Lie to me

My father had spent a month in the hospital, and I hadn't slept in two days when I first saw her. Rosa appeared in my life the day before my father died. Little did I know that the time I spent with her would change my life.

I was sitting in a poorly designed armchair, in no way comfortable for anyone who should spend more than five minutes there, and still, that metal and fake cow skin piece of furniture seemed to have become part of me. I guess the physical pain made me cope better with my mental state, which was bad, to put it mildly. I didn't even care anymore about the sunlight coming through the window and hurting my eyes, or the Polar Vortex created by the air conditioning everyone else seemed to enjoy so much. I was feeling miserable, embracing the "new me" I had been forced to be: the child caring for someone who did not deserve a single minute of my time. Before my extended visit to that white room, the last time I had seen my father had been five years before, when he had told me he had better things than being a parent. Still, there I was, after the call from one of my aunts, waiting for him to ask for forgiveness and die.

The death part was inevitable, and I'd made peace with it in my eight-hour drive a couple of days before. Her body was too weak, and his cancer had won all the battles until that moment, so death was the last step in their two-year dance. That's what my aunt told me on the phone, and that's what I had to think about while I drove. I had cried, yelled, sang each and every song playing on the radio, and cursed his name more times than I feel proud counting. By the time I parked the car, I was exhausted, hungry, dehydrated, and ready to face the person who had hurt me the most in my whole life. I was young.

His state had deteriorated so much in the previous month that the doctors considered a miracle that he had not fallen into an irreversible coma yet. He somehow had managed to keep himself awake until I arrived, and since then, he had slept most of the time, while I sat in that horrible chair. He said "hello" when he saw me walking into the room and looked at me with his sad brown eyes, which immediately made me regret all my choices. I should have stayed at my place, I told myself, but then, he extended his hand and threw me out of my game. He was pale and skinny and bore no resemblance to the person I used to spend my summers with. The "other one" was healthy and tanned, wore an eternal smile on his face, had the charm and charisma one usually associates with movie stars, and the hair of a male model in a poster on a hairdresser's wall.

We barely talked that day. Other family members arrived and took all his attention, while I either sat in the corner of the room or strolled the depressing corridors of that hospital floor. There's nothing funny about the oncology floor, no matter how much the nurses tried to smile at anyone who dared to walk around. No one else walked with me, or asked me how I was, which I know might sound petty, but we hadn't seen each other for five years. Someone asked about my trip, and someone else about my work, and by the end of the day, I had a pretty clear picture in my head: there was no family there for me anymore.

I left the room late that day. I didn't stay with my family, so I arranged a room in a hotel on the other side of the street. I didn't feel like spending time with anyone else but him, to maximize the chances of hearing what I needed from him. I didn't want to visit my cousins or discuss any practical matters with my grandparents. I was there only for him, to hear the words "I'm sorry" coming out of his mouth. Still, the truth is that after a night of driving and another one staring at the ceiling in my hotel room, my mind started playing tricks on me. It was difficult to focus on what I wanted to hear. Maybe I just wanted him to tell me he loved me, but as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I remembered what had happened the last time he had told me such a thing.... not pretty.

When I arrived the next morning, he was sleeping. The nurse told me I had just missed his awake time and told me he just needed an extra nap to gather energy. For what? I thought. Still, I didn't dare to say it out loud. One thing was to be a bad daughter, the other, to be an insulting prick. I sat on the chair and stared at him, thinking about all the time we had lost and all the things we'd never be able to do, when a tear rolled down my cheek. Perfect, as if he deserved it or something, I thought, and rushed to clean my face before anyone could see me.

I was watching him sleep, in his pale blue pyjamas, and questioning our life choices, when the woman entered the room. She was tall and skinny. Her skin was dark, and her hair, black and shiny, perfectly styled, fell over her shoulders. She was dressed in white, in a tight silk dress that hugged her perfect body, and wore nude shoes that matched perfectly a bag I had seen many times in the fashion magazines. She looked like a runway model, and I felt even worse when I saw her and was reminded that I had not taken a shower for days.

"You must be Elena," she said as she walked towards the bed. Then, she kissed my father on the forehead and touched his chest.

For a second, I felt the urge to stop her, to tell her he was resting, but quickly my impulses changed when I saw the ring on her finger.

"Take it easy, my dear," she whispered to his ear, loud enough for me to hear it.

