Archive of Our Own

It’s astonishing how, on one April day, life managed to come to a halt for two people at once.

That day, an unnatural silence settled over Sicily forever, and with each passing day, breaking it became harder and harder.

Perhaps it was time to accept that it would now remain a constant companion, but sometimes, with the sound of the sea in the background, one could almost pretend that everything was still the way it used to be.

***

I was sitting in a small, cozy Italian restaurant by the sea—a place where, once upon a time, we’d been ready to spend an eternity. The local Sicilian cuisine, the warm atmosphere, and even the live music on certain evenings made this modest little place feel almost magical. In fifteen years of living in the capital of Sicily, we had never managed to find another restaurant that could compare to the one owned by the local couple, the Gattis.

“Maybe I can bring you something else, Martín?” a man’s voice suddenly pulled me back to reality, tearing me away from the endless stream of thoughts in my head.

“Thanks, Gino. Maybe later,” I replied politely to the owner. “I’m waiting for someone.”

Lighting a cigarette, I eventually glanced around at the other customers seated nearby. Thankfully, it was rare to run into anyone I knew here. That worked in my favor because, at a certain point in life, hearing condolences over and over again became exhausting. It helped no one, yet our acquaintances still seemed to think it appropriate to bring him up around me.

The result was simple: for the past year, I’d avoided familiar faces whenever possible. That was why I didn’t mind driving from Kalsa all the way to Mondello to see Gino Gatti. I wouldn’t say I came here often, but this place was certainly better than sitting alone inside the four walls of my house.

If that place could still even be called a home.

Life around me went on. By April, the first tourists had already started arriving in the city, and I’d bet they made up the majority of customers in places like this. Their excitement was impossible to miss. The locals hadn’t been impressed by the view of the Mediterranean Sea in a very long time.

Neither had I.

But on days like these, the Tyrrhenian Sea sounded different somehow. On days when loneliness crashed over me in unfamiliar waves, that painfully familiar sound was the only thing keeping me afloat. More and more often, it reminded me of the days when life hadn’t stopped yet.

“Martín.”

I heard the painfully familiar voice behind me and immediately turned around.

“And there’s the light of my soul,” I said, quickly putting out my cigarette before standing up and wrapping Sergio in a tight embrace.

Two years ago.

“Your dinner,” Gino said carefully as he placed two plates of risotto on the table, clearly reluctant to acknowledge the tension between us. “Can I bring you anything else?”

“Thanks, Gino. We’ll let you know if we need anything,” I replied, though my attention immediately shifted to the way Andrés was trying to hide the tremor in his hands.

To his credit, despite everything happening to him, he endured it all with remarkable stoicism, even when it became unbearably difficult. With every passing month, hiding it grew harder and harder, but he still refused to give up.

At least not yet.

Everyone could see it.

The moment we were left alone, the first thing I wanted was a cigarette. That stupid habit I’d picked up back in my youth still clung stubbornly to my everyday life, and no matter how hard I tried to quit, it was useless. Even Andrés had long since accepted it. He’d quit smoking years ago himself, but for me, it remained the only way to fight the anxiety that had begun surfacing more and more often.

Every day now felt like sitting on top of a powder keg that would inevitably explode sooner or later, while you were left guessing whether today would finally be the day—or whether fate would spare you one more time.

Unfortunately, life spared no one from the agony of waiting for the inevitable.

Especially not Andrés.

“You’ve been looking at me since this morning like I did something wrong,” I said, exhaling cigarette smoke. “Aren’t you tired of it yet?”

“I heard your conversation with Sergio this morning. Or rather, I heard you,” Andrés replied before taking a sip of wine. “And sometimes it becomes unbearable.”

“Having hope isn’t unbearable, Andrés,” I tried to defend myself immediately, though it was pointless.

“Let me ask you something. What exactly are the two of you hoping for?” He let out a nervous laugh, though there was something unbearably sad about it. He hoped no less than we did—he just couldn’t say it out loud. “That I’ll manage to drag this out for a couple more years? That I won’t even be able to feed myself or go to the bathroom on my own, but hey, at least I’ll still be around for you and Sergio?”

“I never wished that on you.”

“But that’s exactly what you mean, Martín!” he snapped. “I heard you this morning. I heard that Sergio found another specialist in France.”

“He’s your brother, Andrés. Of course he wants you to survive.” Conversations like this were happening more and more often lately, but it still felt important to remind him. All we wanted was to help him.

“And you’re the person I love most,” he said more quietly, closing his eyes before slowly massaging his temples in circular motions. “You know better than anyone else,” he sighed hopelessly, “that I’m done for… and there’s nothing we can do to change that. So why do you keep giving him hope?”

“Listen, I’m not giving him hope—”

“We spent two years looking for a cure that doesn’t exist,” Andrés interrupted sharply. “And we both know the man in France is just another fraud waiting for a couple thousand euros in exchange for ‘miracle knowledge’ he doesn’t actually have. We’ve been through this already, Martín. Real doctors gave up on this a long time ago.”

“Don’t you think the first person who gave up on you was you?” I crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and immediately drained the rest of my whiskey. “Lately, all you ever talk about is dying.”

“Because it’s inevitable!” he shouted suddenly, drawing the attention of half the restaurant. “Sorry,” Andrés added immediately, glancing apologetically at the people nearby. “And it’s not some distant future anymore. It’s our near future.”

