7. ISABELLA
seven
A good night, it is not.
Because it’s midnight, and I am about ready to chew my left arm off due to hunger. I knew calling it an early night would be risky after only eating a bodega sandwich when I went home to pack.
But now my stomach has progressed to making whale noises that I fear will echo around the apartment.
The last bit of movement I heard was around eight p.m. when Anna loudly said goodbye to her grandmother. After that, they probably went through Anna’s bedtime routine.
It’s been almost four hours since I’ve heard even a pin drop, and I truly don’t think I can hold out anymore.
I kinda wish Mateo would have gotten me a robe to match the hotel like slippers I found beside the bathroom vanity to help cover up my mismatched pajama tank top and sleep shorts.
Not that I’m complaining, since that vanity was filled with a toothpaste brand so fancy, I’ve never heard of it, a cool-looking electric toothbrush, a stack of the world’s softest towels, and an absurd amount of cherry ChapStick.
That last one made me laugh. I always carried one with me while vacationing with them, and I’m pretty sure I got Anna hooked on them. She was always trying to mimic my morning routine alongside me, and she quickly learned that I go nowhere without my ChapStick and maybe even a backup.
So I’m sure he probably grabbed these from Anna’s stash.
Without anything to help cover up my fashion faux pas, I decide to bite the bullet and make this the quickest kitchen raid in history and hope it doesn’t look like a rabid raccoon was let loose inside their home.
I crack open my bedroom door to make sure the coast is clear. Once I’m certain it’s safe to make my escape, I book it. But not before holding on to my boobs, because even though I’m sure jiggly tits don’t make too much noise, you can never be too careful.
I’m about to head straight to the pantry, when I decide it’s best to grab a water first, since I’m also thirsty. Once the bright light of the massive refrigerator greets me, I’m half-stunned. Because even though everything is perfectly sealed, I can still smell the sofrito goodness within these Tupperware containers. I lean in farther to confirm that I’m right, and there is some carne guisada, along with arroz con habichuelas in here.
And my favorite type of plantain taunts me as the plátano maduro stares at me longingly from the back of the fridge. I quickly decide it’s too late to try to microwave anything and risk alerting anyone to the fact that I’ve turned into the rabid raccoon I feared I would become and instead lean almost my entire upper body into the fridge so I can grab the sparkling lemon water in the back corner.
I can feel my shorts riding up as I continue to reach for the bubbly goodness, to the point where the cool air brushes along my exposed ass cheeks.
And that’s when I hear the unmistakable sound of a glass landing harshly against the island counter behind me.