upon days, years upon years, a lifetime if possible.”
This wasn’t how I planned on professing my love to her, but it had to be said. It had to make her realize that she meant so much more to me.
I was able to close the space between us, sliding my hands up her arms and bringing her into my chest. Estella remained motionless in my hold. We stood in this position for a minute, and right when I thought she would finally understand what she meant to me…she pulled away.
“I’m sorry, Ignacio.”
A yellow taxi pulled in front of the gates, and a man exited the vehicle, extending his hand out to his cheerful date. The man attempted to close the door, but Estella reached her hand out, grabbing hold of the handle.
“Estella,” I whispered. “Don’t go.”
She stared at me with heavy eyes one last time and then proceeded to get into the taxi. I watched the tires of the taxi roll through the pebbles and onto the road, taking Estella away from me.
My heart wasn’t beating against my chest anymore. It wasn’t booming with the love that I had for Estella. It was bleeding. It was as if a shard of glass had been jabbed into the center of my heart, obstructing the flow of blood, air, life. The peace in me had been replaced by emptiness and echoes of love.
I lost her again.
TWENTY-TWO
Estella
Ignacio’s pleading face came to mind.
I hated that I did that to him, to us, but there was no other way. How would I have told him that I spent hours the night before thinking about him the last couple of weeks, feeling guilty that I hadn’t nor couldn’t reciprocate the love that he had given me? How would I have explained to him that the wall I had built around my heart was too stubborn, too guarded for his love? Ignacio would only try to break those walls down by doing everything he humanly could, and if all of his attempts failed, I would never forgive myself for giving him false hope.
I came to Castel Vecchio to grow, to have my own space because that was what I needed in order to sort through my feelings.
The front door started to jiggle, and I flung myself out of bed to meet Salem. She didn’t come home last night, and all I wanted was my best friend. I wanted to have ice cream, watch a movie, and cry out all the guilt and pain that filled my heart.
“Oh, Salem,” I exhaled, knowing that she’d just had a one-night stand.
Salem lifted a tired finger. “Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not—just judging how awful you look.”
“As if you look any better,” she said, flinging her black heels to the corner of the room. “Are you okay? Ignacio told me what happened. That’s all he wanted to talk about.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a desperate cry.
“Estella,” she whispered as she approached me, bringing me into her arms.
I gripped onto her tightly, as if she was the only person that could keep me grounded. “Why can’t I love?” I cried. “Why is it so hard?”
To open up. To trust. To not feel like it was some sort of game to win. It was all so painfully hard for me.
“I knew Bianca would plant some doubt into you,” she mumbled. “Estella, you two have a lot of history, but you’re never going to know how it ends if you leave him. It’s only two weeks; you’re so hard on yourself.”
“I just don’t want him to hate me.”
“Ignacio could never hate you, trust me.” Salem wiped away the tears from my cheek with her finger. “I know there’s a lot going on in that mind, and take the time you need to sort it out, but don’t let that be the last conversation you have with Ignacio.”
Salem extended her arms out and watched me take a deep breath.
“Okay, you’re right.”
“Good,” she said, giving me a tired smile.
“So, who were you with last night?” I asked, wanting to move onto a different subject. I wouldn’t mind talking about Salem’s scandalous night. She always had the best stories, and that was what I needed to take my mind off Ignacio.
Salem widened her eyes and then sheepishly walked past me. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“Salem,” I groaned.
“It’s just some guy.”
“Some guy?” I asked, crossing my arms.
Salem never withheld information when it came to a one-night stand. She would always start the conversation with a rundown of the man: name, ethnicity, height, build, best physical and intellectual qualities.
“Is he at least tall?” I asked.
“Mhm,” she said, walking to the fridge and taking out the leftover food from the night before.
“Italian, I’m guessing?”
“Mmm, yeah.” She stuffed a piece of food into her mouth.
“What’s his best physical quality?”
Salem blushed. “Too many to count.”
“Salem!” I whined. “What’s his name?” I needed to know about the man that made my best friend turn into a schoolgirl. Men usually didn’t affect Salem like this, and now I was beyond curious.
“Promise me you won’t get mad?”
“I promise,” I exhaled, walking over to the little island and leaning against it.
Salem was skeptical, but she took the chance. She knew that if I were to ever be mad, it wouldn’t be forever.
“It’s Marcelo,” she squeaked and lower her head to shield herself from my reaction.
Not what I wanted to hear.
The thought of Salem having slept with a man who’d ended his engagement that same night, and that man being Ignacio’s best friend, didn’t sit well with me. There was a swell of emotions in me, and all I could do was stare at her intently.
She looked happy.
I had to be happy for her despite my reservations.
Salem straightened herself when she realized that I wasn’t going to react at all. “Are you okay?”