“But we can’t wake up every morning and start the day with ‘you’re going to die soon,’ Andrés. We can’t live like that,” I insisted, still trying to get through to him.

“Why not? It’s the truth.” He really was trying to stay calm, stubbornly holding his ground.

Dinner was out of the question now. Neither of us had any appetite left.

“Because you’re not the one who’ll have to wake up alone afterward, Andrés,” I said quietly. “I am.”

For some reason, I was almost always afraid to say it out loud, but the truth was that this thought haunted me every morning too. I knew the day would come when I’d wake up alone, and God help me, I wanted to delay that moment for as long as possible.

Avoiding it was impossible. We were both far too old not to understand that. But at the very least, I wanted to wake up believing we still had an ordinary day ahead of us.

Not one less day left together.

“But one day you will wake up without me,” Andrés said more softly, “and I don’t want it to be a shock for you or for Sergio.”

“Right, so instead you remind us every single day that you’re about to die. Brilliant,” I muttered sarcastically as I lit another cigarette.

“At this rate, I’ll be the one waking up without you if you keep smoking every two minutes,” he shot back. “Last time I checked, cancer still exists.”

I couldn’t help it. At this point, it had become a defense mechanism.

Something that was supposed to calm me down.

“I understand all of that, Andrés, but… don’t spend every day angry at me just because I’m still clinging to some stupid chance to save you. I can’t do otherwise. I never will. I’m sorry.” I turned my gaze toward the sea. “And don’t act like I should be spending that time driving around with you picking out where you want to be buried instead.”

“I probably should,” he replied bitterly. “Because someone’s going to have to do it. Fortunately for you, I already picked the place myself.”

“Are you serious right now?” The conversation was starting to feel absurd.

“Considering how I’ve been feeling lately? Completely serious, Martín.” I turned toward him instantly and saw the nervous way his eyes shifted. “Because most likely, this is our last year together.”

“What do you mean?” Andrés almost never spoke openly about how he felt. Most of the time, I could only guess from the physical signs.

“I don’t know. I just know I’m not getting better. My own hands are starting to stop obeying me, and I can feel this progressing.”

“Andrés—”

“Can we leave, please?” he interrupted, pressing his fingers harder against his temples. “The noise is making my head split open.”

A few minutes later, leaving the risotto untouched but paying the bill and grabbing a couple bottles of red wine from Gino, we walked out of the restaurant toward our car. It was only four in the afternoon. We still had plenty of time to drive somewhere and gather our thoughts.

That day, Andrés had been right.

It was our last summer together.

***

“How are you?” Sergio asked once again, studying me with that same unbearable look of sympathy.

I was looking at him the exact same way.

Even though we spoke on the phone fairly often, we’d only seen each other a handful of times since Andrés died. Three, I think. The first was at the funeral. The second was when he came with Rafael. And the third was to make sure I hadn’t killed myself during one of my particularly depressive episodes.

To be honest, those thoughts still crossed my mind.

Nobody knew that anymore, though.

I wouldn’t want anyone saving me if I ever decided to go through with it.

Once, I’d been careless enough to tell Andrés about my intentions to kill myself. God knows what I had been thinking. Maybe I wanted to show him the depth of my love—that I wouldn’t survive without him—but he immediately told me that if I gave up like that, he’d crawl back from the afterlife just to kill me himself.

Well.

Most likely, I had given up.

But I was still alive.

“I’m doing okay,” I lied, forcing a strained smile onto my face, though Sergio was far too intelligent to believe it. “What about you? How are your ladies?”

“They’re alright,” he said with a faint smile. We both understood that today probably wasn’t the right day to discuss Paula’s accomplishments or anything remotely cheerful. “I think I’m alright too. As much as that’s possible.”

“You know, Rafael called me today and said he’s getting married.” I took a sip of wine and let out an involuntary laugh. “Can you believe that little menace is actually getting married?”

“He picked quite a day to announce it,” Sergio noted quietly.

Truthfully, I’d suspected it for a long time. Rafael had started dating that girl while Andrés was still alive, though Andrés absolutely couldn’t stand her. There was something deeply off-putting about her, and honestly, I agreed with him completely.

But I hadn’t had the right to make decisions for Rafael in a very long time. The moment he became an adult, we lost whatever control we still had over him, and Rafael took full advantage of that fact.

“Unlike mine, his life is only just beginning, Sergio. Don’t blame him.” I understood that I couldn’t expect everyone else to drown in the same unbearable grief I lived with every day. That would’ve been too high a price for anyone to pay.

After all, Andrés had been the love of my life.

For Sergio, he’d been an older brother. For Rafael, a father. Losing family was something people eventually learned to live with.

But losing the only soul that ever truly belonged to yours…

At the very least, I was a terrible example of any philosophical conclusion about surviving grief. My entire existence made it painfully obvious that people could’ve written me off just as easily as doctors once wrote Andrés off.

The difference was that Andrés hadn’t chosen his fate.

I had willingly cornered myself in the darkest place imaginable.

“Want to get some air?” I suggested eventually.

Sometimes it was hard not to notice that, just a year ago, Andrés had been the one sitting in Sergio’s place. This restaurant carried too many memories.

