Part Three: My Date with “The Spaniard”

“Babe, I have some bad news,” he said, his eyes still amazing, but now somber.

The bad news was that his company was reassigning him to another project. He would be leaving for Europe in a week. Instead of three months, we had seven days.

The only silver lining to this news was that he was expecting to be reassigned to project two states away; however, it wasn’t definitive. But with any luck, fate would bring him back to my time zone. 

We talked about how we could still each see other once he came back to the states. 

“Guapa (Beautiful), I’ll fly out to see you first,” he said. “This isn’t goodbye.”

He then continued to list all the ways we could stay connected – phone, text, email, Skype. Gotta love technology!

But I’m a realist and a bit cynical so when the loud, cranky voice in my head said, “Mmm hmm… We’ll see… Ya… Whatever,” I wasn’t surprised.

What was this anyway? We’ve only known each other for a couple of months, he wasn’t my boyfriend and this wasn’t a relationship. Or was it? The woman with no game (that would be me) didn’t know what to make of this.  

Then for the first time in my new post-divorce life, a soft, sweet, little voice in my head said, “You know, it’s possible. You could see him again. It could happen.”

Meanwhile, the loud, cranky voice replied: “Aw, she thinks she’s going to see him again. She’s so naïve.”

As we kissed goodbye that night, he held my face in hands and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I was tempted to ask why he was thanking me and for what, but I’m learning how to shut my mouth, especially in moments like these.  Instead I chose to enjoy the moment and his hazel eyes .

When my mind wanders, it takes me back to this moment. The look in his eyes (remember, they’re amazing!) and his graciousness.

So we had seven days and the countdown was on!

FATE, THY NAME IS BITCH

A funny thing about fate… She can be a real bitch.

Three days later, I was bed-ridden with the flu. Every single muscle ached, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk. My throat was so swollen I couldn’t even take a sip of water. When I finally crawled into my doctor’s office, my fever had hit 102.

The diagnosis: Influenza, Strain B.

Recover time: 10-14 days.

Number of days until “The Spaniard” left: 4.

@#$% fate!

Our plans to see each other at least one more time before he left for Europe were crushed.

My window to see “The Spaniard” before he left the country was shortening. But I was determined to get better in time to see him before he left, even if we only got five minutes.

But it didn’t happen…

SAYING GOODBYE… VIA TEXT

The night before he left and since I still had no voice, we texted furiously, trying to say whatever we had left to say to each other before midnight. Yes, midnight, just like frickin Cinderella. Since he was leaving the country, his U.S. cell phone was set to be shut off at midnight.

By 11:58 p.m. my fever was spiking and I could barely keep my eyes open until I got this text…

“Babe, thank you for everything, so glad you came into my life. I’m going to miss you very much, guapa, and your sexy curves. We will see each other again, I am confident. Te mando un beso muy suave (Sending you a soft kiss).”  

Then at 11:59 p.m., I got his final text…

“We will meet again, guapa, I’m sure of it. Un beso …”

I mustered just enough strength to write, “Me too, babe, me too. Besos (kisses)…” but I may have been too late. To this day, I don’t know if he received my last message. 

By the time I woke up the next morning, he was gone.