Chapter 10: Home
2002 Words
After Summer break
Returning to Madrid felt different.
Not because the campus had changed.
It hadn't.
The same stone buildings overlooked the courtyard.
The same bells echoed across campus.
The same students hurried between classes carrying coffee and backpacks.
Everything looked exactly as she remembered.
Everything except her room.
When Reina pushed open the door, the silence greeted her first.
For three years Brittany had somehow managed to fill every corner of the space.
Talking.
Laughing.
Complaining about tea.
Now there was only an empty bed waiting for its next occupant.
It still caught Reina off guard sometimes.
Not because she expected Brittany to walk through the door.
But because part of her still listened for her voice.
A few minutes later, the door opened again.
A girl stepped inside carrying two perfectly packed suitcases.
She looked around once.
Then immediately began organizing the room.
Books.
Desk.
Closet.
Everything had a place.
Reina watched quietly.
"You know nobody is grading your shelves, right?"
The girl looked genuinely confused.
"Then why would I leave them messy?"
Reina smiled.
She had a feeling they were going to get along.
"Reina."
The girl nodded.
"Kateryna."
A brief pause.
"You can call me Katya."
It felt different.
Not better.
Not worse.
Just different.
Oddly enough, someone else also started filling the silence.
Sofia.
Not that Sofia had ever really left.
They had known each other almost their entire lives.
Playground friends.
Sleepover friends.
The kind of friendship that existed long before either of them understood how important it would become.
When Vidal moved them to New York, Sofia had been the friend Reina cried about leaving behind.
When Reina moved to Spain, Sofia had been one of the first people to promise they wouldn't lose touch.
And somehow they hadn't.
Not completely.
The friendship had survived New York.
Survived Spain.
Survived grief.
Survived distance.
At first they exchanged messages every few weeks.
Then every few days.
Then almost every day.
Part of it was growing older.
Part of it was Brittany leaving.
But mostly, Reina thought, it was because Sofia remembered.
She remembered her mother.
She remembered her father.
She remembered the version of Reina that existed before hospitals and funerals and loss.
Most people in Reina's life knew pieces of her story.
Sofia knew all of it.
Their conversations became part of her routine.
That November, on her seventeenth birthday, her phone rang just after midnight.
Sofia was already singing before Reina answered.
Brittany called an hour later from England, insisting a birthday wasn't complete without terrible singing and an even worse joke.
Katya quietly left a neatly wrapped chocolate bar on her desk before classes, pretending it wasn't from her.
Three birthdays.
Three very different celebrations.
Somehow, each one reminded Reina she wasn't nearly as alone as she'd once believed.
Sometimes they texted.
Sometimes they called.
Sometimes they talked for hours.
Sofia:
How's Spain?
Reina:
Hot.
Sofia:
That's your entire answer?
Reina:
Also expensive.
Sofia:
You're impossible.
Other conversations lasted much longer.
About classes.
About the architectural drafting and interior design elective Reina had somehow talked her way into taking.
She'd become obsessed with reimagining old buildings, especially how forgotten interiors could become beautiful again.
Sofia insisted she spent far too much time drawing buildings.
Reina insisted Sofia had no taste.
"You're sketching another staircase?"
"It's a beautiful staircase."
"It's stairs."
"Historic stairs."
Sofia sighed dramatically.
"You're hopeless."
About professors.
About college applications.
About Brittany.
About Katya.
About nothing at all.
And sometimes they talked about Vidal.
Those were Reina's favorite conversations.
Not because they hurt less.
Because Sofia remembered him the way Reina did.
Not as a patient.
Not as a tragedy.
Not as the man who died.
She remembered the man who burned pancakes every Saturday morning and insisted he was a great cook.
The man who painted murals because he couldn't stand blank walls.
The man who embarrassed his daughter every chance he got.
The man who laughed too loudly.
The man who lived.
As the years passed, fewer and fewer people talked about Vidal that way.
Sofia never stopped.
For the first time in a long time, Reina felt like she was finally building a future of her own.
Then college acceptance letters arrived.
And everything changed.
The email appeared on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
Reina opened it expecting disappointment.
Instead she found congratulations.
She got in.
New York University.
For several seconds she simply stared at the screen.
Then she read the acceptance letter again.
And again.
Just to make sure she wasn't imagining it.
NYU had always been the dream.
Close enough to art and culture to make her father proud.
Large enough to feel like a new beginning.
Far enough from her old life to feel like her own choice.
It was the architecture program she'd dreamed about ever since discovering how much she loved designing buildings.
She didn't want to paint the world the way her father had.
She wanted to design it.
Beautiful spaces.
Places that felt safe.
Places people would remember long after they left them.
For the first time in years, she felt excited.
Actually excited.
She called Sofia immediately.
Sofia screamed so loudly Reina had to pull the phone away from her ear.
Then she called Brittany.
Brittany somehow managed to be even louder.
Even Katya looked impressed.
Everything felt perfect.
For approximately three weeks.
Then reality intervened.
The email arrived on an otherwise ordinary afternoon.
Reina almost ignored it.
Almost.
Instead she opened it while walking back to her dorm.
At first she frowned.
Then she stopped walking entirely.
She read the email again.
And again.
The housing application deadline had passed.
Weeks ago.
Her stomach dropped.
"No."
A few students glanced in her direction.
Reina ignored them.
"No. No. No."
She immediately logged into the housing portal.
The dorms were full.
The waiting list was overflowing.
Every available option had disappeared weeks earlier.
And suddenly she had a very expensive problem.
No apartment.
No dorm.
No place to live.
Sofia laughed for nearly ten minutes.