And today, we were going to see him.

***

“Do you mind if I drive?” Andrés asked, still uncertain whether it was the right decision, though something was clearly bothering him. He needed to prove to himself that he still could.

“No problem.” Shrugging, I lightly tossed the keys toward him, apparently assuming he’d catch them.

Instead, they hit the ground with a sharp metallic clang, and I was immediately met with Andrés’ irritated stare.

“Seriously?” The coordination in his hands clearly wasn’t what it used to be, and I myself had been watching them tremble just minutes earlier.

Using my brain beforehand apparently hadn’t occurred to me.

“Sorry.”

A few minutes later, we were slowly driving along Via Bordonaro. Maybe Andrés wanted to get away from the chaos of the city and head toward Monte Pellegrino. At the very least, we both loved that place.

I loved Palermo.

Out of every city in Italy, Andrés and I had found nothing better than settling down here—in Palermo, Sicily’s chaotic, imperfect, and utterly incredible heart. We’d spent enough years here to understand one simple truth: this was our place. And it always would be. We both belonged here forever.

The view outside the car window was breathtaking. Even after the hundredth time, it still inspired the same awe it had the very first time: mighty Monte Pellegrino on one side, and beyond the line of buildings, the calm Tyrrhenian Sea on the other.

Gradually, Andrés slowed the car before finally pulling over along the same road.

It only took me a few seconds to realize where he’d brought us.

“You’re serious?” I looked at him in confusion, but Andrés only nodded firmly.

“Come on.”

The moment we stepped out of the car, we found ourselves standing before the entrance to Santa Maria Cemetery, with towering green mountains rising behind it.

Suddenly, a wave of dread washed over me.

He really had chosen his place.

“Not exactly the ideal way to ‘get some air,’ don’t you think?” I muttered as Andrés crossed the gates slowly and I reluctantly followed after him.

He stayed silent.

“Andrés, maybe say something at least? I don’t want to be here.”

“We need to take a little walk, my love,” he said simply, confidently making his way down another path lined with graves.

He knew exactly where he was going.

Judging by the certainty in his movements, he’d been here many times already.

He really had prepared for everything.

Now it was my turn to prepare.

After five minutes of literal dead silence, we arrived at one of the more secluded sections of the cemetery, tucked among the trees.

“Don’t get me wrong, but resting under the scorching Italian summer sun didn’t sound particularly appealing,” Andrés said with a small shrug, gesturing toward the shade as if explaining the trees. “I want you to bury me here.”

We stopped beside a white gravestone that still bore no name.

As miserable as it was to admit, it really was a beautiful spot.

If such a thing could even be said about a grave.

“Sooner or later, one name is going to end up carved into this stone,” Andrés said quietly. “And I’m counting on you to make sure it happens, my love.”

Almost unexpectedly, even for himself, he took my hand, and I immediately felt the tremor running through his fingers.

“Sergio may suggest taking my ashes back to Spain, near our parents, but I want to stay here.”

“You made sure there’ll be room for me too, didn’t you?” I asked without taking my eyes off the gravestone, already knowing the answer.

“Well, I sincerely hope you’ll live a long and happy life after I’m gone,” Andrés replied with a faint smile. “But yes, technically speaking, the paperwork includes a double plot. So hypothetically… if you don’t meet some better señor and decide you’d rather rest somewhere else, the spot’s yours.”

“You know my life ends with yours too, Andrés.”

The simple truth of it made me close my eyes immediately.

I needed to pull myself together.

It was unbearable to stand there staring at the place where, someday soon, the only person who had ever truly belonged to me would be lowered into the ground—while barely two hundred meters away, life carried on across Palermo’s sunny beaches.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “If only you knew how much courage it took for me to show you this place and stand here knowing this is where I end. Didn’t even make it to sixty. Can you imagine that?”

“But what if you do?” I insisted. “Don’t write yourself off yet.”

“This is exactly why I try not to bring this up around you, Martín. There are no ‘what ifs.’ We both know the disease is progressing fast.” Then, entirely like himself, Andrés abruptly shifted the conversation elsewhere. “But just look at this view, Martín. Isn’t it a miracle to find peace somewhere like this?”

He pointed toward the mountain.

“Over there in the distance, if you look closely, you can still see the Sanctuary of Saint Rosalia. Go higher up, and you’ll see the sea too. It’s far better than Madrid, where my younger brother seems determined to ship me off. He’s not a romantic the way we are.”

“He just wants to visit you as often as possible, I imagine.”

It was probably fair to assume Sergio’s motives weren’t purely selfish, but I never would’ve allowed Andrés to be taken to another country anyway.

“You can’t blame him.”

“I don’t,” Andrés admitted softly. “But this is my choice, and I’m asking you to respect it.” Slowly letting go of my hand, he lowered his gaze. “And please… stop trying to save me. It’s only becoming irritating. I’ve accepted that I’ll end up here within a year or two at most, but if you truly love me as much as you say you do, then let me say goodbye to you properly. Not feed you false hope. Just… say goodbye.”

Everything inside me tightened painfully.

Listening to this felt impossible.

But maybe we no longer had a choice.

“Martín, do you hear me?” He looked up at me again. “This is only the end for me,” he said, pointing toward the gravestone. “I don’t want you saying it’s the end for you too.”

