3. ARIA
3
ARIA
W ith the weight of this new assignment bearing down on me, I find myself craving the comfort and familiarity of my closest friends. In times of uncertainty and emotional turmoil, there’s nothing quite like the solace of shared laughter and inside jokes to ease the burden of a troubled mind.
I sprawl on the couch, hitting the call button on Mark’s Discord profile with a mix of trepidation and the kind of curiosity that you regret later. Mark’s face pops up, his art canvas in the background looking like a cross between a Renaissance painting and a furry’s fever dream. Meanwhile, Sara, in the middle of packing for her upcoming move to start her residency at the Cleveland Clinic in Ohio, glances around wistfully.
“I’m going to miss this place,” she says, her eyes scanning the living room as she packs another box. Her voice is light, but I detect the undercurrent of sadness beneath it.
Sara’s been my anchor, the one constant in my life since Pedro and I broke up.
“Mark’s going to transform this place when I’m gone,” she reminds me with a small smile, trying to reassure me. “Redecorating is fun, right?”
“So fun,” I reply, but the words feel a little hollow. Mark and his design skills are great, but nothing will be the same without Sara.
Sara takes a break from the manual labor and plops down onto the sofa next to me as she squeezes herself into the frame.
Mark chimes in as his brush wafts across the canvas, his Filipino accent as thick as it was the day he left Manila. “Hello, rulers of my heart, rubbers of my soul. What’s the situality?”
I grin at his playful misquote—an inside joke that’s practically become our trio’s secret handshake. The way we vibe together always takes the edge off, even when my nerves are doing their best to throw me off balance.
“Here’s the sit-chee-ation. But brace yourself. I’m about to peel the rubber off your soul and give it to you straight.”
Mark pauses mid-stroke, a mix of curiosity and amusement in his eyes. “Honey, I don’t like anything straight, but go ahead. My soul is ready.”
I take a deep breath. “So, I’ve been handed a new gig. My client is Jessica Farrow—another so-called lifestyle coach who lives her life one Instagram reel at a time. I’m looking at her IG right now and apparently she thinks sage burning can fix your credit.”
Mark rolls his eyes dramatically. “Jessica Farrow? You mean the one who looks like Gwyneth Paltrow drank too much boxed wine?”
Sara snorts, unable to contain her amusement. “She probably plays the IG notification sound on a loop while rubbing jade eggs on her?—”
“Sara!” Mark interrupts her before she can finish the sentence. “You don’t rub them on the outside. You put them inside .”
I chuckle weakly, knowing the real punchline is yet to come. “That’s not even the worst part,” I say, trying to maintain my composure for the big reveal. “Her ex is Pedro Olivera.”
Mark’s paintbrush halts in mid-air, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Pedro? Like, your Pedro?” His eyes are wild when I nod. “Girl, don’t tell me you’re stepping back into that sticky mess.”
Sara’s laughter is replaced by a more serious tone. “You’re not seriously considering it, are you? He basically dumped you because he was intimidated by your bad-assery. He’s such a red flag, and Jessica is, like, the flagpole.”
I exhale heavily, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I almost said no, but then Gretchen played the Mallu card. Now I have to let her know my answer by Tuesday. ”
Mark’s eyes are like saucers, his face a picture of mock horror. “Not Mallu. Girl, even her shadow has followers. I should know. I’m one of them.”
“With that bone structure and badunkadunk, she could probably rebound a brick wall,” Sara chimes in, her tone blasé. “But better her than you!”
I let their comments wash over me, a mix of humor and harsh truth. “It’s just a job. Jessica’s the one who wants him back. Not me,” I clarify, but even as I say it, I can feel my resolve crumbling at the thought of Mallu using her charms on Pedro, like a sledgehammer to my already fragile ego.
Mark and Sara exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them. It’s the kind of look that says, ‘Are you hearing this?’ and ‘Cue up the big guns’ all at once.
Grinning despite the situation, I say. “Fine. Let’s see what we’re up against.”
Sara perks up, a sly glint in her eye. “Are we doing what I think we’re doing? Insta deep dive?”
“You know it, girl. Cue up the profiles. Jessica first, then we can dissect Pedro’s later for dessert.”
With a few taps, Jessica’s Instagram profile is cast onto our Discord call, transforming our gathering into an impromptu social media investigation. As we scroll through years of posts, the room fills with commentary and laughter that could rival any Comedy Central roast.
“Ah, the infamous ‘detox tea’ phase,” Sara points out, as we come across a series of posts featuring Jessica in various yoga poses, each accompanied by a conspicuously placed box of tea. “Because nothing says enlightenment like drinkable laxatives.”
