17. ARIA
17
ARIA
I arrive at Pedro’s place at just a few minutes past seven p.m. on Monday evening, a box of the finest pastries from my favorite panaderia in hand as a peace offering—or more accurately, a guilt offering. The memory of my last, rather abrupt, exit from his apartment still lingers, painting my cheeks with embarrassment.
As the door swings open, Tío Juan greets me with his usual warmth, a smile that reaches his eyes. It’s clear he’s blissfully unaware of the dramatic events that have unfolded behind the scenes.
“I brought you some postres ,” I blurt out, thrusting the box towards him. “From a bakery Pedro and I used to hit up. Is he around?”
Tío Juan’s eyes light up at the sight of the box, and he leans in and gives me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Ay, thank you, mija . Pedro doesn’t have anything sweet here. His disdain for sugar is so sad,” he chuckles, accepting the offering with a gleam in his eye that suggests the pastries might not last long. “And no, he’s still at the office. He came in pretty late last night and left before I woke up. Maybe the AI is finally fighting back. Good for them, you know?”
I chuckle at Tío Juan’s joke, burying my worries about why Pedro hasn’t responded to my texts and the fact that he’s now basically stood me up for our planned 7pm “talk” at his place. Deciding to wait a little longer for him to arrive, Tío Juan and I tuck into the pastries, washing them down with a strong cafecito . I try to stay present as he regales me with tales of his romantic weekend with Gretchen.
“So, you’re here for the...?” Tío Juan trails off, a gentle nudge back to the reason for my visit.
“Oh, right. My Invisalign,” I say, the words feeling almost comical in the warmth of the kitchen. The mission that had initially felt so important now seems secondary to the difficult conversation I planned to have with Pedro tonight.
He leaves to retrieve my forgotten dental armor, puttering around the apartment. A flicker of curiosity catches my eye as I notice an official-looking letter resting on the kitchen counter, out of place amidst the usual lack of clutter. I can’t help but sneak over to take a glance.
The words on the page drag me into a narrative far removed from the cozy atmosphere. The letter, a piece of legal correspondence, speaks with a cold formality that chills the air around me. It appears to be a response from Jessica’s legal representatives, addressing a claim made by Pedro and his legal team.
“Dear Counsel,” it begins, “We write in reply to your correspondence regarding the nature and commencement of the relationship between our client, Ms. Tammy a.k.a. Jessica Farrow, and Mr. Pedro Josephine Olivera. It is our understanding, based on assertions made by your client, that the intimate nature of their relationship began approximately one year ago. We do not dispute this claim as inaccurate.”
The letter continues, detailing the counterargument with precision. “According to our client, Ms. Farrow, her intimate relationship with Mr. Olivera commenced one year ago, but their working relationship began four years ago. As such, any sensitive or proprietary information shared by our client with Mr. Olivera during this four-year period is protected under the terms of the Non-Disclosure Agreement executed at the onset of their one-year intimate relationship.”
The correspondence meticulously outlines the legal stance taken by Jessica’s team, emphasizing the significance of the four-year timeline in relation to the protections afforded by the NDA. The letter concludes with a firm yet respectful tone. “We trust this clarifies our client’s position and anticipate your cooperation in rectifying any misunderstandings regarding the timeline of Mr. Olivera and Ms. Farrow’s relationship. We look forward to an amicable resolution to this matter.”
As I fold the letter back up, a sinking feeling overtakes me. The legal jargon, once just impersonal text, now reveals a narrative that reshapes everything I thought I knew. Jessica lied about them being together for just one year. Her working relationship with Pedro actually began four years ago.
Pedro never cheated on me. The realization hits painfully.
The narrative I had clung to, the justification for my actions and my motivations for taking Jessica’s case, crumbles beneath the weight of this newfound truth. My heart is in my throat at the thought of how deeply I've been misled, how my actions fueled by Jessica’s lie have impacted those around me - especially Pedro.
Guilt washes over me in waves. The warmth of the kitchen, once a comforting embrace, now feels stifling. The pastries, once symbols of a guilt-offering for my hasty exit on Saturday, now taste of a deeper guilt, one born of misunderstanding and misplaced intentions.
As Tío Juan returns to the kitchen, he’s holding my Invisalign with a playful glint in his eye. “Found it!” he exclaims. “I hope you don’t mind, mija , that I borrowed it for some fun.”
I look at him, momentarily confused by his remark about borrowing my clear retainer aligners, before I remember his infamous Instagram post.