“But it is true, Andrés.” I couldn’t stop myself. “I can’t even imagine how I’m supposed to wake up without you. Eat without you. Drink without you. Or stop myself from coming here every single day just to feel close to you.”

“Give peace a chance, my friend. Besides, someone still has to keep an eye on that unruly child,” he said, despite the fact that Rafael was already twenty-four and Andrés had never stopped calling him a child. “And kick his ass whenever he decides to do something ridiculous again. Like marrying Tatiana. Strange girl, don’t you think?”

When Andrés and I met, Rafael had been four years old. He’d practically grown up with me. I’d become hopelessly attached to that little boy and always considered him my son.

I knew that to him, I’d always remained simply “Martín.” He rarely called me Dad the way he called Andrés, but he loved me.

At least, I sincerely hoped he did.

“We’ll deal with it somehow,” I said, trying to reassure him.

“I certainly hope so.” Andrés smiled faintly. “Still… I’m glad I finally showed you this place. Honestly, there weren’t many options available, but this is the best I could get.”

“It really is beautiful, Andrés,” I said quietly.

He needed to hear that.

“But if you don’t mind,” I added after a pause, “I’d rather spend the rest of today somewhere a little more pleasant and peaceful. Nothing against cemeteries, but I’d like to postpone coming back here for as long as possible.”

“Let’s head closer to home,” Andrés suggested calmly. “You didn’t grab those two bottles of wine from Gino’s place for nothing, and personally, I wouldn’t risk driving drunk all the way back from Mondello.”

Ahead of us waited one of the best and worst evenings of our lives all at once.

***

After leaving Gino’s restaurant, I decided it would be better for us to walk. Of course, by car we could’ve reached the place in fifteen minutes, but I wanted to delay that moment for as long as possible.

One particularly desperate evening earlier that year, I’d promised myself I would visit Andrés less often. I loved him, but every visit to that place killed whatever was still alive inside me. I could stay strong for weeks, but the second I crossed the threshold of the place where he now rested forever, all of it came crashing down.

I hadn’t visited him in over a month.

I knew Sergio would come here for the anniversary of Andrés’ death, so I promised myself I’d only return with him.

And now that day had finally come.

As we walked along Via Bordonaro once again, I noticed something troubled in Sergio’s expression. Something about his gaze felt off, though I couldn’t tell whether it had to do with me or with worries of his own.

“What’s on your mind, my friend?” I asked eventually.

After all, we couldn’t exactly spend the next hour walking there in complete silence. Especially after not seeing each other for so long.

“There’s a very good architectural design position waiting for you in Madrid. Maybe you should consider—”

“Don’t, Sergio.” So it was about me. “I’m surviving just fine here. Besides, you know perfectly well how skeptical I am about Spain.”

For some reason, I had never managed to find a single place in that country where I truly felt comfortable.

“But you’re completely alone here.”

I still couldn’t tell what exactly he was trying to pressure me into, but sympathy was the last thing I needed.

“Changing locations won’t fix that, unfortunately.”

No matter where I went, that feeling would follow me for the rest of my life with absolute certainty. As much as Andrés used to joke that I could easily find someone else and avoid spending the rest of my years alone, we both knew that would never happen.

At some point, I’d already realized that time had stopped for me.

There was no life anymore.

Was I being dramatic?

Maybe.

But it was the truth, whether anyone liked it or not.

“Do you really think Andrés would’ve wanted you living like this after he died?”

“Not everything has to happen just because Andrés would’ve wanted it, Sergio. You never spent your life following his instructions, did you?”

I let out a faint smirk, glancing at him. God, the number of times Andrés used to storm around furious after some petty argument with his younger brother.

“This isn’t about me, Martín,” Sergio immediately redirected the conversation back toward me. “We’re all devastated that he’s gone, but—”

“I don’t think we can compare the extent of that devastation,” I interrupted. “For you, he was your older brother. You still have a life outside of him—Raquel, your children. But for me, he was my life. We both remember the state he pulled me out of and how completely he changed everything for me. And now I’m alone again. So don’t tell me you’re devastated.”

“Sorry,” Sergio said quietly, backing down a little.

Even in matters like this, he always tried to think logically first, pushing emotional turmoil somewhere far down the list. I was the exact opposite. My brain worked perfectly in every other aspect of life except this one.

You couldn’t mix the soul with science, no matter how hard you tried.

“I know all of you want me to snap out of this,” I continued. “Rafael and I have already managed to argue about it several times, but honestly, my friends, if you don’t stop trying to fix me, I’m going to hang a sign above my front door that says Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. It’s only been a year.”

“It’s already been a year, Martín,” Sergio replied firmly. “And if I have to drag you out of this state by force, I will. Because I’m not going to forgive myself if your loneliness ends up destroying you too.”

At the same time, we both remembered what had happened one autumn evening six months ago—the night I’d been convinced I would find a way to end my existence.

“I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you mean,” I said, hoping he’d believe me. Those thoughts hadn’t crossed my mind in a long time now.

Maybe I’d finally reached acceptance.

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“And somehow you can?” I smirked again. Sergio’s confidence and stubbornness were almost enviable.

“I’m just trying to tell you that despite everything you keep saying about being alone now, you still have this family. You inherited the entire package when you chose Andrés. Rafael absolutely adores you, and he worries about you constantly.”

