6. Marisol
Marisol
N o one told Marisol about the intense need to scratch the healing tattoo on her thigh.
The need to dig her nails into her flesh and scratch the itch that’d been driving her crazy for the last two days was strong.
Multiple times, she had nearly caved, but each time she looked down at the beautiful goddess on her thigh, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Even if that left her in agony.
Marisol studied the aftercare instructions Cisco gave her like she would be having a quiz on them at the end of the week.
She had run out of the unscented lotion sample Cisco gave her, which helped the itchiness and the peeling of her tattoo.
She was tempted to call him to ask what brand it was, but then she would have to give him an answer about the date.
Was it even a date?
Part of her wanted to go. She had never been to a concert before except a few orchestra concerts her parents dragged her to for charity, but those weren’t exactly the epitome of fun.
It was just another way to flaunt their money and parade their generosity around—because giving to charity only counted when others took notice of your good deeds.
But another part of her couldn’t ignore the undeniable truth she was still—technically—married to Archie.
The thought settled over her like a weight, heavy and unshakable.
They were separated, their lives split down the middle, yet on paper, she still carried his name, still wore the title of his wife.
Did that mean she wasn’t allowed to go on a date with someone else?
Was there some unspoken rule, some invisible boundary she would be crossing?
She had no idea how any of this worked. The uncertainty gnawed at her, a quiet, persistent whisper in the back of her mind, making her hesitate just enough to feel the conflict twisting inside her.
She was getting distracted. Bottom line was that, as much as she wanted to attend, she didn’t know if she would actually say yes. She still had time to answer, even if she felt bad for stringing Cisco along in the process.
Marisol pulled up to her favorite beauty store that carried various skin care lotions, hoping she’d find something unscented with healing properties.
The store was busy for a Thursday afternoon.
Did these people have a job to be at? she wondered, annoyed by the number of bodies here.
Technically, the same argument could be said about her, but she didn’t have a job.
Other than playing the role of the perfect daughter so her parents didn’t cut her off.
“Can I help you?” A short, blonde woman popped out from seemingly nowhere.
A pleasant enough smile was on her face, but it was her eyes that gave her away as they roamed Marisol’s body.
The woman was intimidated by her—probably due to Marisol’s looks.
She wasn’t being vain when she said she was pretty.
Marisol knew she was pretty. Hell, she spent countless hours to achieve this effortless beauty, which had been so ingrained in her because of her mother.
“No, I know what I’m looking for. Thanks.”
At her dismissal, the woman gave her a fake smile and walked off.
After no more interruptions, she reached the skin care aisle and looked through the face washes and creams until she got to the body lotions.
There were tons to pick from, ranging from tropical smells to earthy scents, which was great if she didn’t need an unscented one.
She had to search through dozens and move bottles out of the way until she spotted a single bottle labeled unscented.
It wasn’t a brand she ever heard of, but she popped the lid open to smell. Nothing. Exactly what she needed. She was tempted to look around and do more shopping, but the hem of her shorts rubbed her tattoo and was getting annoying. She was ready to go home and change into a robe.
Marisol rang up her purchase. The damn lotion was expensive, so she hoped it did the trick.
She carried the small black bag to her car, gently tossing her purchase and purse in the passenger seat before getting in.
Another warm day in Berkeley meant she quickly turned on the car and put the AC on blast.
One thing about Marisol was that she wasn’t going to sweat. It was gross.
Just as she was contemplating whether she would stop and pick up something for lunch, her phone rang.
Her mother’s photo flashed across the screen.
She wasn’t expecting a call, but she assumed her mother was calling to talk about some upcoming event she would undoubtedly drag Marisol to.
Especially now that Marisol was no longer a part of the family business and in the midst of a divorce, her mother found new ways to guilt her into doing what she wanted.
She was tempted to let it go to voicemail but decided against it because the woman was persistent. She wouldn’t stop pestering her.
“Hello, Mother,” she answered finally.
There was movement on the other line before her mother’s voice filled her car’s speakers. “Marisol, darling, how are you doing?” Her mother always sounded slightly annoyed and disinterested every time she spoke, and this time was no different. Didn’t matter that she was the one who called.
“I’m fine. Just…shopping. Is there something you need?”
“Well, no, actually. Not me. But I do have a favor to ask of you, dear.”
Marisol tensed. She never liked her mother’s “favors.” They usually meant meeting someone who had the personality of a garden gnome or attending one of her friend’s functions as a “representative” for their family.
“Did you hear me? I said I need to ask you for a favor.” Her mother’s sharp tone cut through her thoughts.
“Yes, sorry. What do you need, Mother?”