“I thought it would be funny to see how I'd look with a younger smile,” he explains with a grin. “Turns out big, beautiful teeth leave some big shoes to fill. Shoes that my tiny Ben Affleck teeth just can’t measure up to.”
I can’t help but burst into laughter at the absurdity and warmth of Tío Juan’s humor, his levity momentarily washing away the remnants of my tension and guilt. “Your teeth are beautiful, Tio. Never let anybody tell you different,” I manage between chuckles, accepting my now famous Invisalign back.
He winks at me, handing the retainer over. “Just making sure it’s well-loved before it goes back to work.”
As I pocket the Invisalign, my heart feels lighter, the laughter a balm to the sting of the revelations from the letter. I give Tío Juan a farewell hug, the box of pastries now half-empty. “Thanks, Tio.”
“You come back with more pastries anytime, you hear?” he calls out as I head for the door, his voice echoing cheerfully behind me.
Stepping out into the afternoon sun, the weight of the legal correspondence lingers in my mind, but so does the resolve that’s taken root in the wake of Tío Juan’s lighthearted banter. It’s clear now that the narrative I'd been sold—a narrative that spurred me into the Farrow case under false pretenses—was built on a foundation of lies. Jessica misrepresented the timeline of her relationship with Pedro, casting shadows where there were none. Pedro hadn’t betrayed me; my motivations, fueled by a desire for retribution and closure, were based on Jessica’s deception.
As I walk away from Pedro’s apartment building, I'm a swirling mix of emotions - relief that Pedro didn’t actually cheat, sorrow that I've quit my job and done something horrible to him, and anger that he’s been ghosting me after I said I needed to talk about something important. Mostly, I just need to talk to Pedro, to untangle the knots of misunderstanding and hurt that have bound us both.
This isn’t just about correcting a wrong; it’s about reclaiming my integrity and being true to myself again. It’s time for a change. I don’t want to be a manipulative, lying pizza-face rebounding consultant anymore!
My hearts races as I stand outside Jessica’s apartment. I take a deep breath, trying to channel my inner Olivia Pope, ready to handle this situation like a boss. I knock on the door, steeling myself for the confrontation that’s about to unfold.
Jessica opens the door, her perfect boy-brows lifting in surprise at the sight of me. “If it isn’t Little Miss Home-wrecker herself. Come on in. Let’s get this party started.”
I step inside, my jaw set as I will myself to ignore Jessica’s home-wrecker jab. “Jessica, I'm here to clear the air and let you know that I've resigned from Full Circle Consulting. You should be receiving some dissolution paperwork in the next few weeks.”
Jessica’s eyes narrow, her demeanor shifting from hostile WASP to nuclear meltdown in an instant. “So you’re finally tapping out on this innocent charade of yours? Fine by me. Now I have even more ammo for when I sue Full Circle Consulting for breach of contract.”
I exhale deeply, my voice calm but firm. “That contract is as void as your soul. There’s a termination clause that allows us to nullify the contract if we find you haven’t been totally honest about the nature of the relationship you’re trying to salvage. And you lied to us about sending Pedro that strict NDA and cease and desist letter not even a week before you showed up at our office.”
Jessica rolls her eyes, but her composure is starting to show cracks. “That’s a totally separate legal matter. It has nothing to do with my agreement with Full Circle.”
I shake my head. “Wrong again. It has everything to do with our agreement. Which means the agreement is canceled, as I hope you will be someday.” I straighten my back and look her dead in the eye. “And now that I no longer work for them, I no longer work for you. So please understand that I’m speaking freely and honestly when I say that I find you despicable.”
Jessica scoffs. “How dare you!”
I take a step closer, my eyes blazing. “Don’t act so shocked. I know you only dated Pedro for a year before he dumped your controlling ass. You just wanted to be with a tech zillionaire ’cause your wine-o-clock posts weren’t paying the bills anymore.”
Jessica’s eyes widen as her jaw drops. “Well, look who’s talking. FYI, I know all about you and Pedro’s past. Talk about an ethics violation! My lawyers are gonna have a field day with you!”
I laugh, a sound devoid of humor. “Oh puh-lease, your only move is siccing your shrieking Chihuahua lawyers on people. It’s getting as old as those cringe ‘no makeup’ selfies you post every morning. You really need to get a new shtick ‘cause being this thirsty for attention is not working for you.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Jessica huffs as she stomps over to open the door.
She and I both do a double-take. “Well, look who’s come crawling back. Did you finally realize how bland your life is without me?”
My heart drops at the sight of Pedro standing in the doorway, his expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “I feel like I just entered the Twilight Zone,” he says, his voice rife with uncertainty as his eyes dart between Jessica and me. “What did I just stumble into?”