Deep down, I understood exactly what he meant. He was completely right.

It just refused to settle properly in my mind.

It wasn’t that I’d rejected them, but neither Sergio nor Rafael gave me the feeling that I wasn’t alone anymore.

“Of course we’re family, Sergio. What are you talking about?” He needed to hear that. “It’s just… Andrés was something far greater than that for me. You can’t erase that after only a year.”

We spent the rest of the walk in complete silence.

I tried to save a few sharp remarks for the inevitable moment when my emotions would finally overwhelm me because, God help me, I had absolutely no control over them anymore.

Maybe this time would be different.

But we still had time to find out.

Half an hour later, we reached the gates of Santa Maria Cemetery.

*** 

Over the years we’d spent living in the heart of Sicily, we’d explored nearly every corner of Palermo and learned every beach by heart. But there was something special about the areas near Kalsa, where we lived.

First of all, they weren’t exactly a tourist favorite, which already made them perfect. And secondly, the existence of secluded wild beaches allowed locals to escape the chaos of the city for at least a little while.

You just had to know the right place and the right time.

That was why we were certain no one would bother us apart from a few locals and dog owners who usually started walking their pets along the shore closer to evening.

After parking the car by the roadside and killing the engine, I froze completely.

Those thirty minutes behind the wheel had been more than enough to send me spiraling into an entirely new kind of despair. I still couldn’t believe Andrés had already picked out a burial plot for himself, and now we were supposed to sit here acting as though nothing had happened—as though I hadn’t just seen that damned white gravestone with my own eyes.

Eventually, the silence became so uncomfortable that Andrés finally broke it.

“So now you’re planning to stay silent for the rest of the day? What happened?”

I didn’t want to hurt him.

I had no right to.

“I think I just need time to process all of this. It’s too much for one day, Andrés. You just showed me the place where you’re going to end up in a few short years. I can’t… I can’t get it out of my head.”

“If you want to stay here and spend some time alone in the car, I won’t bother you,” he replied calmly. “At least you’ll still be able to come back here many, many times.”

He stretched slightly before reaching into the backseat for the bottle of red wine.

“As for me…” he added quietly, “I think I’ll go down to the sea.”

And he actually got out of the car, gently shutting the door behind him.

I simply sat there watching him walk farther and farther away from me toward the shore. A few minutes later, I saw him remove his beige jacket and sling it over his shoulder before continuing on. Another minute passed, and he disappeared from sight entirely.

I was behaving selfishly.

I knew that.

The point of all of this—of these final years—wasn’t my future suffering. The point was that every single day brought us closer to the inevitable.

And I still hadn’t fully accepted that.

The truth was, I needed to stop letting my pathetic selfishness ruin every one of his remaining days with my constant grief, but sometimes it was simply too difficult.

I even remembered one morning when Andrés had still been asleep beside me, and I’d managed to spiral so badly that I ended up crying.

One of the rare moments I ever allowed myself emotions like that.

After checking to make sure he was still breathing, I suddenly imagined waking up one day to a completely different outcome. That thought alone had been enough to destroy me before the morning had even properly begun.

Thoughts like that visited me almost daily.

Eventually, after gathering myself as best I could, I decided to join him.

It was the very least I could do.

“I’d never trade this place for anything else,” Andrés said, apparently hearing me approach. “It’s the best place on this goddamn earth.”

And he was right, because there was no other possible answer.

The restless Tyrrhenian Sea, the soft June evening sunlight, the silence surrounding us—together, they turned the place into paradise.

Andrés loved this paradise.

He was a romantic in the purest sense of the word.

“I know there’s nothing pleasant about this for you,” he admitted with a slight frown, “but I had to do it today. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I do.”

And I truly did. I wasn’t stupid. I understood this was his way of proving to Sergio and me that we were fighting against something impossible.

“And if you think this was easy for me either, then—”

“I understand you, Andrés. In this matter, you’re more mature than both Sergio and me combined. But it was just so sudden. Every day you act like nothing’s happening, mixed in with those ridiculous jokes about your death, and meanwhile it turns out you’ve already picked out your place in a cemetery.”

“Of course I have. I don’t want you scattering my ashes over the sea in some emotional breakdown or, even worse, burying me somewhere far away in some painfully ordinary place. I deserve better than that, my love.”

“I would never scatter your ashes over the sea,” I said, staring at him in genuine confusion.

The sea?

Did I really seem that sentimental?

“I’m joking,” he said with a soft smile, handing me the wine bottle. “Open it before I fail again and throw the whole bottle into the sea instead. I tried opening it, but my motor skills politely told me to go to hell, so…”

“You didn’t bring glasses.”

“In case you forgot, I’m not contagious,” Andrés muttered dryly. “So I doubt your life will change dramatically if we drink straight from the bottle. But if you’re willing to walk for a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.”

Ten minutes later, we finally sat down near the shore, watching the restless sea.

“I never wanted this for you, Martín,” Andrés said quietly, turning the wine glass slowly in his hand. He lowered his gaze, and there was something painfully apologetic in his voice.

“Andrés, I’m tired of talking about this,” I admitted.

The entire day had revolved around the unbearable realization that everything would soon end.

It was exhausting.

