That’s true. Sonia was able to get me a phone interview with the guy that runs the hostel in Barcelona, same chain as the one here. He said I could work there if I wanted to, under the table or in exchange for room and board. I told him I’d think about it, knowing I’d probably be in Portugal to the last minute. But I guess not anymore.
“Well, fuck,” I mumble. “This is a lot to process.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just thought it was better you know now. Remember, I can change it, but I have to know today.”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “You couldn’t have broken up with me earlier? I mean, you bought me a plane ticket, how long have you been planning to send me away like this?”
“It’s not like that. I care about you a lot Ruby. I want to take care of you and make sure you’re okay.”
He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
It’s a small gesture, but it makes me sad.
“But you don’t care enough to want to make it work?”
He gives me a half-smile, brow raised. “Do you?”
And that’s where he has me.
I sigh. “I guess this whole thing just sucks then.”
“It kind of does,” he says. “I’m going to miss you. A lot.”
I don’t know what I’m going to miss.
I think there’s someone else I’m already missing.
“So,” I say, feeling super rejected and awkward all of a sudden. “I guess this is goodbye then.”
“Yes. I guess so. I’ll email you the plane ticket,” he says, then leans in and kisses me on both cheeks. “Goodbye, Ruby. Keeping on being you. You’ll get where you need to go.”
But it hasn’t happened yet, has it?
He gives me a wave, and then walks off down the street to where he parked his Mercedes.
So that’s it.
That’s just fucking it.
One minute we were a couple splitting a bottle of wine at lunch, the next he’s broken up with me on the fucking sidewalk and given me a plane ticket to get the fuck out of here.
I stand there for a few minutes, watching him drive off, then I’m staring at the street, the shops and cafes, the cars and people going past, and then I realize that I’m going to have to say goodbye to Lisbon too. This place that’s been my home for nearly three months, the first home where I really felt free.
And yet I’m running away from it too. Because I could change the ticket. I could stick it out. But there’s no point. I have to move on, even if I’m not ready to.
I take in a deep breath, trying to ground myself, trying to get excited for the next step of the journey. Yet nothing comes.
I head back to the hostel and go straight to Sonia, letting her know that I’ll be going to Barcelona after all. She asks if I want to get a drink later and I know I should say yes, especially as I never got a chance to hang out with her as much as I wanted to, and I want to drink my face off.
But I can’t commit to that. Not on my last night.
There’s one person I have to see, even if he doesn’t want to see me.
I have to say goodbye to Luciano. I’d hate myself if I didn’t.
And I have a feeling, or maybe it’s just hope, that he’d be upset if I left like that.
So, I go to my room, pack up my bag so that I’m not racing around in the morning trying to find things, then I take a quick shower. I don’t bother with makeup and put my damp hair back in a braid, slip on a maxi skirt and a tank top to beat the heat, sandals, and then I’m out the door.
I’ve become a pro at walking in Lisbon, so I don’t waste time on cab rides and buses, and Luciano’s place is only twenty minutes away. Of course, by the time I end up there, I’m a hot sweaty mess.
I stare up at the building. I know I should text him to let him know, but I’m afraid he’ll ignore it.
Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I go over to the intercom and punch in his suite number. Feels like a punch to the gut that this will be the last time I enter that code.
It rings.
A crackle. Then a wary, “Olá?”
“It’s me. It’s Ruby.”
Silence.
My heart beats faster.
Then the door buzzes and unlocks.
I open it, go up the elevator. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion for some reason.
I get off on his floor and walk to his door.
It opens as I near.
I barely see him as he opens it wide, letting me walk right in.
I’m going to miss this place. The bright light. Everything smelling like him. Comforting, warm, a little bit spicy.
The door closes behind me and I turn around.
Goddamn it, he looks incredible.
He’s wearing charcoal grey jeans and a white tee-shirt that’s loose around the neck, his hair deliciously messy, wavy strands of it flopping over his forehead.
His eyes search mine and I can tell he’s trying to keep some distance, he’s trying to make sure there are no misunderstandings between us.
“Hi,” I tell him. My voice sounds so small and creaky.
“Hi,” he says, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans, the movement making the muscles on his golden biceps pop. He licks his lips and looks away briefly, as if afraid to hold eye contact with me.
I can tell he doesn’t want me here.
I’ll make it brief.
“I won’t take up too much of your time,” I tell
