Page 32 of One Year Ago in Spain
Claire nodded, still shocked by his presence—and his coherence, because do imaginary people make this much sense?—and she wordlessly held out the coins to him.
Being respectful of a stranger, Matías didn’t touch her, but only pointed out which ones she needed to pay for her soda. She transferred the money to the man at the kiosk, whose eyebrows were now knitted quizzically at her. Could he see Matías? If not, her behavior must’ve seemed incredibly bizarre.
Claire and Matías walked toward one of the long, tree-lined paths in the park. She wasn’t sure what to do. She was definitely hallucinating, and she didn’t know if it was safe to indulge it. Would conversing with this imaginary version of Matías do her mind harm? Would it be better to block it out and go straight back to the hospital, where she could ground herself in the reality of Matías’s true state?
And yet, she didn’t want to give up this moment. Shecouldn’t. Because here, right now, Matías was strolling slowly beside her. The familiar pine and spice of his cologne wafted over to her—just a hint, but enough for her to sigh. The sunlight might shine straight through him, but this washerMatías. The one she wanted to remember if the real Matías didn’t wake up.
But maybe there was something she could do about that! His vitals had spiked at the hospital last night at the same time she spoke with the ghostly version of him at the hotel, right?
So maybe if Claire could keep Spirit Matías with her for a while, it would also help the real version in the coma?
It was worth a try.
“Thank you for helping me back there,” she said.
He smiled his crooked smile, and Claire had to swallow the little whimper of wanting that almost escaped from her.
“It was my pleasure,” Matías said. “I know it can be intimidating to speak a new language.”
“Very.”
“I still remember when I was a boy, learning English. We’d studied it for several years in school, so our teachers decided it was time for us to use our skills outside the classroom. They planned an excursion to a British candy shop owned by a former Londoner, where we could buy whatever we wanted, but only if we spoke in English.
“My friends and I were thrilled at the possibility of a sugar-fueled afternoon, but my stomach tied up in knots the moment we set foot in the store. Learning a language from textbooks and in planned dialogues in a classroom is one thing, but speaking it out loud with an actual British person—an adult, no less—was another entirely.”
“Did you manage?” Claire asked, genuinely curious. She’d never heard this story from Matías before. Part of her knew it wasn’t a real memory—her traumatized mind was making up this whole conversation—but nevertheless, part of her wanted to believe that this was truly something that had happened to the man she loved.
Matías laughed. “I made a mess of the English language that afternoon. So did all my classmates. But the shopkeeper was patient, and he rewarded us for our efforts, if not our accuracy. The day was, ultimately, a success, because not only did we get candy, but I was never as tongue-tied again in the future. I’d gotten through an embarrassing situation, so I knew I’d survive if it ever happened another time. Ironically, the disastrous field trip ended up being what built my confidence in English.”
Claire smiled privately as she sipped her soda and thought ofMatías as a little boy. It wasn’t a difficult leap to make, because he still had a similar kind of boyish wonder as an adult, evidenced by the kind of paintings he created and his ten thousand hobbies.
“I just started learning Spanish,” she said, “but you’re right that studying from a book and listening to prerecorded comprehension exercises is completely different from talking to a live human.” She winced at that last part, not wanting to insult Matías. Then she winced again upon remembering that she couldn’t insult him, because he wasn’t real.
“What brings you to Madrid? It’s Claire, right?”
Hearing her name on his lips liquified her heart. She wanted to throw herself at him, feel his arms around her, bury her face into the crook of his neck.
But he didn’t know her. And even if he did—and even if he weren’t made-up and transparent—Claire was pretty sure that no one else could see Matías. The kiosk man had definitely seemed puzzled by her, and since then, Claire had caught other people in the park looking at her oddly. Because she probably looked like she was talking to herself, and she didn’t have earphones in to credibly be on a phone call.
So throwing herself at what might as well be a ghost would be a bad idea on many levels. Not to mention she’d probably end up in the dirt with scraped knees and the burden of disappointment.
“I’m in Madrid to visit—” Claire stopped herself before saying she was here because her boyfriend was in a coma. For stupid, inexplicable reasons, she didn’t want Imaginary Matías to know she was in a relationship, because then Imaginary Matías might not want to spend more time with her.
Ridiculous. Illogical. What are you thinking, Claire?
But that was the point. Shewasn’tthinking, and she didn’t want to. At least for a little longer. Her brain had conjured this fantasy to give her a respite from the worry of her real life, and she was going to take the out. Just during her lunch break.
“I’m visiting a client,” Claire said, whichcouldbe true. Intelligentsia Tech did have offices all over the world, including in Madrid.
“Where are you based, normally?” Matías asked.
“New York.”
Matías’s eyes glimmered under the midday light. “Really? I’m moving to New York in two weeks. I’m a painter, and the New York Academy of Art has offered me a position in their fine arts department as a visiting professor for a couple years.”
The Coke sloshed over Claire’s hand as she stopped suddenly in the middle of the park path.
“You’re moving to New York intwo weeks?”