“I know, but… earlier today you said I’m not helping anyone by constantly reminding them that I’m dying, and I understand that. But something inside me is breaking apart.” He paused for a moment. “I remember who I used to be, and I realize there’s almost nothing left of that person now. I can’t surprise you anymore because my brain is barely capable of producing anything worthwhile. I tried, but the higher my expectations of myself become, the more painful the disappointment.”

“Says the man who somehow managed to secure himself a plot at Santa Maria all on his own. And you’re telling me you can’t surprise me anymore?”

“Oh, stop.” He waved a dismissive hand. “That’s just a final wish, or whatever people call it. It’s the place where I feel I belong. Though yes, I did dare to reserve space for you too. But hopefully that won’t become relevant for another thirty or forty years.”

“I have no intention of living to ninety,” I replied immediately. The very idea of dragging out this absurd existence that long didn’t fit into my understanding of life at all.

Better to die quickly and with my mind intact.

“And I do want you to live.” Andrés looked toward the sea again. “Maybe over the next few decades you’ll finally discover another Italian town where you can settle down. I could recommend Florence, but personally I’d choose Naples. It has the exact same kind of view.”

He gestured toward the water.

“Do I look like a tourist to you?”

“You don’t have to be a tourist to surround yourself with beauty. We ended up here, didn’t we? Even though at first you stubbornly refused. That’s just who you are, stubborn Martín Berrote.”

“I want to stay here,” I concluded firmly.

From the very first days in Palermo, I’d known this was the place where I wanted to remain forever. Not even Andrés’ most romantic fantasies could persuade me otherwise.

“Besides,” I added after finishing my wine and slowly lying back against the sand, “I already have a spot next to you.”

“And I’m not going to judge you for that,” Andrés replied softly. “But right now I need you to listen to me from beginning to end without interrupting, alright?”

Here we go again.

Now he was going to start talking about my loneliness.

We’d already done this countless times.

“I have no doubt you’ll be shattered for a while after I die, and I understand that because I’d feel the same way. The mere thought of losing you before then terrifies me even more. But the problem is that we’re adults, Martín. At some point, you’re going to have to wake up again, and I’m completely serious about that.”

He turned toward me.

“You are not some mediocre person, and you certainly don’t deserve to spend the rest of your life suffering and wandering from place to place. This isn’t some romantic movie where you get to give up simply because you can’t live without me. That’s absurd. You managed to live almost thirty years of your life without me. And if you truly were as mediocre as you constantly claim you are, we never would’ve ended up together in the first place.”

He smirked faintly.

“In case you forgot, Rafael’s mother was a woman.”

A subtle reminder that, unlike me, he hadn’t always been this way.

“If someone had asked me back then where I saw myself in twenty years, the last thing I would’ve imagined was falling in love with men.” He took another sip of wine. “Though honestly, I’m still not convinced I love men. I just happened to love you. And you call yourself mediocre? Please.”

His voice softened.

“It makes me unbearably sad that I won’t get the chance to annoy you into old age, Martín. But I don’t want to watch you wither away alongside me. Do you really think I don’t know what’s going through your head? Do you think I don’t realize you’re already preparing to turn your life into some miserable existence too?”

He looked directly at me.

“And if, God forbid, you ever try to do something to yourself, I’ll crawl back from the afterlife and kill you personally. Do you hear me?”

“I can’t promise you anything, Andrés,” I admitted quietly. “Because the truth is, I haven’t lost you yet. And if it already hurts this much now, then I can’t promise your death won’t completely destroy my mind.”

How could I possibly promise something like that?

It would’ve been a lie.

“Then I’ll make Rafael move in with you,” Andrés declared stubbornly.

“Don’t you dare ruin that kid’s life. He deserves better than spending his time making sure I don’t drop dead.”

“So in your opinion it’s better if he buries both of us instead?”

I still didn’t know whether this was because of my behavior or something else entirely, but why was Andrés so convinced I’d kill myself?

I’d never said it outright.

“There’s nothing better about any of this, Andrés.” I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself. “There’s just a fact. And after that fact comes enormous grief. That’s all.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

A moment later, Andrés lay down beside me.

“Then I guess we’re even,” I murmured almost inaudibly, finding his hand in the sand and squeezing it gently.

We stayed there in complete silence for over ten minutes.

Andrés hurt me just as deeply as I hurt him, but in the end we had simply told each other the bitter truth: we had broken each other’s hearts.

“I’ll buy us the tickets to France.”

The quiet sentence struck like thunder out of a clear sky.

It only took me a second to understand what he meant.

“Excuse me?” I immediately lifted myself onto one elbow, staring at him in surprise.

“If it matters this much to you, and you truly believe it could help, then I’ll let that charlatan hammer in the final nail. Fine. But this will be our last attempt.”

“Andrés, you don’t have to do something just because I asked.”

“I do if it can pull you out of this misery for at least a few days. How long has it been since you were in France, hm? It was never our first choice before, but now…” He exhaled softly. “Well, now seems like the perfect time to see Paris and die.”

He was trying to convince himself this was a good idea.

“Maybe it’ll do us some good.”

Then he looked at me again.

“Please, my love… take that miserable expression off your face like I’m already dead. Let me feel alive a little longer, alright?”

