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The days go by, and I immerse myself in my job. Working with Miguel is a delight. He doesn’t treat me like a secretary, but like a colleague. In the afternoons, I need to get outside, so I take walks, and sometimes I’m overwhelmed by the sight of so many people. I miss those walks in the snow through my lonely, tree-filled neighborhood in Munich.
“Let me buy you lunch. I want to show you something I’m sure you’ll love,” my boss says to me one day.
We get in his car and park in downtown Madrid. Holding on to his arm as we walk down the street and talk, I see we’re going into a rather greasy burger joint.
“So, you’re a tightwad?” I say, amused.
“Why do you say that?” he asks, grinning.
“You’re really taking me out for a burger?”
Miguel nods, looks at me with a strange smile, and says, “Of course. You’ve always liked them, right?”
I shrug. “Well, I guess you’re right. But today, since you’re buying, I want double cheese and double fries.”
We get in line and chat, and when it’s time for us to order, I’m dumbfounded when I see who’s asking to take my order.
It’s my former boss. That idiot with shiny hair who made my life impossible at Müller. Now she’s the manager at a burger joint. The shock on my face is so clear, she gets instantly annoyed with me.
“If you don’t know what you want, please let the next customer order,” she grouses.
After I pull myself together, Miguel and I place our order.
“C’mon, let’s toss these burgers and go eat somewhere else,” he says, laughing as soon as we get our trays. “That girl is so nasty, she could’ve spit or put rat poison in our food.”
Horrified by the possibility, I laugh too and do as he says. Wow. Life is fair, sometimes, and it is teaching her a much-needed lesson.
Now my days are structured around work, walks, and nights spent thinking about Eric. I haven’t heard from him again. It’s been a month since I came home to Spain, and every day I feel farther from him, but when I masturbate with the vibrator he gave me, I feel like he’s right next to me.
I hang with the same old friends again, and when we go out on the town, I’m out of control. I drink more than I should, and I know I’m doing it to forget.
For the moment, no man draws my attention. No one turns me on. And when one of them tries, I cut him off immediately.
One Sunday morning, after I’ve had a good time out the night before, my doorbell rings. I get up. The bell rings again. It’s not my sister; she would have opened the door herself. When I look through the peephole, I have to blink a few times to see who it is.
“Björn?”
He lets out a good laugh.
“My God, you must’ve had a helluva night last night!”
I open my arms. He steps forward, and we come together in a wholesome and affectionate hug.
“Go on, take a shower,” he mutters. “You need to be a person.”
I run to the bathroom, and when I look in the mirror, I scare even myself. I’m a version of the Wicked Witch of the West. The water brings me back to life and gets my blood flowing again. When I’m done, I return to the living room, wearing my classic jeans, a button-up shirt, and a high ponytail.
“Lovely. You’re a thousand times more tempting like that.”
We both laugh. I invite him to sit down on the couch.
“What are you doing here?”
Björn pushes a strand of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear.
“No, my dear. The question is, What are you doing here?”
I don’t understand. I blink.