Chapter 8 #2
“She said, ‘Ale, you deserve to be with someone who thinks you invented love. You laugh with every part of your soul. You wrap the world in your hugs, making everyone feel like they’re everything—the sun, the stars, the whole universe when you look at them.’ And in that moment, something inside me shifted.
I knew—without a doubt—Clara was the one.
That I wanted to be loved the way she loved me, to be seen the way she saw me.
I knew, with all my heart, that I could never want anything more.
” She smiles at me, and a soft warmth spreads through me as I remember the conversation.
Alejandra had come home devastated a few months ago when she and Mia had ended things for good.
She had been so broken over not being able to fix things with her that her whole perspective on herself had shifted in a single night.
My usually confident and lively best friend had looked small and tired.
I don’t remember the exact words Mia said that night to make Alejandra feel so bad about herself. I tuned it out. All I saw was red.
The only thing I remember is the way Alejandra collapsed into tears, her face crumpled with heartbreak.
I held her for hours in my room, whispering every kind truth I could think of, reminding her over and over that she was fucking impossible not to love and that the right person was out there waiting to meet her.
Her sobs came in waves, and I tried to stay steady through each one, running my fingers through her hair, wiping her cheeks, letting her break apart in a place where I’d always hold the pieces.
“Why can’t she love me the way you love me?” she whispered into my shoulder, her voice cracking and trembling.
I didn’t know how to answer without breaking a little, too. Because I knew—I knew—I could give her everything if I dared to try.
But I settled on the truth. My truth.
“Because no one will ever love you as unconditionally and wholeheartedly as I will,” I whispered in her ear, as my own tears slid down my cheeks.
Eventually, Alejandra had fallen asleep in my bed, curled beside me, eyes red and puffy, her breath still unsteady from her sobbing.
“Oh, I had no idea you were such a romantic,” Lala says, her eyes filled with tears.
A tear slips down my cheek and I quickly brush it away, realizing I’ve been crying, too. Warmth rises in my cheeks, and my heart stutters as Lala swoons and Alejandra blushes. I guess the best lies have some truth in them, because I swear, even I almost believe her.
“How about you? When did you realize it?” Lala asks, and I can’t help but giggle. I know the moment I fell for her, but I can’t say that to them without completely outing myself. So, I settle for a version of it.
“It took me a while to realize that what she and I have could be something more, and when I did, I fought it,” I say, because it’s the truth.
“I was scared to lose her. But once it clicked, I couldn’t ignore it.
Being with her feels easy—I don’t have to pretend or push myself to be someone I’m not.
She’s always seen me—completely seen me—and loved me anyway, through every version of myself, even the ones I didn’t like.
With her, I feel the most me I’ve ever been.
” I lift Alejandra’s hand to my lips and press a soft kiss on her knuckles.
Lala hums, and Alejandra gives me a small, gentle smile.
“I’ve known her for so long, and no matter how much time goes by, she keeps helping me grow. Being around her makes me better. You’d have to be naive to let her slip away. Maybe . . . this was inevitable, just the way you said, Lala.”
I turn toward Alejandra, who’s got an impossibly cute smile on her lips. Her free hand reaches for my thigh, her fingers curling around it, and a fire sparks through my veins. I fist my hands, trying to contain the butterflies and wait for her hand to drop, but it doesn’t.
“That’s all I ever wanted for you both. For you to find someone who feels like home,” Lala says sweetly.
“She’s always been that, though,” Alejandra says before I can reply. “Clara has always been more than my best friend; she’s my home, my heart, the safest place in the world. Everything good in the world couldn’t compare to all the good she is. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
I don’t move. I barely breathe. I’ve heard all this before, I know all this. Alejandra says it all the time. But her saying it now makes my heart so full, I think it might burst. I feel the same way about her—differently, I know, but the same.
It’s funny, isn’t it? How can someone see you so clearly but only love you as a friend, while you’re head over heels wishing they could see something more?
Lala seems happy with our answers and eases her interrogation. Instead, we talk about Diana’s wedding, which is in ten days, and everything we have coming up—her dance rehearsals, the DIY centerpiece party, and her bachelorette.
After dinner, the rest of the night passes in a blur. Lala and I watch Catfish—a show I have her watching because she loves talking to strangers online.
Alejandra sits with us, half paying attention as she edits pictures.
Lala goes to bed around 9 p.m., but Alejandra and I stay in the living room watching Arcane for another hour.
“Thank you for today,” Alejandra says out of nowhere.
“Of course. You think she bought it?”
“Yeah, I think so. But that was too close. We need to figure out our story, or she will see through it.”
I nod. “Maybe we can talk about it now?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
I glance behind us, half expecting to find her eavesdropping, but her door is closed.
“So, we’ve been together for a few weeks?” I ask.
She pulls her phone out and starts tapping out notes. “Let’s go with three weeks since we told her almost two weeks ago.”
“Okay, we’ve been officially together for three weeks,” I repeat.
“Best three weeks of my life.” Alejandra winks, and I feel it straight in my core.
I suppress a grin, trying not to let that damn wink get to me. I press my thighs together, easing the jolt it’s sending through me.
“Okay, and we know how we got together after I swept you off your feet with an overly romantic talk about your amazingness,” I say, trying to distract myself from the pulse between my thighs.
“Right,” she agrees.