Jessica’s face lights up with a wicked glee, her eyes darting between Pedro and me. “Oh, this is just too good,” she purrs, relishing the horrified look on my face. “Pedro, darling, you’re just in time for the big reveal. It seems our dear Aria here has been keeping a little secret from you. ”
I stammer, suddenly on the defense. “I... Wait, what are you doing here?” I say, directing the question to Pedro, who just days ago spoke about Jessica’s legal maneuvers with the kind of disdain that implied he was one thousand percent done with her.
Pedro steps inside, his jaw clenched as his confusion morphs into indignation. “I have more of a right to be here than you do. What the hell are you doing here?”
Jessica’s smirk widens. “Oh honey, didn’t you know? Aria’s been manipulating you for weeks! I hired her to crush your heart so you'd come crawling back to me. It’s straight out of one of her lame rom-com scripts.”
Pedro turns to me, his eyes wide with shock and hurt. “Is that true?”
I drop my gaze, shame coloring my cheeks. I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “I... I'm so sorry. It was my job, and I should have refused to do it. I should have quit a long time ago, but I just…everything got so messy. I know I made some bad choices.”
“Bad choices? That’s an understatement.” His words are laced with a disdain that makes my stomach ache.
“I swear, I never meant to hurt you.”
Pedro shakes his head, the muscle in his jaw clenched tight as he throws an envelope on the table. “The injunction was granted, Jessica,” he declares, his voice trembling with anger. “The NDA is dead. I'm officially done with you.”
He turns to me, his eyes filled with a pain that cuts me to the core. “And you... I know I wasn’t perfect. I know I messed up, but I never thought you'd stoop this low. This is on a whole other level, Aria.”
With that, he shakes his head in disbelief as he storms out of the apartment, leaving Jessica and me in a stunned silence.
Jessica shrugs, a cruel smile playing at her lips. “Well, that could've gone better for you.”
My heart shatters into a million pieces, like a vase thrown against a wall in a telenovela. I turn to Jessica, my voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you’re happy. You've managed to ruin everything, just like you ruin every Instagram caption with your hashtag overload.”
Jessica smirks. “It’s just business, darling. You should know that by now.”
I shake my head, the anxiety in my gut gurgling. “No, Jessica. It’s not just business. It’s people’s lives and hearts. And I’m done being complicit in this emotional shell game.”
With that, I walk out of the apartment, my head slung low to hide the tears streaming down my face. I know I messed up. I knew Pedro would be upset when he learned the truth, but I didn’t realize how far I’d fallen for him again. I knew it would hurt if he couldn’t see past this, but I never thought I could feel this low again.
It seems our paths are always leading us away from each other. Maybe that’s just the way it was always meant to be.
As I step out of Jessica’s apartment building, my heart still heavy with the weight of the confrontation, I'm startled to see Pedro standing on the sidewalk, his eyes glued to his phone. The sight of him sends a jolt through me, a mix of longing and dread.
He looks up, his eyes widening as they meet mine. “So it’s true then? What Jessica said? You've been working for her this whole time?”
I nod, unable to meet his gaze. “Yes. But Pedro, you have to understand?—”
“Understand what?” he snaps, his voice rising. “That you've been lying to me? Manipulating me? That our entire relationship has been a cruel joke?”
Tears prick at my eyes, the accusation in his tone cutting deep. “No! It wasn’t like that. Yes, I took the job, but my feelings for you...they were real.”
He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “Real? Coming from you, that’s rich.”
I take a deep breath as I try to keep my cool. “I know I screwed up. I let my anger cloud my judgment. But what we have is not a lie.”
He steps back, shaking his head. “I can’t do this. I can’t be with someone who would do something like this. Who would lie to me, who would use me like this.”
Panic rises in my throat, the thought of losing him growing more certain by the second. “If you could just let me explain… ”
But his mind appears set, his shoulders and jaw rigid with anger and hurt.
I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, my heart thumping against my ribs like a jackhammer on steroids.
Pedro’s nostrils flare, his expression a storm of emotions. “I just can’t believe you’d do something so fucked up.”
The shame and guilt threaten to consume me whole. “I’m sorry. I saw the photo of you and Jessica in Hong Kong from four years ago, and then she made me think you two had been together for four years. It all lined up with our breakup, and I just...I jumped to conclusions…”
The silence that follows is so thick, you could twist it into a noose.
When Pedro speaks again, his voice is cold, devoid of any warmth or affection. “So, instead of being an adult and talking to me, you decided to, what? Use me as a pawn in some kind of revenge fantasy?”
