Now and Forever Read online

  ALSO BY MEGAN MAXWELL

  Tell Me What You Want

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2013 by Megan Maxwell

  Translation copyright © 2019 by Achy Obejas

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Pídeme lo que quieras—ahora y siempre by Planeta in Spain in 2013. Translated from Spanish by Achy Obejas. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2019.

  Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542044837

  ISBN-10: 1542044839

  Cover design by PEPE nymi, Milano

  For the Maxwell Warriors,

  for being my greatest supporters, and for Jude and Eric,

  for being such magnificent characters.

  Mil besotes,

  Megan

  CONTENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  1

  Everything’s gone to hell. I look at the packed boxes, and my heart breaks. My trip to Germany is canceled, and my life seems to be too, at least for now. I shove some things into a backpack and disappear before Eric comes looking for me. My phone rings and rings and rings. It’s him, but I refuse to answer. I don’t want to talk.

  After I leave my house, I go to a café and call my sister. I make her promise she won’t tell anyone where I am, and she agrees to meet me. After hugging me because she probably knows I need it, she hears me out. I tell her part of the story but only part of it; I am certain the rest would only baffle her. When things don’t add up, she starts in on me: “You’re crazy!” “Eric is a good catch!” “How could you do that?” In the end, I say goodbye, and, despite her insistence, I don’t tell her where I’m going. I know her, and she’ll tell Eric as soon as he calls her.

  Next, I call my father. I convince him that I’ll go to Jerez soon and explain everything; then I hop in the car and drive to Valencia. I’m still not answering Eric’s calls. I just don’t want to.

  Several days later, I’m feeling more relaxed, and I drive to Jerez, where my father welcomes me with open arms and gives me all his love and affection. I tell him my relationship with Eric is over, but he won’t believe it. Eric has called several times, worried; according to my father, that man loves me too much to let me get away. My poor father is a hopeless romantic.

  When I get up the next day, Eric is at my father’s house.

  My father has called him, which irks me to no end.

  He tries to talk to me, but I refuse. I’m furious with him; I scream and yell, and I let go of everything inside me before slamming the door in his face and locking myself in my room. I finally hear my father asking him to leave, and, for a moment, I let myself breathe. My father seems to know I can’t reason right now.

  Eric comes to the door of my room, where I’m barricaded, and, in a tense and angry voice, tells me he’s leaving. That he’s going to Germany to take care of certain matters. He insists once more that I come out, but when I won’t, he eventually goes away.

  Two days go by, and my anguish doesn’t diminish.

  Forgetting Eric is impossible for me, especially when he’s constantly calling. But when he chose to believe Betta’s lies about those pictures, he broke my heart, so I still don’t answer. Of course, because I’m a masochist, I listen to our songs again and again to torment myself and wallow in my grief, feeling sorry for myself. The only positive thing about all this is that I know he’s very far away and I have my motorcycle to blow off steam, by getting muddy and jumping around the fields of Jerez.

  After a few days, Miguel, my former colleague at Müller, calls and gives me astonishing news. Eric fired my former boss. Incredulous, I listen as Miguel tells me Eric had a huge argument with her when he caught her mocking me in the cafeteria. Result: unemployment. Got what you deserved, bitch!

  I shouldn’t be so happy about it, but a wicked part of me rejoices that she has finally gotten her due. As my father very wisely says, “Time eventually puts everyone in their place,” and time’s finally put her on the damned street where she belongs.

  That same afternoon, my sister comes over with Jesús and Luz, and they surprise us with the news that they’ll be parents again. My father and I look at each other and grin. My sister and brother-in-law are happy, and my niece, Luz, looks delighted.

  “You’re going to have a little sibling!” I exclaim.

  The next day, Fernando visits too. We hug for a long and meaningful while. We haven’t communicated in months, and we both understand that whatever was between us—that thing that never existed—has finally ended.

  As we stroll over to Pachuca’s restaurant, we chat, but he doesn’t ask about Eric. He seems to sense our relationship is over, or that something has happened.

  “Fernando, if I asked you for a favor, would you do it?” I ask him while he and I and my sister have some of Pachuca’s snacks at the bar. Fernando’s a detective, and he has access to all sorts of information.

  “Depends on the favor.”

  We both smile, and I clarify.

  “I need addresses for two women.”

  “Who?”

  I take a drink from my Coke. “First, there’s Marisa de la Rosa; she lives in Huelva. She’s married to a guy named Mario Rodríguez, a plastic surgeon. I don’t know much more. The other person’s name is Betta, and she was Eric Zimmerman’s girlfriend for a couple of years.”

  “Judith,” protests my sister, “please!”

  “Shut up, Raquel. Can you get that for me or not?”

  “What do you want it for?” he inquires.

