Chapter 11
Marcela
I let out the world’s largest sigh, blowing a hair out of my face.
I’ve been sitting at my desk for what feels like forever, unable to get a single word typed in my manuscript. Writer’s block is the absolute worst, especially when writing has always come so easily to me. But now, for whatever reason, I find myself unable to get in the zone this morning.
Not even my morning tea or my gallo pinto could perk me up enough.
I’m wondering if it has anything to do with the fact that photos and videos of Theo and I at the game have gone viral.
Seeing it from an outside perspective, I can see what they mean when they gush about how romantic the gesture was. But knowing that it’s all fake sends a twinge of guilt through me at the fact that we’re lying to everyone outside of our friend group.
My phone lights up with a social media notification that I ignore, like the other thousand new requests to follow me. My eyes catch the wallpaper photo of my mother, and it reminds me that I’m going to have to tell her about Theo too.
And my stepdad.
Although he wasn’t happy when he heard about what Hunter did to me, he surprisingly took my side for once. My dad used to love Hunter. Probably because Hunter is exactly what he was like as a kid. Privileged, from an important family, well-connected, and cocky.
Honestly, when I think about it now, I don’t know what I ever saw in Hunter.
I’m not sure how my stepdad is going to react to me dating Theo, especially if he’s had something to drink—which is more likely than not—but I’ll have to call them soon.
As if the universe read my mind, I get a text from my mom.
Mamá
Come over Saturday for dinner. I’m making tamales. Bring your new boyfriend too. Dad and I can’t wait to meet him.
I close my eyes as my stomach hollows. Dinner means too much time for my stepdad to get drunk beforehand. But if my mom is going all out and making tamales, which we usually do only on holidays, I know there’s no changing her mind.
Me
Sure thing, love you.
Mamá
Love you too Marcie girl.
Unease seeps into every pore of my body, giving me the itch to write and get lost in another world so I can forget about mine. But I need to get to my class before I’m late.
On my walk across campus, all I can think about is how Theo didn’t sign up for all of this. When we made a deal to fake-date, we didn’t ask to endure each other’s family drama.
After his game on Saturday, I could sense that Theo didn’t want to talk about his dad and why things felt strained between them. Just like I don’t want to have to explain that my stepdad is an alcoholic who has no filter when he’s drunk. And how any time someone raises their voice at me, my body tenses and I’m back to being the little girl hiding in her room, trying to drown out the noise of her parents arguing.
I also don’t want Theo to think that my mom is weak, or ask why she hasn’t left yet. Because trust me, I’ve wondered that too. But the solution isn’t always that simple, and it’s why I’ve never once asked my mother, despite wanting to more than anything.
I mull over calling it quits with Theo, but it won’t make anything better.
I do my best to focus on the present, taking in the piles of colorful leaves on the sidewalk and the laughter of the people I walk past. Today’s our second day back on campus since the game, and for the second day in a row, I’m getting stares, waves, and friendly smiles from people who never would’ve looked my way before I started dating Theo.
It makes me slightly uncomfortable, because I’m happily a wallflower who likes to skate by without being noticed. But I smile back at them anyway, doing my best to be polite despite wanting to sink into a black hole from all the attention.
I’m about to enter the lecture hall when I spot Ruby walking my way. Now I really need that black hole.
She stops right in front of me, her lips pursed tightly, painted red to match her hair, indicating she’s far from happy to see me.
“Are you kidding me?” she scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.
I don’t say anything. I merely look at her in confusion, because the fewer words we exchange, the better.
“You played the victim card by saying how hurt you were and blah, blah, blah, when you’ve already moved on too?”
Is she serious right now?
“Just because I’ve moved on does not take away from the fact that what you did was wrong. Although I’m in a much happier relationship, it doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven nor forgotten what you and Hunter did,” I say with a confidence I didn’t think was possible.
Ruby rolls her eyes. “God, you are so sensitive. You have a new man. Stop being obsessed with my relationship.”
I blink, dumbfounded. What did she just say? Was she always like this, and I never realized?
With a forced smile I tell her, “I hope you both find the happiness I have with Theo.”
“And I hope for your sake you learn a thing or two about how to please a man, so that this one doesn’t cheat on you too.”
It takes every ounce of my control to appear unaffected when her words deliver a sucker punch to my stomach.
I thought Hunter and I had a good sex life. Not amazing, but good. He was a selfish partner, always ensuring he came. Though I never did, because he always refused to go down on me. Even though he never did it to me, I did it to him a couple times until he told me to stop.
I found it odd at the time, but now I’m wondering if it’s because I wasn’t good at it.
The idea shoots a hole in my confidence, leaving me feeling insecure and uncomfortable.
I don’t say another word, because if I did, the words “fuck you” might slip out, even though I’ve never said them to anyone before. Instead, I sidestep Ruby and push through the doors to my first class.
But Ruby’s words run on a loop in my mind all throughout the day. Would Hunter not have strayed if I was better at sex?
Maybe I wasn’t a good girlfriend at all. Things seemed good in high school when we saw each other every day, but when he got a scholarship at Aspen and we went to different universities, things started to feel different.
I thought we were happy, but when I compare what we had to the love stories I read about in books, it makes me wonder if what we had was love at all.
The sex wasn’t amazing. He didn’t do much for me. No buying me flowers on Valentine’s Day, no random thoughtful gifts, no surprise visits or phone calls. And he always preferred hanging out with his friends.
I’m beginning to think that the only reason we stayed together so long was because it was comfortable. That’s not to say I didn’t love him once, because I think I did at one point, but it changed somewhere along the way.
This was probably for the best, but I just wish it didn’t require breaking my heart and ruining all my trust in people in the process.