Page 7 of One Year Ago in Spain
Mom and Dad had died in a car accident right after Claire graduated from college, but she still thought of them every day. Missed them. Hoped that the life she was leading would’ve made them proud.
What would they have thought about her and Matías?
The velvet box seemed to grow heavier in Claire’s hand.
Part of her didn’t want to peek, because that would make it more real.
But the lawyer part of her that liked facts wanted to open the box to make sure she wasn’t making this up. Because maybe it wasn’t an engagement ring. Maybe it was a pair of earrings for later, like Christmas, even though it was only July now.
If you’re going to do this, you’d better be quick,she told herself. Matías could decide to come over at any second.
She bit her lip and opened the velvet box.
Inside was a small, glittering sun—a ring with a round diamond, surrounded by tapered topazes like flames. Because of course Matías would promise nothing less than to give her the sun.
It was too much.
Claire stuffed the box back into the sock and shoved it into the recesses of the drawer where she’d found it.
How could Matías spring something like this on her? Didn’t he know by now that she needed her life calendared? And who in this day and age surprised people with engagement rings anymore? All her lawyer friends had discussed getting married with their significant others long before the question was popped, and even then, it was a foregone conclusion because they’d already done the ring sizing and shopping together.
And besides, Matías ought to know that they wouldn’t work out in the long run. This proposal was too soon, too rushed. If he waited another year, he would inevitably realize that she was too bland for him. Claire was all white blouses and pressed trousers, while Matías was riotous color and wild imagination. Over the past eleven months, she’d tried to enjoy every moment with him that she could because, deep down, she’d known it could never last.
How could she ever say yes to a proposal, when she knew she would only weigh him down for the rest of his life?
Still in a daze, Claire turned back toward Matías’s suitcase with neither socks nor boxers.
In the few minutes that she was gone, he’d somehow managed to cover his bed with various sprawling, unruly cables, seemingly random scraps of paper, his passport, gum, and toiletries. That was the thing about Matías. If there was any available space, his exuberance spread out immediately to cover every surface.
Claire glanced over at the bookshelf next to his bed. Unlike the shelves at her apartment, which were lined with books neatly organized by genre, Matías’s was full of his various hobbies—a ukulele and accompanying sheet music. A box full of blocks of wood and whittling knives. A chess board, a deck of cardsfor practicing magic tricks, and a sketchbook and set of charcoalpencils. Not to mention the weekly letters from his ninety-two-year-oldabuela—his grandmother—from the past eleven months. The stacks of envelopes with her beautiful handwriting had tipped over and knocked over all the others like cascading paper dominoes.
“I’ll be done soon, and then we’ll head to your place so you can pack,” he said, smiling as he looked up from his suitcase.
Her heart clenched. He’d been so excited about the trip that she’d put off telling him that she was bailing.
Except now, not going to Spain with him seemed even worse. Before, it had just been about work. But discovering the ring box changed this trip from a mere vacation to a Significant Life Event, and Claire’s cancellation felt like it might actually be an ending.
I don’t want to break up with him, though.
The last eleven months had been the most exhilarating of her life. Claire was like a stick well established in the mud, but Matías showed up and wrested her free. She still loved her routines and schedules, but often, when there was an opportune gap in her calendar, he would insert himself into it and whisk her away for an impromptu picnic in Central Park or a wine tasting at a pop-up cellar. On the nights she worked late, he would sometimes swing by when she was ready to go home, and instead of taking the car that the firm would have paid for, they would walk together through Midtown. If the streets happened to be empty, Matías would whirl her into the middle of them to dance for no reason.
And the sex…God, the sex. This was not the waytight-laced lawyers and accountants did it. Matías in bed was like his art—he paid extravagant detail to every inch of her body, and he moved with luxuriant, confident grace. Sometimes they made languorous love in the mornings, still groggy from sleep but waking, slowly, together. Other times, they would have to pause in the middle of dinner and fuck in the kitchen, overcome by the rich, sensuous flavors of the meal he’d prepared and unable to keep their hands and mouths off each other a second longer.
Claire loved Matías, and she wasn’t ready to let him go yet. She just needed to slow things down, to buy herself more time to think. But she did need to tell him she couldn’t go to Spain.
“Matías…”
Saying his name, though, made him grin. Claire was self-conscious about committing fully to a Spanish accent, but she also wanted to respect his heritage, so what always came out was a hybrid where the first part sounded Spanish and the second half, American. Which Matías had decided was adorable.
She softened at the reminder of how much he loved every single thing about her—even the imperfect bits.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, a reluctant smile curling the corner of her mouth. She picked up a pillow and threw it at him.
Matías laughed. “Sayguacamolefor me. With a proper Spanish accent.”
“No.” But now she was trying not to laugh, too, because this was his favorite way to tease her, and even though she’d practiced over and over, she still couldn’t getguacamoleright.
“¿Por favor?”