  I’m not ready to tell him what happened.

  “Fernando, it’s nothing bad,” I say, “and if you could help me, I’d appreciate it.”

  For a few seconds, he looks at me solemnly. Finally, he nods, gets up, and steps away; I see him on his cell. Ten minutes later, he comes back with a piece of paper in his hand.

  “All I can tell you about Betta is that she’s in Germany, but she doesn’t have a fixed address. Here’s the address for the other woman. By the way, your friends move in a very wild circle and play a lot of the same games as Eric Zimmerman.”

  “What games are you talking about?” Raquel asks.

  Fernando and I look at each other. He’d better bite his t
ongue!

  But we understand each other, and he says nothing.

  “Don’t do anything foolish, all right, Judith?”

  My sister shakes her head and snorts. Excited, I take the paper from him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thank you. Thank you very, very much.”

  When I’m alone in my room that night, I reach the height of my fury. Just knowing that with a little luck I’m going to get in Marisa’s face the next day makes my heart beat faster. That witch is going to find out what I’m made of.

  I wake up at seven o’clock the next morning, and my sister’s already up. As soon as she sees I’m getting ready to go on a trip, she clings to me like a limpet and starts in with her incessant questioning.

  I’m going to Huelva to see Marisa de la Rosa. I try to avoid Raquel, but she is too much! In the end, seeing I can’t get rid of her, I surrender and take her with me. Although later, I might come to regret that.

  She doesn’t know what happened between Eric and me. Someone like my sister wouldn’t understand my games with Eric. She’d think we’re depraved, and maybe even worse.

  When I talked to her the day everything happened, I left out the key details. I told her these women had poisoned our relationship and that was why we had argued, and, as a result, Eric and I had broken up. I couldn’t tell her anything else.

  When we arrive in Huelva, I’m surprisingly calm. We get to the street noted on the paper Fernando gave me, and I park. I look around and see Marisa lives very, very well. This is a luxurious area.

  “I still don’t know what we’re doing here, Cuchu,” my sister protests as she gets out of the car.

  “Stay here, Raquel.”

  But she ignores my command and closes the car door decisively.

  “Don’t even think about it, cutie. Where you go, I go.”

  “Does it look like I need a bodyguard?”

  She comes over to my side.

  “Yes. I don’t trust you. You’ve got quite a mouth on you, and sometimes you can be pretty rough.”

  “Fuck!”

  “You see? You already said ‘fuck’!” she says.

  Without another word, we arrive at the address written on the paper and step onto the beautiful porch. I press the intercom, and a woman answers.

  “Mail,” I say without hesitation.

  The door opens, and my sister, stunned, stares at me.

  “Oh, Judith, I think you’re going to do something foolish.”

  I laugh. I glance over at her and hiss as we wait for the elevator. “She was a fool to underestimate me.”

  “Cuchu . . .”

  “Look,” I tell her, because I’m not in a great mood now, “from this moment on, I need you to be quiet. This is between her and me, all right?”

  The elevator bell dings, the doors open, and we get on. When we reach the fifth floor, I look for apartment D and knock. Moments later, an unfamiliar woman in a service uniform answers the door.

  “How can I help you?” she asks.

  “Good afternoon,” I reply, sporting one of my best smiles. “I’d like to see Marisa de la Rosa. Is she home?”

  “And you are?”

  “I’m Vanessa Arjona, from Cádiz.”

  The woman disappears.

  “Vanessa Arjona?” my sister whispers. “Who is Vanessa?”

  With a curt wave, I shut her up.

  Two seconds later, Marisa’s at the door, looking adorable in a white ensemble. Her jaw drops in terror when she sees me, but before she can react, I grab the door firmly so she can’t close it.

  “Hello, bitch!”

  “Cuchu!” exclaims my sister.

  Marisa trembles from head to toe. I shoot my sister a look to keep her quiet.

  “I just want you to know that I know where you live,” I say through gritted teeth. Marisa pales, but I continue. “Your dirty little game has pissed me off, and, believe me, if I decide to, I can be so much worse and do so much more damage than you or your friends.”

  “I . . . I didn’t know . . .”

  “Shut your mouth, Marisa!” She goes silent. “I don’t care what you have to say. You’re a bitch who used me for no reason. And as for Betta, your friend, who I’m sure you’re still in touch with, tell her that the day she crosses me again, she’ll find out who I really am.”

  Marisa’s still shaking. She looks fearfully back inside.

  “Please,” she pleads, “my in-laws are here and—”

  “Your in-laws?” I say, interrupting her and applauding. “Great! Introduce me. I’d be happy to meet them and tell them a few things about their angelic daughter-in-law.”

  Clearly unraveled, Marisa shakes her head. She’s obviously beyond terrified. I almost feel sorry for her, so I wrap things up.