“I’m as fine as I’m going to be,” I said. “As long as you had fun.”
Salem placed a cracker over her red-stained lips. “It was probably the best I’ve ever had. We did it in the piano room.” Salem realized the impact of her words, and her expression went from cheerful to apologetic.
Definitely not what I wanted to hear.
Images of Ignacio’s lips running up and down my lips, neck, and breasts came to mind. All the fine hairs on my arm and back raised at the thought of his touch and urgency. I couldn’t handle talking about sex, especially when it took place in the same room that I could’ve consummated my relationship with Ignacio.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
I raised my hand to slow her down. “How about we talk about this later, actually?”
“Sure, sure.”
I thought that hearing about Salem’s night would be a distraction, but it was more of a disturbance.
Needless to say, I never asked about that night.
***
It had been ten days since I had last seen or spoke with Ignacio. Every aspect of my life had gone well, except for the part where I ached for Ignacio. I tried not to dwell on Ignacio or love, but it was difficult because Marcelo would app
ear at the end of the working days to visit Salem. Seeing Marcelo reminded me of Ignacio and how he used to visit me after work.
I helped Salem in the morning, and in the evenings, she would receive help from another employee, Maria. She’d occasionally helped in the past, but with my pottery business picking up—and my need to avoid Marcelo—Maria would substitute for me, so I could stay in the studio until late at night.
I removed my dirty apron and balled it up, throwing it onto the table in frustration. Someone had placed an order requesting one of every item that I featured on my business website. It was a small business owner’s dream come true and I was excited about it at first, but now I felt like a fraud. Making art wasn’t the same anymore. I enjoyed the routine of it, but my heart wasn’t fully in it. I wasn’t putting my soul into it, and I felt like I was stealing the customer’s money by giving items that weren’t wholeheartedly made.
“I’m going to Milan for one of my new restaurant’s opening. I won’t be back until the weekend,” I heard Marcelo tell Salem.
That was their first official break. They had seen each other every day since the party which meant the relationship was serious, at least for Salem anyway.
“Try calling me every night, okay?”
“I’ll try, but with the opening and keeping an eye on Ignacio, it might be difficult.”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “How’s he doing?” She tried to keep her voice lower as she asked him. Most of the time I would wear my earbuds to listen to music as I created, but even music didn’t sound right. It just sounded like chaos and noise, not art.
“Not great,” Marcelo exhaled.
“She’s not doing too good either,” she said.
“I’m sure they will figure it out,” Marcelo said before leaving the restaurant.
I waited a good two minutes until I turned off the studio’s light and walked through the black curtains to head into the kitchen. Salem did her usual late-night inspection and then gave me the nod of approval to leave.
“Ready to go?” she asked, locking her arm with mine.
“Yup!” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
I was so far from it because going home meant having to sleep, and the second my head hit the pillow, Ignacio took over my dreams.
***
It was a Friday night, and I spent it at a beautiful seaside restaurant in Castel Nuovo for Emile’s birthday—one day early. There was an uneasy lingering feeling—maybe hope—that Ignacio would stumble across the restaurant and we could lock eyes, then I would know if we were meant to be with each other.
“Thank you for this wonderful dinner.” Emile gave a big smile.
“You’re welcome,” Salem and I said in unison.
I shouldn’t have taken credit for the birthday; Salem did most of the planning. She looked for the restaurant, made the reservations, and made sure we had the perfect seat. All I did was pay for half of the bill.
“Where will Ignacio take you tomorrow?” Nonna Norah asked, placing a delicate hand on Emile’s arm. Emile placed his hand over hers, giving her a different smile. A smile that was “in love.”
“We will be having a picnic.”
“A picnic?” Salem asked, confused. “That’s different…”
Emile offered her an understanding smile. “I will be.” He chuckled. “It’s something we used to do with Angelica. My birthday is on the thirty-first and Ignacio’s is the first of November, so his nonna would take us on a picnic to celebrate. We haven’t done it in five years, so I’m sure it will be very strange.”
Nonna Norah gave Emile a wistful smile as she comforted him by rubbing his arm. Emile looked at her with glossed-over eyes and then managed to still lift the corner of his lips. They genuinely loved each other and had gone through the same misfortunes of love. I wondered how they both managed to move past the hurdle of giving love a second chance.
“Did you still want to walk around the area?” Salem asked the lovebirds.
“Yes, but I need to use the restroom,” Emile said, lifting himself up slowly.
“On second thought, so do I,” Salem said, wrapping her arm around Emile’s shoulder, and the pair walked toward the restrooms.
“We should wait for them outside,” Nonna Norah suggested.