***

Unlike me, Sergio had only been here once, and I didn’t blame him for that. You didn’t have to visit a cemetery to honor someone you loved. Standing beside a grave for a while changed nothing. As far as I could tell, that was more or less how he saw it too.

But today marked exactly one year.

Even for him, that meant something.

It was always difficult to accept that no matter how much life changed around you, this place remained exactly the same. I still remembered my very first visit here vividly—Andrés leading me down this same path. I remembered the first time I came here after they buried him.

Every single goddamn visit after that.

Nothing changed.

Except you.

Here, life had frozen forever.

“For springtime, the place is surprisingly well maintained, don’t you think?”

“I imagine the caretakers here are paid quite well,” I replied, wondering why he’d decided to comment on that specifically. “This is a respectable cemetery, after all. Your brother never would’ve allowed himself to be buried somewhere mediocre.”

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he found all of this while he was still alive.”

For Sergio, emotion always came second, especially when it came to subjects like this.

“Because his death wasn’t unexpected, unfortunately.”

At some point, I’d eventually realized there had been something right about Andrés’ desperate need to prepare us—and prepare himself.

We finally reached the place where he was buried.

Now, the once nameless gravestone bore its first inscription. Andrés had predicted his “final autumn” with terrifying accuracy. He had felt it coming.

His name occupied only one half of the stone.

I’d deliberately left the other half for myself.

“He always thought through every last detail,” Sergio said quietly as he stopped beside me and looked down at the grave. “Even his own death.”

“If something happens to me, you know I’m supposed to end up here too, right?” I reminded him once again, gesturing toward the gravestone. “There’s only one place I’d ever choose to be. With him.”

“If the dead really can come back,” Sergio muttered, “I’m afraid someone’s about to rise from the grave and smack you upside the head because you’re unbearable, Martín.”

For a moment, we both laughed.

Andrés had brought this up countless times before. Once, he’d even said it directly in front of Sergio. We discussed things that would’ve sent normal people into horrified silence, but for us—then and now—it had become ordinary life.

The presence of death and loss had been hanging in the air for years.

“He was everything to me, Sergio.”

My voice trembled faintly.

I rarely opened up to either him or Rafael because I knew one thing for certain: once I started, there would be no end to it. But standing here now, something inside me refused to stay silent.

“You keep telling me to move on because you found a way to do it yourself,” I continued quietly, gesturing toward the gravestone. “But the thing that kept me alive is buried right here. I feel terrible, and I don’t see any improvement.”

“Martín…” Sergio started to speak, then stopped himself. Listening mattered more right now.

I clearly still had things to say.

“I even tried seeing a psychologist. Then a psychiatrist. But I can’t stand people feeding me bullshit like, ‘Tomorrow will be better.’ Tomorrow I’ll still wake up alone because you’ll leave. I’ll still make coffee in the morning, read the newspaper, and stare at the wall. Maybe I’ll try doing something productive, but I’ll give up within five minutes because my brain doesn’t work the way it used to anymore.”

I swallowed hard.

“Then I’ll drive to Gino’s and spend the rest of the day in Mondello because the place I call home is soaked in memories that make me suffer even more. Gino will try to be kind because we really are good friends, but I can see it in his eyes—he pities me too. Everyone pities me. I pity myself.”

I looked toward Andrés’ grave again.

“He pitied me too during that last year because he knew none of those speeches ever worked on me. I’m lost, my friend. And trying to save me is pointless.”

“You just have to survive this,” Sergio managed quietly.

Anyone else probably would’ve broken down after hearing all that, but he stubbornly held his ground. I had to give him credit for that.

“Come to Madrid with me. Please.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Then go to Barcelona and stay with Rafael, for God’s sake. Just leave this place for a while.” Sergio was visibly rattled now. Maybe even furious.

“No.”

“What exactly are you afraid of?” he demanded. “No one’s forcing you to leave forever, but you have to admit one simple fact: you’re going to waste away here alone. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”

He was angry now.

And honestly, so was I.

Leave Palermo?

The idea itself felt absurd.

“I’m not afraid of anything, but—”

“He wouldn’t judge you for it,” Sergio cut in sharply.

The words hit me like ice water.

“He’s gone, Martín. You can philosophize all you want, but he’s six feet underground. He died, and nothing in this world can bring him back.”

For the first time, I noticed tears beginning to gather in Sergio’s eyes.

He was holding himself together.

Barely.

I never could.

“Your problem isn’t that you miss him this much,” he continued more quietly. “Your problem is that you’re still blaming yourself for something. He didn’t die because of you. And you shouldn’t die because of him either. There are people who want to help you, and those aren’t empty words. I’m here. Rafael would be here for you any second of the day. So why do you keep pushing us away?”

Without even thinking, I pulled Sergio into a tight embrace.

I could never have done what he was doing now.

I’d known him just as long as I’d known Andrés. I knew how close they had been, yet over the past year I hadn’t even managed to express sympathy for him.

I still felt like the same selfish, broken excuse for a human being.

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said softly.

And for the first time in months, I let myself cry.

Over the past year, I’d completely broken down exactly six times—yes, I counted—moments when I’d genuinely thought everything was about to end. But this felt different.

Suddenly, I realized I’d never once comforted him.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I can’t go stay with Rafael,” I muttered through the tears, my voice thick and nasal. “I told you already—that boy’s getting married. I don’t want to ruin that part of his life.”

