We say our goodbyes on the street outside the bar. Just as I’m about to turn away and walk back to my apartment a truck comes roaring down the street. Matías grabs me and pulls me out of the way as it speeds past, the two of us tumbling onto the sidewalk, his hand protecting the back of my head. As we lie side by side on the cement, both breathing heavily, he looks at me and says, “That would be the worst ending …”

“I was just going to say that!”

He caresses my cheek with the back of his finger. “So will I ever see you again?” he asks.

I close my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

•

It’s the night of the farewell party. In the morning the visiting writers are all leaving. As planned, I meet up with Claire beforehand. “Have you heard from him?” I ask, and immediately regret it.

“Not a word,” Claire says. “You?”

I hesitate. When you don’t want to lose someone, it’s so tempting to deceive them.

AFTER THAT NIGHT AT THE WINE BAR WITH MATíAS, IT’S as if Claire, the cheating, and the lies never happened. That next night he is back in my bed, which entails more crying, and the following evening we are having dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town—the only fancy restaurant in town—followed by Tanqueray and tonics at the bar next door. I cling to his arm the entire night, not wanting to let go, knowing he’ll be leaving in the morning. At five a.m. he kisses me goodbye as he gets up and returns to his hotel, where a bus waits to take him to the airport.

When he arrives in Argentina the next afternoon, he calls me right away. “There’s someone here who wants to say hello.”

“Ciaoooo bella,” Simoné, his three-year-old son squeaks into my ear, giggling before handing the phone back to his father.

I immediately melt into a puddle, picturing myself with him and his son, mothering them both. At that precise moment Matías sweeps in with his initial invitation to Buenos Aires. Three weeks, all expenses paid, guaranteed time of my life. “Think about it,” he says. “We can spend Christmas Day at Iguazu Falls.”

I find myself accepting the offer the next day, just before heading home to D.C. for Thanksgiving. Since things with my mother are still fragile in the wake of our six-month hiatus, I decide to stay with Renata and Thomas in Cleveland Park. “I’m going to Buenos Aires for three weeks,” I tell them. “I’ve already decided. I know you guys disapprove, but I just don’t think he would hurt me a second time.”