Mark leans forward, squinting at the post. “And here’s her latest venture—‘Quantum Healing Crystals.’ Because regular Earth crystals are so yesterday.”
As we delve deeper into the curated chaos of Jessica’s Instagram, the absurdity of it all becomes overwhelming but oddly comforting. Each post, each contrived caption, feels like a puzzle piece in the bizarre jigsaw of this potential assignment.
Sara pauses on a particularly over-the-top post, Jessica meditating amidst a circle of candles. “I swear, she’s one levitating yoga session away from becoming pure source energy, or just a human fire hazard.”
It takes another twenty minutes of scrolling before we arrive at the posts she made around the time Pedro and I broke up in April 2020. My heart races as I see a photo of Pedro and Jessica wearing face masks and standing in front of his hotel in Hong Kong. The post is dated a few days before our breakup.
“I've seen enough,” I say, tapping the screen to make Jessica’s feed disappear, along with my last shred of dignity.
Mark doesn’t seem to understand what just happened, but the look on Sara’s face tells me she knows exactly what I just saw, and she’s ready to commit a felony on my behalf.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly .
I nod as I pull my shoulders back and straighten my spine. “Yep. I’m perfect. I’m taking the job.”
“What?” Sara looks horrified.
Mark raises his glass to the screen. “To Rocky Balboa, the undefeated champion of all time, and to Aria, the undefeated queen of questionable life choices.”
Sara looks at me like I’m crazy. “Aria… are you?—”
“I said I’m fine . You can’t talk me out of it,” I reply tersely. “I’m taking the job and Jessica and Pedro are going to get exactly what they deserve: each other.”
Sara opens her mouth to argue but falters, a flash of uncertainty crossing her face. She wants to push back, to point out the emotional minefield I’m about to walk into, but she knows me too well. Her gaze shifts, searching my expression for any sign of hesitation. For a moment, it seems like she’s considering a more forceful intervention, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she's holding back a million things she wants to say.
But then, she lets out a soft sigh, accepting the inevitability. “And if it all gets too much,” she says, finally relenting, “you've got us for backup. We'll have memes, sarcasm, and jade eggs on standby, plus a bottle of tequila and a shovel, just in case.”
Laughing, I nod, feeling a wave of gratitude for these two. “Deal. But for now, let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes,” I say, re-opening Jessica’s IG profile to continue the deep-dive. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll find the secret to eternal youth, or at least a good recipe for gluten-free lube.”
APRIL 2020
In the ungodly hours of the morning, my phone erupts into a cacophony of buzzes and pings, yanking me from the depths of sleep into the harsh reality of a 3 a.m. text bomb from my long-distance boyfriend. It’s Pedro, who’s stranded in Hong Kong thanks to a world that has suddenly stopped spinning.
Judging by the incoherent nature of his texts, and the utterly rude hour, he’s likely been drowning his sorrows in something a lot stronger than a cup of jasmine tea.
I try to call him to escape the barrage of confusing typos, but the call doesn’t go through. I don’t know if I messed up when I saved the number for his new Hong Kong cell phone in my contacts. But after the third unsuccessful attempt, it begins to feel like I’m trying to solve one of those nerdy math riddles Pedro uses to test his AI models.
Plan B: Zoom. Because nothing says “serious conversation” like trying to navigate tech while half-asleep.
I grab my laptop off the nightstand and open the Zoom app. The moment Pedro answers from the app on his phone, I’m greeted by his slack, drunken eyes and my own face in the corner—only it isn’t quite mine. Thanks to Sara’s idea of a joke, the filter on my face has me looking like a talking slice of pizza with very expressive eyebrows.
Pedro’s face perks up at the sight, a mixture of confusion and inebriated delight. “Aria?” he slurs, squinting. “Why are you a pizza?”
“Long story,” I mutter, frantically clicking in a futile attempt to ditch the filter. “Pedro, what’s going on? Why are you texting me like it’s the end of the world?”
“It is the end of the world,” he says, exhaling deeply. “I think... I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
“I’m trying to get rid of the filter,” my pizza-face says. “Just give me a second to figure this out.”
“No, I’m not talking about the pizza,” he slurs. “I like pizza. I love…pizza.”
I shake my head, confused by the direction this conversation has taken. “What are you talking about? Did you really call me to talk about pizza?”
His gaze drops and a deep sadness comes over his features. “I do love pizza. More than…than anything in this whole world, but…”
Suddenly, the lack of eye contact and the tone of his declaration causes something to click in my mind.
As I finally turn off the pizza filter, I gather the courage to ask, “What are you trying to say? Are you…?”