  “If you underestimate me again, this beautiful and comfortable life with your in-laws and your famous hubby will come to an end,” I say, “because I myself will see to it that it does, understood?”

  Pale as wax, she nods. When I’ve said what I came to say, I turn to leave, but I suddenly hear my sister.

  Raquel turns to Marisa and says, “If you come anywhere near my sister or her boyfriend again, I swear by the blessed glory of my mother watching us from heaven that I’ll be back here with my father’s meat cleaver in hand to take your eyes out—bitch!”

  After my dear Raquel’s torrent, Marisa slams the door right in our faces. Slack-jawed, I stare at my sister as we walk toward the elevator.

  “Thank God the vulgar and ill-spoken one in the family is me,” I say. Raquel laughs. “Didn’t I ask you to be quiet?”

  “Look, Cuchufleta, when they hurt or mess with my family, the street fighter in me comes screaming out. As Esteban says, I get DAN-GER-OUS.”

  Laughing, we get in the car and drive back to Jerez.

  When we arrive, my father and brother-in-law ask about our travels. We just look at each other and laugh. We don’t say a word. This trip will remain between us.

  2

  It’s December 17. Christmas is coming, and all my lifelong friends who have moved away from Jerez are returning home. If the world ends on the twenty-first, as the Mayans predicted, at least we’ll have seen each other one last time.

  Like we do every year, we throw a big party. Fernando organizes it at his father’s country house, and we have a great time. Laughter, dancing, and, most of all, good vibes.

  During a moment of revelry, Fernando sits beside me and we talk. From what he says, I infer he knows a lot about my relationship with Eric.

  “Fernando, I . . .”

  He puts a finger to my mouth to silence me.

  “Today you’ll listen to me. I told you, I don’t like that guy.”

  “I know . . .”

  “That he wasn’t good for you, given what both you and I knew.”

  “I know . . .”

  “But, like it or not, you’re crazy about him, and he about you.” I stare at him, astonished. “Eric is a powerful man who can have any woman he wants, but he obviously feels something very intense for you. I know because of his insistence.”

  “His insistence?”

  “He called me a thousand times. He was desperate the day you disappeared from his office. And I mean desperate.”

  “He called you?”

  “Yes, every day, several times a day. And despite our history, he took a risk, swallowed his pride, and asked for my help. He was worried about you.”

  My little heart beats out of control. To think of my Iceman maddened by my absence makes me soften just a bit. Foolish.

  “He told me he’d behaved like an idiot,” Fernando continues, “and that you’d left. I tracked you down to Valencia, but I didn’t tell him anything or try to contact you because I figured you needed some time to think.”

  Stunned by what he’s saying, I just keep staring at him.

  “Have you made a decision?” he asks.

  I take a swallow from my drink and toss the hair from my face. “What was betwe
en Eric and me is over,” I whisper, a pain in my heart.

  Fernando nods, looks over at some friends, and sighs.

  “I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I heard you, all right! Are you crazy?”

  My crazy friend smiles and takes a sip of his drink.

  “I wish your eyes would sparkle for me the way they do for him,” he finally says. “I wish you’d been as crazy for me as I know you are for him. And I wish I didn’t know that he is also so crazy about you that he risks calling me to look for you, knowing that I could easily turn you against him!”

  I close my eyes.

  “Your safety, finding you and knowing you were OK, that was the most important thing to him, and that makes me see the kind of man Eric is and how much he loves you.”

  I open my eyes and listen carefully.

  “I know I’m not doing myself any favors when I say this, but if what’s between you and that guy is as real as you both imply, why end it?”

  “Are you telling me to go back to him?”

  Fernando smiles and moves a lock of hair from my face.

  “Listen, just think about what you want, what you really want, and if your heart wants to be with him, don’t deny it or you’ll regret it.”

  His words touch me, but before I can start sobbing like a fool, I grin. Shakira’s “Waka Waka” is playing.

  “I don’t want to think. C’mon, let’s dance,” I propose.

  Fernando grins back, takes me by the hand, and leads me to the center of the dance floor. The party continues, and I run into Sergio and Elena, the owners of the busiest pub in Jerez. Other years, I’ve worked for them as a server, and they offer me my old job. I accept, pleased. The income is welcome.

  When I get home at dawn, I’m tired and a little drunk, but content.

  On the morning of December 20, my phone rings for the eighteenth time. I’m dead. Working in the pub is fun but exhausting. When I see it’s Frida, however, I answer. Though I met her as part of Eric’s world, she’s become one of my best friends.

  “Hello, Jude! Merry Christmas. How are you?”

  “Merry Christmas. I’m fine, and you?”

  “Good, pretty good.”

  Her voice is tense.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “Is something wrong? Is Eric OK?”