Page 43 of One Year Ago in Spain
Ice? What was ice in Spanish?
“¿Con hielo?” the man asked.
“¡Hielo!Sí, por favor,” Claire said as she opened her wallet.
But then she paused. It wouldn’t be hard to pick the right coins out today—she remembered what she needed—but still Claire hesitated, hoping that Matías would appear to help her out. Her fingers hovered over her wallet, waiting…
No voice, no amused laugh that she was confused again by the euros; nothing.
She turned to see if he was in line behind her, but unlike yesterday, she was the only customer.
With a sigh, Claire plucked the correct coins from her wallet, paid the man at the kiosk, and took her Coke.
What was she supposed to do now? She’d been counting on the repetition of yesterday’s meeting to trigger Matías’s return.But if that didn’t work, should she still hang around? At home, he was perpetually late—so much so that she’d started telling him appointments and events were thirty minutes (at least) earlier than they really were. It wasn’t that Matías didn’t respect other people’s time; it’s that he was often so lost in the ideas in his head or—if he was in his studio—so immersed in painting that time ceased to exist for him.
Maybe it was the same for his soul. After all, they were really parts of the same person.
The logic was shaky, and if it were a legal contract, Claire would’ve poked a dozen holes in it. But since she had no other ideas for how to get Matías’s soul to meet her, she parked herself on the nearest bench and crossed her fingers that he would arrive.
Two hours later, she’d drunk all the Coke and really had to pee. The de Leóns would be back at the hospital from lunch and wondering where she was. And the man at the drink kiosk had started to look at her with pity. Was it that obvious that she’d been stood up by her date?
Not that Matías could stand her up if he hadn’t known they’d had a date.
Claire rose from the park bench, the slats probably imprinted onto the backs of her legs from sitting in the same place for so long.
“See you tomorrow?” the man at the kiosk asked in tentative English.
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “Maybe.”
—
The rest ofthe afternoon passed in a blur of beeps and rotating family members in Matías’s hospital room. Claire tried toanalyze what she’d gotten wrong about her lunch break, but who knew what laws governed souls, or if there were any rules at all?
But even if she managed to find his soul, could she make the impossible happen twice? Somehow, Matías had fallen for Claire back in New York, even though he was a Tasmanian devil of paint and curiosity and she was a lawyer who planned out the calendar of her outfits a month in advance. How could she replicate their relationship here, when the odds of someone like him ever loving her in the first place had been so slim?
In the early evening, Claire took her leave from the hospital because she really needed to buy underwear. She had found an emergency pair in the side pocket of her purse—a backup in case of early periods—but washing her panties in the sink with hand soap and alternating between only two pairs was hardly ideal, so it was time to take care of that problem.
The store the hotel receptionist had recommended was far more upscale than Claire was used to. Being the practical sort and also having grown up without much money, she usually bought cotton underwear in bulk packs. So she stood in the entryway of Oysho for a few hesitant seconds, flanked by mannequins in lacy bras and panties that certainly required more care than just tossing them into the laundry with everything else.
Plus, I have no one to wear such pretty things for,she thought, her chest tightening.
No, don’t think like that. Matíaswouldwake up.
Claire forced herself into the store. Most places in the U.S. put their most expensive, aspirational clothes up front, and their cheap utilitarian stuff in the back, and fortunately, the Spaniards had the same idea here. Their “plain” underwear was still more stylish than the twelve-pack kind she bought at home, butEuropeans seemed to have better fashion sense than Americans in general, so it wasn’t a huge surprise.
The sign over the underwear display made the decision for her. Her translation app showed that if you bought nine pairs, you’d get one free. Claire counted out a set of ten and took them to the register.
As she waited her turn in line, she looked over the pretty underwear in her hands. Even the simplest designs had a line of tiny buttons on the front, or a small bow, or just a touch of lace trim.
Was she buying too many pairs, though? Because what if buying so many jinxed Matías’s recovery, because it indicated to the universe that Claire was ready for the long haul? Like, it meant she didn’t believe he would get better quickly and wake up tomorrow. Ten pairs was one and a half weeks of no repeats…
She clutched the underwear tighter, wishing again that Matías were here. He always had a way of simplifying things when she started overthinking decisions.
“¿Señora?”
Claire looked up. One of the cashiers was now free and waving to her. As Claire reached the counter, though, she glanced out the window.
There was Matías, walking by the fountain in the square.