“I think we should break up,” he blurts out with surprising clarity.
The words hang between us like an invisible but equally awkward Zoom filter .
“Is this because I offered you my award money?” I demand, referring to the $100,000 check I recently received for winning first prize in a screenwriting competition. “Because that was just me trying to be supportive, not...whatever you think it was.”
He shakes his head, his expression somber. “It’s not the money, Aria. It’s the distance. This...lockdown situation… I’m stuck halfway around the world, and who knows when I’ll be back.”
“Did you meet someone else?” The words come out before I can stop them.
“No!” he rushes to clarify. “I’m just realizing how difficult it is for me to do all this schmoozing. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get the funding I need, and…I just need to figure things out. Alone.”
My heart knows he’s not telling me the whole truth, but between the 24-hour constant barrage of depressing COVID news and the lack of sleep, my brain is too exhausted to fight.
“If that’s what you want, fine. But don’t call me when you’ve sobered up and realize you made a mistake. Goodbye.”
With a click that feels more final than any door slam, I end the call before he has the opportunity to respond. I stare at the ceiling, feeling like a half-eaten, discarded slice of pizza.
Our two-year relationship, it seems, is no longer in quarantine—it’s officially been canceled.
The air in Jessica Farrow’s meticulously curated living room carries a fragrance that’s a subtle blend of lavender and privilege. The couch I’m perched on feels like an art piece—stylish yet impractical, much like the lifestyle coach herself. I’m here to explain my plan to rebound Pedro, our ex. If Jessica buys into my strategy, the job starts immediately. If not, I prefer not to ponder the alternative.
Finally, Jessica sweeps into the living room, embodying every Instagram wellness ad I’ve ever scrolled past. Her aura is a mixture of hot mommy fashion and a bland bowl of chia pudding. “Aria, it’s fantastic to meet you,” she says, her voice a blend of warm sincerity and rehearsed affability, like she’s narrating a story to her thousands of virtual followers.
“It’s so great to finally meet you in person, Jessica. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made your recipe for vegan whole-wheat pizza rolls,” I reply, layering my apprehension beneath a veneer of professionalism. “I’m super eager to dive into our strategy for Pedro.”
She takes a seat across from me, every calculated movement crafted to make her appear graceful. “Your enthusiasm is infectious. I’m so happy to build this connection, and I’m also eager to hear your plans for this endeavor. How do we bring Pedro back into my orbit…organically? ”
Organically? There’s nothing organic about this process, but I’ll play along.
As Jessica hands me a cup of chamomile tea, the familiar aroma instantly transports me back to those late nights at Pedro’s apartment. I remember the countless hours I spent working on my screenplays, the scent of chamomile mingling with the sound of Pedro’s fingers racing across his keyboard as he lost himself in his coding. The memories, once warm and comforting, now feel tainted by the suspicion that he might have already been involved with Jessica while we were together.
“I’m so happy to hear that we’re on the same page. Let me start off by saying that the most important thing to remember about the art of rebounding is that it relies on crafting a narrative that resonates across all five stages of the process.” I smile softly as I watch her lean in, eager for more juicy details. “The first stage is Connection. We start with me accidentally entering Pedro’s life and capturing his attention. This may be difficult for you to hear, but for this to work, he needs to feel an instant connection with me. He also needs to feel like I’m different from you.”
Jessica nods, her expression thoughtful. “So, you’re the cool new girl in his life?”
“Exactly,” I continue. “We let things develop naturally as we move into phase two: Adhesion. As Pedro becomes more invested, I’ll quickly shift the dynamic into phase three: Repulsion. This is where I become more demanding, and Pedro realizes I’ve been misrepresenting myself. I’m not the cool girl. I’m his worst nightmare.”
Her lips curl into a nasty little smirk. “Leading him right back to me. Clever.”
“Actually, in phase four, Separation, I’ll dial up the repulsive behavior to an eleven, sending him running in the opposite direction. That’s when the plan we make for phase five, Reunion, will go into effect. And you’ll be ready to play the part of conciliatory ex who just happens to be in the right place at the right time—in other words, you’ll both be in a location of my choosing. Nothing will be left to chance.”
Observing my approach, Jessica appraises me with a discerning eye. There’s a flicker of amusement in her gaze, almost as if she’s internally applauding how aptly I fit the role she envisions for Pedro. Unaware of my history with him, she seems impressed with the uncanny alignment of my physical characteristics with Pedro’s type. Little does she know, I was that type, once upon a time.
“And just in case he still occasionally checks your socials,” I add, “we’ll create a backdrop for this narrative. Casual posts, stories where you’re living your best life. It’s about painting a picture of what Pedro is missing.”