“Then come stay with us,” Sergio said, as though he’d already made the decision for me. “And if you think you’d somehow be a burden, remember how much Paula loved visiting you and Andrés. Please, Martín. Just for a few months. You can come back here whenever you want afterward, but let me help you out of this. I can’t lose you too.”

“But what about him?” I asked immediately. “Somebody has to look after this place while I’m gone.”

Even now, even in this moment, I was thinking about Andrés before myself.

“Martín, think about yourself. That’s the one thing I know for certain he would’ve wanted for you.” Sergio’s voice softened further. “You were the love of his life too, and you never saw how hard he cried when he found out the diagnosis was confirmed.”

Fresh tears blurred my vision instantly.

Of course I knew Andrés suffered too, but he had never allowed himself to show emotions like that.

“He wasn’t thinking about himself. Or me. He just kept repeating your name over and over again.” Sergio exhaled shakily. “You both suffered enough. He found his peace. Now you need to follow his advice.”

***

The mere thought of France breathed new life into the evening.

For some reason, that single idea alone was enough for Andrés and me to manage faint imitations of smiles. Or maybe it was simply the red wine finally beginning to take effect.

Either way, for one brief moment, the crushing heaviness hanging over us felt slightly less unbearable.

“And why exactly did we never think of getting a dog like that?” Andrés gestured toward a woman farther down the beach walking her beagle.

“We were entertaining enough without one,” I replied dryly, though I immediately found myself wondering the same thing.

“I want you to get a dog,” Andrés said, looking at me with sudden seriousness. “Obviously it won’t replace me, but at least it’ll force your old ass out of that house in Kalsa a few times a day.”

“Hey, have you looked at your own ass lately?” I smiled and lightly shoved his shoulder.

“But I’m not the one supposedly destined to reach ninety, my love.” He took another sip of wine. “You’ll even join a gym.”

“A dog, a gym membership… what’s next?” I started counting on my fingers. Apparently someone had decided to build me an entire posthumous to-do list.

“Whatever you want.” Andrés spread his arms slightly. “Just look at all this beauty around us. Now you have to live enough for both of us. And I’m certainly not limiting you to Palermo. You’re free to choose anything you want, Martín. Just please… don’t lock yourself inside four walls completely alone.”

He looked at me carefully.

“I know you’re absolutely convinced you’ll never love anyone again, but I still can’t help wishing you’ll fall in love with some distinguished man someday. Preferably Italian.”

“I think I’ll stick to Spaniards,” I replied. “No reason to break tradition.”

A sad smile crossed Andrés’ face.

For a few moments, he tried to lighten the mood, but we both knew that underneath it all, everything remained unbearably dark.

Still, for one evening—during one sunset over the Tyrrhenian Sea—maybe we could pretend otherwise.

Sometimes it helped to dream about impossible things.

The fall afterward hurt like hell, of course, but over the past few years pain had become something intimately familiar to us. Andrés physically. Me emotionally.

And somehow, we’d both become experts at pretending it no longer existed.

That had become our habit.

“But don’t waste yourself on the first man who comes along, my love,” Andrés continued, still absurdly serious about his instructions. “We both know you deserve better.”

Finding my hand again, he squeezed it gently before lying back against the sand.

“I already had the best, Andrés,” I replied quietly, tightening my grip around his hand as though letting go would make him disappear forever. “So I doubt I’ll ever progress beyond the beagle, my love.”

My love.

That had always been Andrés’ phrase because when it came from him, it sounded like you were the most extraordinary person in the universe simply for being loved by him.

But lately, I’d started borrowing it more and more often.

It could still sound sudden, even ridiculous sometimes, but there was something deeply romantic about it while also feeling familiar and entirely ours.

I loved calling him that.

Because that was exactly what he would always remain to me.

***

As I packed my things, I kept replaying that evening over and over in my mind while tears rolled endlessly down my face.

I still felt like I was betraying him.

Even this temporary absence—temporary, I was absolutely certain of that—felt like betrayal because I simply couldn’t endure the pain anymore.

But the truth was, I really couldn’t.

I’d promised to stay strong. To get that ridiculous dog. But honestly, I felt beyond saving.

I still carried Andrés’ wishes with me, and every morning when I woke up, I told myself that today I’d at least take one small step forward.

Instead, I always ended up taking several steps back.

Maybe a few months in the suburbs of Madrid really would help me.

I didn’t know.

I wanted to believe it might.

I needed to wake up somewhere other than my own bed, inside my own empty house. I understood that one day I’d come back here and everything would fall into the exact same miserable routine again, but maybe Sergio was right…

A beautiful summer was waiting ahead of us—the summer when the child Andrés and I had raised together was planning to get married.

Only I would be there to witness it.

I could only imagine the expression Andrés would’ve made after hearing more about Rafael’s fiancée, but that judgment no longer belonged to us.

Maybe Rafael would someday manage to love someone as deeply as I had loved—and still loved—his father.

Though I doubted I should warn him in advance that love was also the surest source of grief and the most reliable way to end up with a broken heart.

But if mine weren’t already shattered beyond repair, I would’ve allowed it to break a hundred more times if only Andrés could return for a single second and break this silence once again.