“And you couldn’t help yourself, and you threw yourself at me because I’m such a romantic.”
Alejandra narrows her eyes at me. “This needs to be realistic, Clara. I would never throw myself at you.” She laughs, and I know it’s a joke, but I can’t help the sting.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” I say, tossing my head, pretending it didn’t hit a nerve.
“Whatever.” Alejandra chuckles.
“What else do you think your family will ask?” I add, trying to think about literally anything else.
“Depends on the family member. But I think if we stick to what we already told Lala, we will be fine. Not everyone is as nosy as her.” She smirks.
“True, but what about your mom? Don’t you think she’ll want to hear this from you?”
Alejandra’s gaze drops, and her shoulders sag. “Yeah, I need to talk to her,” she says quietly, more to herself than to me. “I’m going to tell her the truth. I don’t want to lie to her. I didn’t think about how Mom would react when I pushed you into this. I’m sorry.”
I nod, because I don’t want to lie to Cathia, either. She’s done nothing but care for me as one of her own, and I don’t know how she’ll respond to me “dating” her daughter. She raised us like sisters, so it feels a little strange, as if I’m crossing a line I shouldn’t.
I’ve talked to her a few times since Alejandra and I started our fake relationship, and she hasn’t brought it up—but she’s also not the prying type.
She operates on more of an “I’ll be here when you need me” philosophy, so it’s not entirely irrational to think she knows and has been waiting for either me or Alejandra to bring it up.
My mom’s choice of making Alejandra’s mom my guardian was a gift I didn’t understand at first. I had been fourteen, and all I could see was the gaping hole my mom had left behind.
I couldn’t focus on the future, not when the present felt like it had shattered in my hands.
But it’s been sixteen years since my mom’s passing, and looking back now, I see it for what it was.
My mom gave me a soft place to land in the middle of the worst storm of my life.
The first six months after I moved in, I slept in Alejandra’s room almost every night. Cathia had given me my own space in their home, but I could never actually sleep there; it felt too empty.
At first, I barely spoke to anyone—not even Alejandra.
I was drowning in grief and anger, and this emptiness that made everything seem distant.
I resented Cathia for a long time—not because of anything she did, but because she reminded me so much of my mom that I couldn’t stand her.
They were copies of each other. They reacted the same way to things, used similar phrases—they even sounded alike, and I didn’t know how to deal with that.
Alejandra was this tiny, stubborn little beacon of joy in the middle of all of it.
She didn’t try to make me talk or try to fix me, didn’t throw clichés at me or tell me it was going to be ok like Diana did.
She just existed near me, shared her charger when I forgot mine, and played our old playlists on low volume, a reminder that parts of me still existed, and would even when sadness took over.
She was my person before my mom passed away.
After, she became my everything. From our shared grief blossomed the most beautiful friendship I could have ever asked for.
She’s the reason I kept going when everything in me wanted to stop.
The one who reminded me day after day that I was still here. Still alive. Still loved.
Sometimes it felt Alejandra was the only person who cared deeply and loved every version of me, including the one I didn’t recognize after the funeral.
Not that Diana and Cathia didn’t care, but it was different with them—Cathia was grieving one of the most important people in her life, and Diana, desperate for me to feel happy again, sometimes brushed my pain aside.
But even through the rough patches, living with them hadn’t just helped me survive—it had helped me grow.
I learned how to exist in a space that wasn’t mine but became mine through love and time.
I learned what family can be when it’s built, not just inherited, and I learned how to let myself be helped, even when I felt like a burden.
And slowly, so slowly it almost felt like nothing was happening.
I started to breathe again, not because the pain disappeared, but because Alejandra, Cathia, and Diana made it bearable.
Eventually, it didn’t feel as all-consuming as it once had.
Alejandra’s home became our home. Cathia became “Mom” when I was too tired to say anything else, and our relationship strengthened through our love of my mom and how deeply we missed her.
I don’t think I would have made it out of the all-consuming grief I had been in without Cathia. So yeah, lying to her in particular feels wrong, so I’m glad Alejandra is going to tell her the truth.
“Thank you for doing this.” Alejandra hugs me tightly. “I’m sorry I put you in such an uncomfortable position.”
“It’s okay, I’m not uncomfortable,” I say, hugging her back and taking in a big breath of her. “I could have backed out, and I didn’t. I went along with it.”
“Still . . . thank you,” she says, holding on to me tighter.
“The story you told Lala was good. I almost believed you’d wanted that,” I say with a painful flutter in my heart.
“I wasn’t lying.”
I lean back, holding her gaze. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice low as I swallow past the lump rising in my throat.
Alejandra’s eyes flick down to her hands for a second before meeting mine again. “I really do want someone to love me like you do,” she says as she twists the ring around her thumb.
My heart stops. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, before running my fingers down her face.
“No one will ever love you as much as I do,” I say without thinking, the words rushing out before I can stop them.
My hand finds her cheek, and I let my thumb rest there, tracing the softness of her skin.
I give her the most genuine smile I can manage, even though I’m coming apart at the seams. I attempt to keep my eyes on hers, but they drift down to the way her lips curve into that shy smile I’ve memorized a thousand times.
“You know what I mean,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine.
I smile weakly and run a hand through my hair, trying to act normal.
I know she’ll never see me like that—not in that way. But I can’t help wanting her to. Yet even if she never does, my heart’s completely hers.