"Yes," I said, and she looked at me. I believe her eyes pierced a part of my soul with those black eyes of hers, the deepest black eyes I ever saw.

"Sorry?" she replied, walking around the bed and stopping before me. Then, she sat in the corner of the bed and put her bag beside her.

The bag was stunning. The woman, gorgeous.

"Did she tell you?" she said quickly, showing me the ring in her left hand.

"No?" I replied, shrugging and shaking my head.

I didn't know her. I could imagine she had some kind of relationship with my father because many women before her had. The way she showed me the jewel —a pink gold ring with a glorious and massive diamond surrounded by smaller ones —made me think they were about more than boyfriend-girlfriend, lovers, or whatever my father was into those years I hadn't seen him. Still, I knew better than to assume what was going on between them. I didn't have to wait much for her to tell me, anyway.

"We got engaged months ago, you know? But then, the treatments started, and we never found the time to tie the knot."

I smiled and nodded. What was I supposed to do?

"He speaks about you all the time," she continued, as she started to caress his leg, and a sudden nausea shocked my whole body. What the hell is this woman speaking about? I thought, trying to control myself. One thing was to think ill of someone, the other, vomit on top of... Louboutins. Of course. She had to embody the perfect blend of beauty and fashion that was my ideal woman, someone I'd aspire to be if only I weren't 1.60m tall and had a weight I couldn't disclose for reasons I'm too ashamed to share.

"Anyhow, I was looking for your dad's fountain pen, his favorite Montblanc, you know?" she said, opening her bag and taking out a black pen I'd never seen before so close. Only in the magazines...

The brand, sure, what he collects right now, not really, I thought.

"And I found it in his car. How silly. He's always losing stuff around..."

A daughter, for example...

"... but this is the one he uses when he needs to sign important things," she finished, smiling at me.

In that very moment, the only thing I could think about was that they were about to get married and sign the papers with that pen, and what would happen if I snatched the little black piece of art and threw it through the window. If that man was about to say anything, it was "I'm sorry," not "I do.

Priorities, lady! Priorities!

But once more, as it happened many times in my relationship with him, I said none of those things I was dying —figuratively, not like him— to say.

I was trying to decide what to reply when my uncle arrived in the room.

"Rosa, you are early. We thought you'd only be here in the afternoon!" he said. He seemed nervous, and I had never seen that man nervous in my life.

"I got an early flight, wanted to make sure I could see him, and talk to him. Will you give me some minutes?" she said, now looking at me.

"I wanted to speak too..." I said, way too shy to be taken seriously.

Rosa combed her hair with her fingers and, as the sun touched the rocks in her ring, it felt magical... and I was utterly lost. I stood up and walked to the door. Then, my uncle entered the room, held the door as I passed, and closed it behind me, leaving me alone in the corridor.

What the Hell?... I thought. Why could he stay, and I had to leave?

I went to the cafeteria and bought myself a coffee. Ten minutes later, I returned to the room. The door was now open, and my uncle was there, as well as my aunts and grandparents. My father was still sleeping, but everyone seemed... happy. I looked around and realised Rosa was no longer there.

"Is she gone?" I asked my uncle.

"Who?" he replied.

"His girlfriend," I said, pointing at my father.

"Don't be ridiculous, Elena, you know how your dad is..."

I hadn't imagined it. That woman, Rosa, had been there...

The machine started beeping. The sound was so intense I felt my brain was about to explode. Were supposed to be like this, these pieces of equipment?

Doctors and nurses came in, family went out, and he... well, he left without apology, without love, without anything for me to hold onto.

I returned to my place the day after the funeral.

The following weeks were strange. I wanted to speak with anyone who had known my father, but the rest of the world ghosted me. I had never felt such an urge to talk about him, not even when he was alive, and now that he was gone, I felt a void growing inside of me. I tried to combat it with old photos and stories. It took me two months to know why no one replied to my calls when a lawyer sent me a thick envelope with a copy of his last will, signed the day of his death.

"No personal belongings," it said. "Limited society," it stated, listing the names of his brother and sisters. "Minimum stipulated by law," I read.

And as a last surprise, when I was about to throw that envelope away, something else fell to the floor. A beautiful black pen, one I had seen two months before, with a note attached to it with a silk black ribbon:

"For important things only."