“Perfect,” she says, clearly pleased. “I want Pedro to realize what he had was better than anything he’ll ever get.”
I bite my tongue to keep myself from blurting out anything stupid, like the fact that he already had something better—with me. “The key is to be subtle. We don’t want him to suspect he’s being nudged in your direction.”
“For sure,” Jessica agrees, her gaze taking on a fervent gleam, her expression a mix of determination and an almost fanatical belief in the power of manifestation. “So, when do we begin phase one of Operation Enduring Love?”
My mouth drops open, momentarily stunned by her syrupy enthusiasm. It's almost surreal how she can talk about what is essentially a manipulative dating scheme with such sincerity.
“We can start immediately,” I reply. “I’ll begin by arranging a meet-cute with Pedro. And we’ll have to start orchestrating a few chance encounters for phase five, as well.”
Jessica stands, extending her perfectly manicured hand for a shake. “You’re a force to be reckoned with, Aria. I feel the universe has brought us together for a reason. Your energy right now is so transcendent.”
I try not to laugh as I shake her hand, the deal sealed. “Likewise. I will send you the full five phase plan via email within the next couple of days. Once you sign off, we’re off to the races.”
As she guides me toward the door, I pause, turning back to her. “If you don’t mind my asking, what was the driving force behind your split with Pedro? Understanding the dynamics might help me make him see it from your perspective.”
Jessica’s eyes flicker, a brief moment of vulnerability flashing before she regains her composure. “Well, Pedro, he...he just couldn’t keep up with my pace, you know? My lifestyle, my passion for my brand, it was all too much for him.”
I nod, feigning understanding while making a mental note that I need to dig up the real reason. Her explanation doesn’t align with the Pedro I knew, the one who was always supportive of my ambitions. “So, he struggled with the intensity of your career?”
“Exactly,” she sighs, her gaze drifting. “He just didn’t get it. The late nights, the constant content creation, the wellness retreats. I was always gone, and he just really wanted me there all the time. He couldn’t get enough of me.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “I get it. So, he wanted something more... grounded ?”
Or maybe just someone whose feet were actually on the ground, not hovering six inches above it while channeling some kind of spiritual guru vibe.
“You could say that,” she replies, a hint of irritation seeping into her tone. “He wanted a normal life, whatever that means. But I’m not built for normal, Aria. I’m a disrupter.”
“Of course you are,” I affirm, hiding my amusement.
Jessica’s commentary on their breakup smells fishier than my mom’s bacalao. I’ll have to get the truth out of Pedro, find out if my suspicions about his cheating hold any weight, and unravel the real reasons behind their failed relationship. But I suspect there are deeper issues at play here, ones Jessica is either unwilling or unable to acknowledge.
“Why get back together with him, then?” I ask, unable to resist probing further. “If he couldn’t handle your ambitions, what makes you think it’ll be different this time?”
Jessica pauses, her perfectly sculpted fa?ade trembling for a moment. “We were together for four years. It’s hard to just give up on that. And I…I believe people can change, Aria. Don’t you?”
Jessica’s admission, framed by her momentary vulnerability, strikes a chord, but definitely not the one she intended. We were together for four years . It’s a statement that digs deep into my core based on what I saw on her Instagram posts from the time Pedro and I broke up. Her words, intended to evoke sympathy, instead ignite a fire within me, a determination to see this job through and make Pedro pay for his betrayal.
I nod, though inwardly I’m skeptical. Her reasoning feels more like a desperate grasp at reclaiming a past that perhaps was never as ideal as she portrays. It’s clear to me now, this isn’t just about love or even compatibility. It’s about winning, about reclaiming a narrative that Jessica feels has slipped out of her control.
“Thank you for sharing your home and your truth with me today, Jessica. I have a much clearer picture of who you are and what the road ahead looks like. I foresee a very rosy reunion in your future.”
As I step out of her house, the disparity between her perfectly staged life and the messy reality we all live in couldn’t be more apparent. I can’t help but feel a sense of trepidation, knowing the real reason behind their breakup is yet to be revealed. It wasn’t just about lifestyle choices, it was probably about authenticity; something I know Pedro valued deeply, at least until he threw it all away for a fling with Jessica.
The Uber back to my apartment is filled with contemplations on how to navigate the upcoming challenge. This operation will be a delicate balance, one I need to exploit to drive Pedro back into Jessica’s arms, even if it’s only temporarily.
My mission now carries a dual purpose: not only to excel professionally but to orchestrate the scenario where Pedro and Jessica get exactly what they deserve, each other. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find some closure for myself along the way. Or, at the very least, some good material for my next screenplay.