Unwelcome Invitation

Everything seemed to be going well in our lives. At least until a few weeks ago when I started spending more time at the loft due to the renovations. I'm not sure if it was the smell of the products they were using in the renovation that made my stomach churn. In fact, I couldn't even set foot in the place without ending up in the bathroom. It felt like I was allergic to the place. However, I loved following the renovations so much that I forced myself to go anyway.

"Still, I think you need to see a doctor," Carlos says, lying next to me in bed and watching me apply my moisturizer. "It's not normal for you to be feeling sick like this... What if you really are allergic to something?"

"Whatever it is, it'll pass soon. The renovation is almost finished," I say, looking at him while I run my hands down my legs.

"Dália," Carlos calls out, getting up. "You might end up poisoning yourself more seriously."

"Trust me, Papi," I say with a smile to my husband.

"Okay, Mamá," Carlos agrees, approaching and kissing me.

It was supposed to be a great kiss if it weren't for the smell that reached my nose, causing nausea. I push my husband away and quickly cover my mouth.

"Did you see Rubens today?" I ask, holding back the urge.

My husband nods, confirming, and then I rush to the bathroom. After a few minutes, I return, looking at my husband sternly. Yes, I also had an aversion to Rubens' smell, probably because he was pressuring Carlos to return to Portugal, making him my mortal enemy.

"Go take a shower and get rid of that man's smell from you."

"Another shower? Dália, you're exaggerating..." Carlos says, getting up. He approaches me, and I can already feel more nausea. "Alright, but you really need to see a doctor about this."

"I promise I'll go after Juan's birthday," I say, holding my nose. "Now go take a shower right away, or you'll be sleeping on the couch."

***

A few weeks later, the big day finally arrived. The team I hired to decorate Juan's birthday party was finishing up the last balloons as I arrived with my son's cake. Incredible as it may seem, today was the first time I managed to enter the loft without rushing to the entrance bathroom. The loft looked beautiful, just like the first time, but now with photos of my family scattered around. I made sure to leave the picture of Paris near the entrance, just like it was in our old apartment. Juan's birthday decoration wasn't themed, as we were celebrating his birthday and the housewarming at the same time.
The guest list was twice as long as the first birthday, as we invited everyone who was part of our lives, even work colleagues, and my husband's partners, including Rubens. I asked my husband to talk to him so he wouldn't come too heavily perfumed. After all, I didn't want to spend the night in the bathroom. I invited Filomena and her husband, but she didn't give me a response if she would come. Yes, Filó continues to avoid me, despite my various attempts to talk to her. The doorbell rings, and I snap out of my thoughts. Today is not a day to celebrate the past but to celebrate the present.
Gradually, the guests arrive and admire our new home. Carlos, Juan, and I stand close to the hall, welcoming all of them, including Rubens, who apparently followed my husband's advice and changed his cologne. He even hugged me, and I felt nothing, absolutely nothing.

"Wow, this place looks perfect," Rubia comments, amazed by the changes made. "Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a great architect?"

"Don't even joke about that," my father chimes in, appearing through the door accompanied by my sister and my mother. He hugs my husband, hands him a bottle of wine, and then looks at me. "The way my daughter is, tomorrow she might change professions..."

"Hello, Dad," I say, offering my cheek reluctantly. When he approaches, my nose and stomach react, showing aversion to Rubens and now to my father. "Changed cologne?"

"Ahahahaha, very funny," my father says, passing by me.

"Ignore your father, my daughter," my mother asks, kissing me on the cheek. She steps back, holding my hand, admiring me from head to toe. "Wow, you look radiant."

"Thank you," I reply. This is the kind of compliment I longed for. I invested heavily in that navy blue, lace-covered dress so no one would notice.

"You look beautiful, sis," Valeria says, hugging me.

"Here comes the one who caused a big problem at home," Carlos needles, receiving a confused look from Val. "Yes, you, little girl."

"What did I do?" my sister asks, not understanding.

"Well, Val, after you taught Juan to say 'Hermana,' he never stopped. Everything is 'hermana' for him. He even calls me 'Mamá' sometimes, but 'Papi,' he won't say it at all. Look, we've tried everything. He only sticks to 'hermana' all the time."