“Now that we’re back from vacation, your father has to go to the San Francisco store tomorrow to inspect it one final time before opening.
Unfortunately, I have a massage I scheduled weeks ago that I simply cannot miss.
I know you are no longer working at the family business, but would you be a dear and accompany your father tomorrow?
I know it would mean a lot to him, and me too, dear, to have you involved again. ”
It took everything in Marisol not to groan.
Even though her mother couldn’t see her, she refrained from rolling her eyes because somehow it would get back to her.
The family business was something of a contention between them.
One would argue that it was the first time Marisol ever defied her family.
Her family owned a winery that was outsourced to multiple restaurants, liquor stores, and various other companies.
She and Archie were supposed to take it over, but when she announced her impending divorce from him, she also said she would no longer be an active participant in the business.
Her father was sad but understood. Her mother, on the other hand, was pissed.
Ever since then, she found ways for Marisol to be involved in her sneaky way. This was no different.
It was another way her mother had her claws in her, pulling all the strings as if she were a puppet.
If she were a different woman, she would say no. But she wasn’t a different woman, and this was her mother. One who, despite how awful she could be, was the woman she craved approval from the most. At least that was what her therapist said.
“Sure, I guess I can go?—”
“Oh great! Your father will pick you up around nine in the morning. Goodbye, darling.” Her mother made kissing sounds before the line went dead, abruptly cutting off the conversation once she got what she wanted. Marisol was left feeling like she just got whiplash.
Before she could fully process what happened, her phone rang again. Thinking it was her mother calling back to add on to her little “favor,” Marisol answered without looking. “Hello?”
“Marisol.”
Her blood turned to ice, a sharp chill creeping down her spine.
She mentally cursed herself—why hadn’t she checked?
More than that, why hadn’t she blocked his number when she had the chance?
The answer gnawed at her. There was no good reason, nothing she could justify beyond the flimsy excuse that she might need to contact him about the divorce. But deep down, she knew better.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to speak. “Archie, what do you want?” She prayed her voice didn’t betray the unease curling in her gut.
Archie was her ex-husband. Or he would be—if he ever bothered to sign the damn papers. Somehow, in that delusional little mind of his, he still believed they were together, as if their marriage hadn’t already crumbled into dust.
“You didn’t show up at the work mixer I texted you about last week.” His voice echoed throughout the car and made her shiver, but not in a good way. If she were honest, Archie had never made her feel good in any aspect.
If it had been up to her, she would have never married him.
“Why would I go to the mixer with you, Archie?” She forced her voice to be even so as not to incite any more hostility.
“Because you are my wife, Marisol, whether you like it or not. As my wife, you need to be by my side for events like these. People are going to start talking,” he said, lecturing her like she was an insubordinate child.
Why couldn’t this man get it through his head that they were done? Had been done for a while now, and nothing would change that fact. It was the one area of her life that she was pushing back on, and so far, she had both her father’s and her sister’s support.
“Let those people talk. If they are dumb enough to think I’m still with you after two years of separation, then I don’t know what to tell you. Have you forgotten that we are in the middle of getting a divorce? If you would just sign the damn papers, all of this would be over.”
A throaty laugh played through the car speakers, the laugh of a man who found no amusement in his situation but was determined to get the outcome he desired. “Yes, so you say. But, Marisol, we both know you can only stay away for so long.”
“Excuse me? I don’t know what you mean by that, but?—”
“I’ll talk to you later, Marisol. And I forgive you this one time,” Archie interrupted. The line went dead, and music from her playlist played quietly in the background.
What. The. Fuck?
Archie had always been an asshole, but never to this extreme.
It had only truly started this last year, once he realized she was serious about leaving him.
She had tried to find some decency in Archie, especially when everyone seemed to love him.
What was she missing? Her mother was in her ear the entire time to make sure Marisol didn’t screw it up with Archie.
She wanted them together. Even though her sister had met and dated him first.
The look of absolute horror and betrayal on Lola’s face when Archie said he was breaking up with her to date Marisol would forever be etched into her brain. She had hurt her sister in the past, but never to that level.
Granted, it worked out for Lola in the end because her sister ended up finding the love of her life, and now she and Javi had two kids together.
But it didn’t erase all the terrible things Marisol did to her.
Even if she was only going along with what her mother wanted, she still went along with her every time.
She didn’t have the capacity to deal with Archie or her problems with her sister today. She boxed up that conversation, mentally putting it on a shelf to deal with later at therapy. Right now, she needed to get home, get out of these damn shorts, and lather herself in this overpriced lotion.
And that was exactly what she did.