I gave her a nod and linked my arm around hers, guiding us out of the restaurant. The sun was starting to set, and there was a beautiful contrast between the colors of the sky—blue and orange. Admiring sunsets was one of my favorite pastimes, and it was the only good feeling I’d had in the past two weeks.
“What’s going on, my Estellita?”
“I’m just admiring the sky.”
“You are, but you’re also thinking, my dear.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. I wasn’t going to lie to Nonna; she was a grandmother and always knew what was wrong with her loved ones.
“Is it Ignacio?” she asked, bluntly.
I whipped my head in her direction, shocked that she guessed correctly. She wasn’t supposed to know about us, nor even suspect it.
“I wasn’t born yesterday.” She chuckled. “I know you two are interested in each other.”
“How?” I asked.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in the beautiful head, and then I’ll tell you how I found out?” Nonna Norah was giving me a deal that wouldn’t be fun on my part, but she knew that my curiosity would get the best of me.
“Did Salem tell you?” I questioned.
“No, no one told me anything.”
I pulled my cardigan closer to me and reluctantly agreed to the deal. I didn’t tell her the extent of our history, but I did tell her that Ignacio and I had a connection ever since we met. She loved the idea of me and Ignacio together; she’d secretly thought we would be a good couple. I admitted that we tried to date, but my past relationships had prevented me from moving forward. I was scared of lowering my walls, in addition to not wanting to feel the guilt of disappointing my love interest if I couldn’t give them what they wanted. It was a mix of emotions and worries that convinced me that love wasn’t something I could do.
“I mean, you and Emile, you both have lost your significant others and still managed to give love another try. How did you put your heart out there again, knowing that there was so much to lose?”
Nonna Norah gave me a sympathetic look. “Estella, if you think of love as a game, then you’ve already lost. That’s what’s wrong with you young people.” I was taken aback. “Love is a gift, not a game. Love is something you give, and it might not go into the right hands at times, but at least it was given. You never lose by giving love. I had the gift to love Fernando for nearly fifty-five years, and that is something I’ll carry in my heart. He passed away, but I never lost him because his love is a memory I’ll carry on forever, and with Emile, I know the same will happen whether I have three days or fifteen years left with him. I will always give love another chance because real love makes you stronger. The stronger you are, the braver you are from that love, the freer you’ll feel.”
I tried to process her words, and I heard Salem chitchatting with Emile behind me. I didn’t want to talk about Ignacio with Emile around, and I guessed that by my expression, Nonna Norah knew that.
She cupped my cheeks with her silk hands. “I know you have the courage to love one more time. I believe in you; now you need to believe in yourself.”
I nodded, thanking her for her faith in me because that only made one of us who had faith in me. “Wait, you didn’t tell me how you knew?” I whispered quickly.
“It’s the way you two look at each other when you’re together. It’s a look of longing.”
The longing overwhelmed me—it was suffocating—and now I knew why. We were longing for someone that we believed we couldn’t have, but that was all wrong. I allowed that idea to drown me because I’ve always been scared to want anyone—including him. Truth was that I longed for him.
Nonna Norah was ri
ght; I had to be brave, even in order to be set free.
I knew what I had to do even if it meant not being caught.
TWENTY-THREE
Ignacio
Dread.
All I felt was dread as I pulled into the driveway of my beautiful yet lonely villa. It needed to be shared in order to feel like a home or else it felt more like a haunted mansion. I would be the angry ghost that roamed the hall because he lost the love of his life.
FUCK.
I couldn’t get Estella off my mind, and she was all that I dreamed about. I’d spent the past few days in the corner of a high-end bar in Lombardy while Marcelo focused on his restaurant’s opening. I would repeatedly go over Estella’s words, and that only made me think about the things that I should’ve said to her.
I wanted what she wanted.
I wanted to love, to lust, to trust, to need. It was as simple as that.
The large, wooden doors opened, welcoming me to my dark and lonely castle. I didn’t bother bringing any of my belongings inside. I didn’t care. All I wanted was to go to my bedroom balcony and look out across the lake to see if Estella’s light was on. It gave me a sense of comfort to know that she was across from me and just there.
I walked into my room and pulled out the joint that Marcelo gave me. At some point, Marcelo had to cut me off from the alcohol, not that I was drinking too much to begin with. Marcelo didn’t like the effects it had on me. It made me just sulk more, and he thought that weed would be better for me.
The end of the joint lit up, and I inhaled deeply, hoping that it would make me feel somewhat good, or at least numb; I would appreciate numb because all I felt was anger. Angry at myself for losing her again.
After two long drags, I tossed the remainder in an empty vase that was on my dresser. It had no use for anything until now. I walked out onto the balcony and leaned against the ledge, looking straight ahead to the cottage that sheltered the only woman that had captured my heart. Thinking about her made me happy, then sad.