"I understand, but I don't remember saying 'hermana' near him," Val explains, shrugging. "But I promise I'll encourage him to say 'papi,' okay, Carlitos?"

"Alright, sister-in-law," my husband says.

The party went wonderfully well. We sang Juan's birthday song, had the cake, and now people are scattered throughout the house. I stand at the entrance of the living room, sipping a glass of red wine, admiring the guests when I come face to face with Carlos, Bernard with Dominique, and Rubens. I notice that my husband's jaw is tense, and it seems the conversation isn't going as planned. I decide to head towards them when someone grabs my arm.

"Beautiful party... beautiful house."

"Thank you, Dad," I say, looking at my father, seriously.

"Hard will be paying for all this luxury," my father teases, as always. He stands by my side, sipping his whiskey, and I feel my stomach churn in his presence.

"Carlos and I are working, and we're definitely managing," I reply, rubbing my throat.

"At least until you change professions again," my father says, looking at me. "Then it'll be my problem."

"Believe me, you're the last person in the world I'd ask for that kind of favor," I assert, clenching my eyes shut, trying to control another wave of nausea. "And not that it's any of your business, but I love my job."

"Just like you loved working at MAMA ÁFRICA," my father argues. "By the way, speaking of that, I even ended up meeting that man in charge of the NGO."

"Richard?" I ask, raising my eyebrows in surprise, although I shouldn't be, considering that with my departure, the organization must have fallen on his shoulders.

"No, the owner of MAMA," my husband corrects, taking another sip of his whiskey.

That name makes me lean forward slightly as if I had just been punched in the stomach. NO, IT CAN'T BE! Or can it?

"Where? When?" I ask, shocked by the revelation. I compose myself and face my father again. "Why did you talk to him?"

"I bumped into him at that café near my office," my father explains calmly. "Actually, he struck up the conversation. He said he remembered me and could relate to me. He asked about you, how you were... I told him you were doing well. You know, he said he felt sorry for your departure. He even mentioned that you were a crucial asset to the NGO."

"And what did you tell him?" I ask, nervously.

"That you were always like that, a wild spirit... untameable," my father responds dryly. "He was quite surprised when I told him where you work and what you've been up to. I even mentioned your party and reinforced your invitation. Maybe it's good for him to see for himself what you've gotten yourself into now."

"YOU INVITED HIM TO MY PARTY?" I question, beside myself. I notice that some guests heard, including Carlos, who looks at me, utterly puzzled. I finish the wine all at once, but it gets stuck halfway, making things worse.

It couldn't be that my father had done this to me. X not only knew where I worked but also where I'm currently living.

"No, I just reinforced the invitation," my father says to me, annoyed. "I didn't invite him."

"I didn't invite him," I tell my father, furious. "I don't want any contact with those people, understand?"

"Why?" my father asks, surprised by my words.

"It's all fine here, my love?" Carlos asks, approaching and wrapping his arm around my waist. "Father-in-law?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's your wife here who went all hysterical," my father comments.

"My father has this incredible habit of thinking our home is an extension of his life and has been inviting some people I had no interest in receiving here," I interrupt my father, speaking to my husband.

I take a deep breath once again, trying to control my nausea, but the situation only makes things worse for my stomach, making everything rise in my throat. I cover my mouth with my hand and rush towards the nearest bathroom. I unload everything that had accumulated inside me. I close the lid, flush, and head to the sink, where I rinse my mouth and splash some water on my face. I stand in the bathroom for a while before I finally leave and come face to face with my husband at the door.

"Are you okay, love?" Carlos asks, concerned.

"Yes... It was just my father. All that talk of his made me nauseous," I reply, hugging my husband.

"At least this time you made it to the bathroom," my husband jokes, smiling. He takes my hand and leads me back to the party. "Remember when you were pregnant with Juan and threw up on him?"

I stop abruptly, staring at my husband with wide eyes. He looks back at me, not understanding, but suddenly, it all comes to me. NO, IT CAN'T BE! Or can it?