Our Last Days in Barcelona by Chanel Cleeton

Author:Chanel Cleeton [Cleeton, Chanel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-05-24T00:00:00+00:00

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I spend two days in Barcelona painting, the supplies Diego brought me bringing me an immense amount of joy. I’ve stopped working long enough to eat and shower, catch up on sleep, and I’m back at it, temporarily converting Beatriz’s apartment into my own personal art studio.

For her part, Beatriz hardly seems to mind. She’s gone more than expected, my hopes of us spending time together as sisters somewhat dashed by the reality of Beatriz’s life in Barcelona.

In a way, this week away from Thomas seems incredibly indulgent. To take time for myself, to focus on myself, to just be in this lovely little bohemian apartment Beatriz has created is without question a luxury, and I didn’t realize how badly I needed it until now. I envy Beatriz the peace of having this place to herself, and where I once chose marriage over the fear of the unknown and a life alone, I can now see the benefit to living on your own terms in a way I never did before.

That evening Beatriz comes home with bottles of wine, and we sit on the couch, painting our nails like we did when we were girls in Havana, our bedrooms next door to each other. We used to sneak into each other’s rooms long after we were supposed to be sleeping and stay up late, telling each other secrets, giggling under the covers until inevitably we fell asleep.

“So, this painting thing?” Beatriz asks as she applies a slick coat of red paint across her toenails. “Is this a new habit you picked up after you married?”

“No, I started a little before that. After we arrived in Palm Beach, after you moved out of the house, after the engagement.”

“Why?”

“I felt—once you were gone, after our fight and the disaster at the Bay of Pigs—I felt like I needed something. I was drowning, the walls were closing in on me, and no one was around to throw me a line. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t stay in the house, and so I’d go out during the day and I’d walk around, and I found this little shop that sold art supplies. I’m not sure why I bought them—a whim, I suppose—but once I started painting, I couldn’t stop.”

“The painting—does it help you?” Beatriz asks.

“It does. At least, I think so. It gives me something to focus on when the world becomes too overwhelming.”

“That’s what work has been for me,” Beatriz replies. “I know it’s hard to understand why I would get involved with all of this, why I would risk my safety, but I was just so angry for so long and I needed somewhere to focus that anger. I suppose I wanted to honor Alejandro’s memory in a way that might make him proud of me. He was always fighting for what he believed in, thought we all had an obligation to do better. I wanted to be like that.”

“When you put it that way, I can understand,” I confess.

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