Ludmilla was good at many things, but heartbreak wasn’t one of them. And now, there sat María José in her living room, face flushed, wailing miserably.
“I only wanted what was best for you!” she sobbed, over and over again.
That, however, irritated the elderly German woman. Her friend was going to end up blaming her for Carlos breaking up with her. Or rather, for Carlos asking for a break. Which, let’s be honest, everyone knew what that meant: Carlos was a spineless idiot who couldn’t even manage a proper breakup. Instead of saying it was over, he came up with this “let’s take a break” nonsense. If he was this pathetic in old age, what on earth had he been like in his prime? Better not even think about it. Fortunately, Ludmilla had skipped all of that. What stupid dramas she had saved herself from. Sex wasn’t even that big of a deal. Definitely not worth this much hysteria.
“Oh God, I already miss the se-ex,” María José whined.
Ludmilla listened with a tight-lipped expression.
An hour earlier, she had tried to calm her friend down with kind words. But by now, she’d had enough.
To be fair, María José hadn’t been particularly touched by Ludmilla’s efforts either.
“Carlos is a dickhead,” the German woman said upon hearing the news.
“Don’t even mention his dick—I can’t bear the thought of living without it!” María José wailed even louder.
“You’re better off without him. At least he won’t eat up all your money.”
“Who am I going to bake macarons for now?” she howled.
“Forget it. You’re too old for this anyway.”
“He promised we’d grow old together! Oh my God, what’s going to happen to me?” the elderly pastry chef wailed.
Ludmilla finally ran out of arguments.
She gave up.
And she was bored, too.
She sat down opposite María José and waited.
For four full hours, she patiently listened to her neighbor’s bitter crying, ranting, and complaining, until María José had more or less exhausted her heartbreak-induced hysteria. Most likely, she had simply grown tired from the endless crying and wailing. Ludmilla even started to worry she’d fall asleep on the couch and end up having to tiptoe around her all morning. Ludmilla wasn’t that attached to anyone. She liked her neighbor, appreciated the friendship, but even she could only take so much. After so many years, she had grown used to—and fond of—being alone. Though she had been married, she’d never really had a partner. In recent years, she and Israel had mostly just lived around each other. Not only the faint attraction, but even the general interest had long faded.
She envied María José—not the physical part, she never longed for that. But the emotional bond, that she craved. She wanted to admire someone. To look up to someone. Someone who led an exciting, mysterious life. Who did secret things and wasn’t afraid of danger. A private investigator, or a secret agent. Someone she could be proud of twenty-four hours a day. Someone she could give thanks for every morning. Or rather, could have. She knew that ship had long sailed. Long ago, when she chose a kind, timid man so she could leave Germany.
She no longer felt sorry for María José. Her heart was breaking for herself. For the first time in her life, she felt she had deserved it. That she had earned it. That no matter how difficult she could be, someone should’ve loved her too.