A few days later, Maite found herself sitting at a small table outside one of her favorite tabernas on the plaza in Gernika. She took a sip of her cortado. “I guess it is only fair that he keeps me waiting this time,” she thought to herself.

She saw Kepa appear from around the corner, recognizing his dark curls from blocks away. She smiled as he approached the cafe, scanning the crowd. When he saw her, he smiled. She stood as he approached, and they traded kisses on the cheeks. As they sat down, Maite said “Sorry I didn’t order for you, I wasn’t sure what you would want.”

“No worries,” said Kepa, waiving to the waitress at the bar. The young blond woman, wearing a short apron over her white blouse and black slacks, came up to their table. 

“A caña, mesedez.” 

The woman nodded as she headed back towards the bar.

“It is good to see you,” Kepa said. “I’ve missed you.”

Maite laughed. “I bet you did. Sorry for how I left you last time.”

“No, no,” said Kepa, shaking his head, “it was wonderful. But, I admit, I’m very confused.”

Maite sighed. “Kepa, sometimes…” She was interrupted by the waitress who placed Kepa’s beer on the table. 

“Mil esker,” he said absentmindedly, staring alternatively at Maite and his beer.

“Look, Kepa,” said Maite, leaning forward in her chair. “You are my best friend and I love hanging out with you. But, I want something more. And I think you might too. But, right now is also a difficult time for me. I’m about to finish school and I need to figure out what I’m doing next.” She sighed again, flopping back into her chair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kepa.

“I mean,” replied Maite, the emotion rising in her voice, “that I don’t know if I should pursue things with you or not. If I should go to America or not. If I…”

“Go to America?” interrupted Kepa. “What?”

“I’ve been tentatively accepted to a graduate program in the United States,” replied Maite, her eyes darting back and forth, looking at everything except Kepa.

“What do you mean tentatively?”

“Final acceptance depends on a visit and an interview,” she said. 

“What do your parents think?” asked Kepa.

“I haven’t told them,” replied Maite, her eyes welling up with tears. “How can I? I can’t hurt them like that.” She looked into Kepa’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

Kepa reached out across the table and took Maite’s hands. He gave her that crooked little smile that always made the butterflies flutter in her stomach. “Your parents are the strongest people I’ve ever known. Yeah, sure, it will be hard, but they will be fine. And, it’s only an interview, right? You don’t have to make a decision yet.”

“What about you?” asked Maite. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

“Me?” answered Kepa, his smile widening. “I’m coming with you. I’ve always wanted to see America.”

It was a few weeks later. Classes had ended and Maite had done well in her thermodynamics class, well enough that her professor asked to meet after the final class. She followed him to his office.

Professor Gorostiaga was an elderly man who had been teaching at the University for decades. Maite didn’t know much about his research, but she knew he had done some important work on the properties of quantum materials. He opened the door and, weaving through stacks of books and papers, found his way to his desk. As he sat down, he motioned for Maite to sit.

“Maite,” he began, “you are one of the best students I’ve seen come through the department. You work hard, you have a deep understanding of the material and, most importantly, you are creative in your approach. Have you given much thought about graduate school?”

“To be honest, Professor Gorostiaga,” replied Maite, “I applied to a few programs, mostly in the United States. One has tentatively offered me a spot, depending on how an interview goes. I still need to arrange a visit to the campus for the interview.”

“Ah, it would be a shame to lose you. The Basque Country could certainly use someone with your talent.”

“I wouldn’t be gone forever, just graduate school. I’d come back.”

“I would hope so,” replied Professor Gorostiaga. “But, that’s what we all think. When I was a student, there was a woman in my class, Bego. She was one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. We spent almost every waking moment together, in class of course, but also working through problem sets and studying for exams. She was so smart, and so beautiful. I was sure she was the one…” He trailed off.

Maite looked around, unsure of what to say or do. The awkwardness grew as Professor Gorostiaga stared past her, seemingly unaware that she was still there.

After a few moments, Maite ventured a tentative “Jauna? Sir?”

Professor Gorostiaga gave a small jolt, his eyes snapping back into focus. “What? Oh, yes. I was talking about Bego. Anyways,” he continued, “she applied and got accepted into one of the best graduate programs in the United States, at Berkeley. I graduated a semester later than she did. I applied too and even got accepted.” He sighed. “I never was quite as adventurous as Bego. As she started her research at Berkeley and wrote to me about it, I could tell she was moving on. That we were losing that special connection we once shared. I decided to stay here, in the Basque Country, where I was more comfortable.

“The point being,” he continued, sitting up straighter, “is that Bego had originally intended to return too. But, after finishing graduate school, she got a postdoc at one of their national labs, fell in love, and eventually became a professor at one of their universities. She never came Just be back, except for the occasional visit here and there.”

His gaze settled on her again. “You never know what life has in store for us. Just be sure to think about the ramifications of your choices.”

Maite was already up and sitting at the kitchen table, getting an early start on her next homework assignment, when she heard the door to the living room open, her ama entering the room. “Egun on,” said Maite as she looked up from the notebook and equations in front of her.

“Egon on, Maite,” replied her mother as she made her way past the couch and TV stand and into the kitchen. As she opened a cupboard to pull out a saucepan and a small French press, she gave a small shake of her head. “You work too hard.”

Maite smiled. “No harder than you and aita did.”

Her ama sighed. “And look at us now, old and frail. This isn’t the life we wanted for you.”

Maite put her pencil down and stood up. Taking her mother’s hands in her own, she looked into the face that had always been there to comfort her when she was sick, to listen to her stories about the boy down the road, to fly with her in her dreams. “You gave me the best gift any parents ever could, opportunity. Because you worked so hard and sacrificed so much, I now have the chance to follow my own dreams, to follow my own heart, to be the best I can be. If I work hard, it is out of choice, not out of necessity. And I have that choice because of you and aita.”

She watched as a tear trickled down her ama’s cheek. Her ama pulled her into a big hug. “Maite zaitut, Maite.”

“Nik ere maite zaitut,” replied Maite.

Her ama, her cheeks wet with tears, broke the embrace and smiled at her daughter. “At least, let me make you some coffee and breakfast while you work.” 

Maite smiled as her ama turned toward the stove and she returned to her notebook. But, instead of on her homework, her mind focused on the swirling whisk in the saucepan as her ama heated the milk. She felt like a little girl again, watching her ama in the kitchen of the bar where she had seemingly prepared a million different dishes at the same time, juggling pots and pans, glasses and dishes, as she had readied for the day’s patrons. Her parents had never had a lot of free time to play, to spend with her, to do all of the things she saw her friends doing with their parents, but she had always known that everything they did they had done for her. And she loved them for it.

Maite turned back to her homework, sighing, and smiling, as she took pencil to paper and continued working on solving the equation for temperature.