Anger boils over within me, hot and sharp, overshadowing the guilt that simmers beneath. he’s acting like he didn’t dump me over a fucking Zoom call in the middle of a pandemic for trying to support his lofty startup dreams?
“You know what? This isn’t all my fault. You messed up too!” I shoot back, my words laced with four years of pent-up bitterness. “Don’t pretend that you didn’t run away to the other side of the world after I offered you money for your startup. You gave up on us first. And you’re doing it again . This is the first time we’ve spoken in days. You’ve been completely ghosting me. I’d hardly call that being an adult.”
Pedro flinches, but I’m too far gone to care. The words continue pouring out of me, a torrent of unspoken hurt and resentment.
“I know I acted impulsively in a moment of confusion and anger. But you’re no angel. You broke my heart four years ago because you were too insecure to accept help from...from someone who loved you enough to sacrifice everything they’d worked for. All for the chance to see you succeed.”
“Love?” he scoffs, the disbelief in his voice palpable as a white sedan with an Uber sticker pulls up to the curb. “You don’t manipulate someone you love for money, Aria. You don’t play with their emotions like the characters in your damn screenplays. This is real life.”
I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips as I take a step back just as the Uber driver rolls down their passenger window and stares at us. “I’m not going to stand here while you talk to me like I’m an idiot.”
“For real? You’re gonna leave it like that? Both my exes have been plotting against me for weeks, but you’re the one who’s offended?”
His words are a slap in the face. “I’m allowed to have feelings. Or do you not know what those are?”
“You are something else,” he says, shaking his head as the Uber driver calls out. “You’re the one who stomped all over my feelings like they were nothing. ”
The disgust in his voice is like a knife twisting in my gut, a painful reminder of how far I’ve fallen. He urges the driver to wait just a moment before turning his attention back to me.
“You’re no better than Jessica,” he continues, utter disappointment etched in his eyes as he opens the car door and steps down off the curb. “Always looking for the next angle, the next way to get what you want. So caught up in your own lies, you can’t even see the truth anymore.”
His words cut deep, exposing the ugly truth I’ve been trying to hide from. “I’m nothing like her,” I say, my stomach tightening as I glance around at the five or six people who are obviously watching us while pretending to be looking at their phones. “Jessica did it for likes. I did it for closure.”
“Well, I hope you found that,” he replies, sliding into the backseat of the Uber and slamming the door shut.
The finality in his voice is brutal. It’s an unhappy ending to a story I thought was just beginning. As I walk away, ignoring the way the onlookers’ cameraphones seem to follow my trajectory, it’s hard not to feel like the world is crumbling beneath my feet, the future slipping through my fingers like sand.
It’s over. And this time, it’s almost entirely my fault.
As I walk back to my apartment, the bustling city moving around me, I feel more lost and alone than ever. I've always been the one in control, the one calling the shots. The number one rebounder. Ha! As if that means anything.
Now, I'm just a girl walking on a sidewalk, having just watched the man she loves drive away.
I know I have to fix this; find a way to make things right. But as the taillights of Pedro’s Uber disappear around a corner in the distance, I can’t help but wonder if it’s already too late.
Maybe this time, the damage I've done is too great to ever be repaired.
My phone buzzes in my pocket with a relentless stream of notifications. With shaking hands, I pull it out, my heart sinking as I scroll through the messages.
Sara: are you okay? I just saw that video of you and Pedro. Call me!
Mark: Girl, what the hell happened? Jessica’s repost is blowing up. I’m here if you need to talk .
My Instagram tag notifications blow up as more texts from acquaintances I haven’t talked to in years come through, the concern in their words feeling more like an invasion of my privacy than an offer of comforting support. The idea of my heartbreak and shame being broadcast across social media is really just the cherry on my shit-sundae.
As I enter my building and make my way across the lobby, I wonder if the universe has dealt me enough blows over the past couple days to last a lifetime. Then Gretchen’s name flashes across the screen on my phone, and I once again feel the prick of tears in the corners of my eyes.
I stop in the middle of the lobby and stare at the phone, my finger hovering over the answer button. With a shaky breath, I turn my phone off, plunging myself into a self-imposed exile. As I step into the elevator, the weight of my actions, the consequences of my choices, press down on me like a physical force that threatens to flatten me.
I just quit my job yesterday, and now I’ve lost Pedro and, quite possibly, lost myself. As I stare at the elevator numbers ticking upward, the red digits blurring through a haze of tears, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever find my way back to the person I was before this job consumed me whole.