It was a charming place. Lucía acted as our guide, explaining the history of the buildings with a vitality that reminded me of our teenage years when we used to skip class to go shopping. The children, who were very quiet at first, showed some excitement when they saw an ice cream parlor and a toy store and quietly asked their mother to buy them something. Lucía looked at the prices, hesitated for a moment, but finally gave in.
“I don’t usually let them eat these things, but since you’re here, we’ll make an exception today,” she explained. At midday, we ate at the café she’d mentioned. Lucía ordered the cheapest salad, and for me and the children, she ordered pasta and cake. “Aren’t you eating anything else?” I asked. “I’m on a diet.” She smiled, pinching her waist. “Since I had the baby, I haven’t been able to get rid of this belly. Marcos doesn’t say anything, but I know he likes that I’m keeping in shape.” She said it quite matter-of-factly, but I felt a little uncomfortable.
“I don’t think he married you for your looks,” I said, half-jokingly. Lucía smiled without replying, stirring her coffee. In the afternoon, we went to the supermarket. Lucía took out a notebook with a detailed shopping list. She meticulously compared prices and occasionally picked up something that wasn’t on the list. I thought about it for a moment and put it back. “The budget Marcos gives me for the house is very tight,” she explained in a low voice. “But since you’re here, I can buy a little more today.”
“We’re making Chinese food for dinner. It’s been ages since I’ve cooked it.” She bought Asian ingredients. Very excited. When she went to pay, the cashier announced the total. Lucía took out a card, but the machine beeped. Insufficient funds. She froze. She tried another card, but the same thing happened. Her face flushed. Visibly embarrassed. She started rummaging through her purse, pulling out bills and coins with trembling hands until she managed to gather the exact amount. The people in line stared at her.
“Sorry, sorry!” she apologized repeatedly, grabbed the heavy shopping bags, and practically ran out of the supermarket. I helped her with one of the bags. It wasn’t until we got to the parking lot that she let out a long sigh. Her eyes were red. “It’s okay. I just forgot I had some automatic payments set up and I’m out of credit,” she said, forcing a smile. “Marcos usually takes care of these things. I only carry enough cash for the daily groceries.”
“Doesn’t he give you money?” I asked. Perhaps too directly. “Yes, of course he does. He takes care of all the household expenses,” Lucía replied hurriedly as she put things in the trunk. “It’s just that he knows I’m not good at managing money, so he keeps a closer eye on everything. That way I don’t overspend. He does it for the good of the family.” She got into the driver’s seat and started the car without another word.
The drive home was rather quiet. That evening, Lucía prepared a spectacular Chinese dinner. Although it was missing some seasonings, the flavor was delicious. The children, fascinated, ate more than usual. Seeing her children enjoying themselves, Lucía’s expression relaxed. “It’s been a long time since I cooked this.” “Is it good?” she asked me. “It’s incredible.” Lucía is still an excellent cook. She smiled, and in that smile there was a mixture of satisfaction and something more. Marcos, as he had said, didn’t come back for dinner.
After dinner, we tidied up and put the children to bed. Finally, we had a moment to ourselves. We snuggled up on the living room sofa, covered with the same blanket, just like when we were little girls. We talked about our classmates’ past, about trivial anecdotes, and laughed until we cried. Lucía went to the wine cellar and got a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “Let’s have a drink,” she said. “Normally, Marcos doesn’t let me touch his wine cellar, but since he’s not here today, we’ll have a little drink in secret to celebrate our reunion.”
She winked at me. She opened the bottle. After a couple of glasses, Lucía completely loosened up. The smile on her face faded, and her gaze became somewhat distant. “Sometimes I envy you,” Sofía said, swirling the glass and looking at the red liquid inside. “Envy me for being a spinster about to turn 40 with an uncertain future,” I joked. “Your freedom is in the glass,” she said softly. “You can go wherever you want, do whatever you want, without having to explain yourself to anyone, without worrying about whether you’ve done something wrong, without having to think about whether every penny you spend is going over budget.”
“My dear Lucía, be honest with me, are you truly happy?” She remained silent for a long time. I thought she wasn’t going to answer. “Yes, of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?” she smiled, but her smile was bitter. “I have a house, a car, a respectable husband, four beautiful and healthy children. Do you know how many people envy me? My parents, when they talk about me with their relatives, do so with their heads held high. What more could I ask for?” “But you’re not content,” I said bluntly.
“Happy,” she repeated the word as if it were some strange food. What does it mean to be happy? That’s life. Whoever you marry, in the end it all comes down to routine, to the little things of everyday life. Marcos doesn’t hit me, he doesn’t drink, he doesn’t have lovers, he brings home the money, he’s just a little demanding, a little strict. I’m the one who isn’t good enough, the one who doesn’t measure up. Her voice faded until it was almost inaudible.
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