Brittany laughed for fifteen.
Neither of them were remotely helpful.
"You forgot to apply?"
Sofia wheezed.
"I was busy."
"You had months."
"I know."
"You literally had months."
"I know."
Brittany was somehow worse.
"You did what?"
"It wasn't intentional."
"Reina."
"It was one form."
"One incredibly important form."
"I know that now."
When she finally told Katya, the younger girl simply stared at her.
"You forgot?"
"Yes."
"The housing paperwork?"
"Yes."
Katya blinked.
Then blinked again.
"I don't understand."
"What don't you understand?"
"How."
Reina groaned.
"You're all terrible friends."
Katya considered this.
Then nodded.
"That seems fair."
The situation stopped being funny when reality set in.
Classes started in six weeks.
She needed somewhere to live.
Immediately.
That was how Carlos Hernandez found himself on the phone with Madrid.
"No."
Reina closed her eyes.
"No?"
"No."
"Uncle Carlos—"
"You are not renting an apartment alone."
"I'm seventeen."
"Exactly."
The answer made absolutely no sense.
Which meant Carlos believed it completely.
"I've been living by myself at school."
"In a supervised dormitory."
"It's basically the same thing."
"No."
"It's not?"
"No."
Reina groaned.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
For a brief moment she sounded exactly like Vidal.
Apparently Carlos noticed too.
Because silence filled the line.
Then:
"You'll stay here."
Not with us.
Not come home.
Not even I'd like you to stay.
Just a statement.
A decision already made.
Reina stared out the dorm room window.
The problem wasn't New York.
She was already going to New York.
NYU had settled that.
The problem was the house.
The massive Hernandez mansion.
The cold hallways.
The perfect rooms.
The place that had never really felt like home.
Not after her father died.
Not after Spain.
Not anymore.
"I'll figure something out."
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Firm.
Certain.
Not open for discussion.
"The house is almost an hour from campus."
"Forty-three minutes."
Reina frowned.
"You timed it?"
Silence.
Which was answer enough.
Despite herself, she laughed.
"It'll save you money."
There it was.
The real reason.
A practical solution to a practical problem.
Something Carlos understood.
"You'll have transportation."
"And before you ask, your tuition is already covered."
Reina frowned.
"I wasn't going to ask."
"Good."
"You really know how to make a person feel appreciated."
Silence.
Then:
"The scholarship covers most of it."
Years of late nights and perfect grades had finally paid off.
"I know."
"I'll cover the rest."
Reina leaned back in her chair.
"You already told me that."
"Then nothing has changed."
Another pause.
"Your education is important."
The statement sounded oddly formal.
Like a policy.
Not affection.
Not generosity.
Just fact.
Reina looked out the dorm room window.
"And after school?"
Carlos didn't hesitate.
"That's up to you."
She wasn't sure why the answer stung.
Maybe because it felt like a line had been drawn.
Tuition.
Books.
The things Vidal would have wanted.
Everything beyond that was up to her.
Carlos had made the offer months earlier, shortly after her acceptance letter arrived.
She had thanked him.
And that had been the entire conversation.
No celebration.
No questions about what she wanted to study.
No discussion about her future.
Just another problem solved.
Practical.
Efficient.
Very Carlos.
Sometimes she wondered if he was helping because he wanted to.
Or because he felt obligated to.
Another pause.
Then:
"And your room is still there."
The words were simple.
Matter-of-fact.
Almost casual.
Yet they hit harder than anything else he had said.
Your room.
Not a guest room.
Not one of the rooms.
Her room.
The room that had remained untouched for years.
Reina swallowed.
"I'll think about it."
"No you won't."
The response was immediate.
For the first time during the conversation, she smiled.
Because that sounded exactly like Carlos.
And unfortunately...
He was probably right.
A week later she was packing.
Again.
Katya watched from her desk.
"You should make a checklist."
"For what?"
"Everything."
Reina laughed.
"That's not normal."
"It prevents disasters."
The comment was pointed enough to make Reina throw a pillow at her.
Katya caught it.
Without looking up from her textbook.
Which somehow made it worse.
A few days later, Reina stood inside Madrid Airport.
One suitcase.
One backpack.
One boarding pass.
Katya had hugged her goodbye.
Awkwardly.
Like physical affection violated several international treaties.
Brittany had called twice.
Sofia had texted three times.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Brittany.
Don't forget your passport this time.
Reina rolled her eyes.
A second message followed immediately.
And if you somehow lose NYU, I'm not helping.
Despite herself, she laughed.
Another message arrived moments later.
Sofia.
Call me when you land.
Simple.
Typical Sofia.
No dramatic goodbye.
No emotional speech.
Just the assumption that they would talk later.
Like they always did.
Reina slipped her phone into her pocket and looked around the terminal one last time.
Four years.
Nearly five.
Four years ago she had arrived in Spain heartbroken.
Angry.
Lost.
She had come because her father wanted her to.
Because he believed she would have opportunities here.
Because he wanted her future to be bigger than her grief.
At the time she had hated the idea.
Hated leaving New York.
Hated leaving the last place she had shared with him.
Now she couldn't imagine who she would have become if she had stayed.
Somewhere along the way, Spain had become more than a place.
It had become home.
Not her first home.
Not the home she shared with her father.
But a home nonetheless.
She had made friends.
Built a life.
Learned who she was when she wasn't simply Vidal Hernandez's daughter.
And for the first time since losing him, she had learned how to be happy again.
Leaving hurt more than she expected.
The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal.
Reina took a deep breath.
Then picked up her suitcase.
Time to go.
Spain had taught her how to live again.
New York was about to teach her everything else.
- Writer
