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My father nods.
“I’m very sad about what’s happened, but if Jesús didn’t value my little girl like he should, it’s best for him to leave her alone. What a cad!” he whispers. “With any luck, she will find a man who values her, loves her, and above all, makes her smile again.”
I look at him with a feeling of sweetness. Papá is a hopeless romantic.
“And you, are you going to tell me what happened with Eric?”
I sit down beside him and take a sip of the Coca-Cola he’s just handed me.
“We’re incompatible, Papá.”
He shakes his head.
“When I was there for your birthday, I thought you looked good together. You looked happy, and Eric was totally in love with you. Why this change all of a sudden?”
He waits for an explanation, and he won’t stop until he gets one.
“Papá, when Eric and I got back together, we promised each other we would never hide things from each other and we’d be one hundred percent up-front. But I haven’t kept that promise, and now it looks like he hasn’t either.”
“You haven’t kept it?”
“No, Papá ... I ...”
I tell him everything: Marta and Sonia’s skydiving classes, the bike, my outings with Jurgen and his friends, teaching Flyn to skateboard and roller skate, the boy’s fall, and how I beat up on an ex-girlfriend of Eric’s who was making our life impossible.
His eyes the size of saucers, my father listens.
“You hit a woman?”
“Yes, Papá. She deserved it.”
“But, my dear, that’s horrible! A young lady like you doesn’t do such things.”
I shake my head. “I just gave her what she deserved for being a bitch.”
“Sweetheart, do you want me to wash your mouth out with soap?”
I laugh when I hear that, and he ends up laughing too. But he has a point, and patting me on the hand, he reminds me, “I didn’t teach you to behave like that.”
“I know, Papá, but she provoked me, and you already know I’m too impulsive.”
Amused, he takes a sip of his beer.
“OK, I understand why you did it, but don’t let it happen again! You’ve never been a troublemaker, and I don’t want you to become one.”
His words make me laugh. I hug him, and he whispers in my ear, “You know the saying, ‘If you love someone, let them go. If he comes back, he’s yours; if not, he was never yours’? Eric will come back. You’ll see, sweetheart.”
I don’t have the strength to respond, or to think about proverbs.
The next morning, I take my bike out and let off steam by jumping like a kamikaze pilot through the fields of Jerez. It’s my best medicine. I keep pushing it; finally, I fall. I feel like I got hit by a log. On the ground, I think about how worried Eric would be about my fall, and, when I get up, I touch my aching behind and curse.
In the afternoon, my phone rings while I’m watching TV. It’s Fernando. His father, Bicharrón, told him I’m in Jerez without Eric, and he was worried about me. Two days later, he shows up. When he sees me, we hug, and he invites me to dinner. We talk. I tell him Eric and I have broken up, and he smiles.
“That German is not going to let you get away.”
Not wanting to talk about it anymore, I ask him about his life, and I’m surprised when he tells me he’s going out with a girl from Valencia. I’m happy for him, and even more so when he tells me he’s completely and utterly head over heels for her. I love that. I want to see him happy.
Days go by, and my mood goes from happy to depressed with the flick of a switch. I miss Eric. He hasn’t gotten in touch with me this time. At night when I’m in bed, I close my eyes, and I can almost feel him next to me while my iPod plays the songs I’ve enjoyed by his side. My degree of masochism increases day by day. I’ve brought one of his T-shirts with me, and I smell it. I love his scent. It’s like I need to smell him to sleep. It’s pathetic, but I don’t care.