Chapter 5 I Wish I Could Pack Him in My Suitcase
I Wish I Could Pack Him in My Suitcase
Coco
White wine causes terrible hangovers, like really bad.
I notice my eyelashes feel heavier than they should, and when Gema found me crashed out in the living room, all she could muster was “Oh God.” I threw myself onto the couch as soon as I got home.
Apparently I didn’t even take my shoes off, and I still have my keys in my hand.
“Now I know why my brother doesn’t drink.”
She said that when I managed to drag myself over to the coffee maker and turn it on.
Normally I’m pretty restrained when it comes to alcohol.
It’s been a million years since the last time I got so wasted I vomited in the doorway and fell asleep with my hand on the wall to make the room stop spinning, but yesterday I polished off all that wine.
Maybe it was nerves, maybe the buzz of knowing that tomorrow, Monday, we’re finally heading out.
Marín makes me look up from packing, standing in the doorframe.
He brought me a coffee granita he made himself with cinnamon and lemon and no sugar and that, by the way, taste like licking the devil’s ball sack.
I love the guy, but there’s no way I’m even thinking about drinking this thing, obviously.
He’s talking about that girl Noa’s tour.
Because I got so plastered at Blanca’s house, it completely slipped my mind to google her, but this morning, Gema and I “stalked” her social media.
Noa’s sixteen. She travels with her mother. With her mother and Marín.
“Are you all packed?” I ask him.
“Yeah. I just need to add four more things. God.” He rubs his face. “I can’t believe I’m gonna miss a weeklong vacation just to ferry that girl from concert to concert.”
“Hey, look for the silver lining. You’ll probably have time to go to the beach.”
“Yeah, to buy her lemon-lime Popsicles,” he grumbles. “What are you gonna get up to?”
“Well, the plan is…” I sit on my heels and look at him.
“Scoop up Blanca at her house in the RV covered in streamers and all that shit. Then we’re heading to Torrevieja, but first we’re making a few boring pit stops to throw her off.
We’re in Torrevieja for three nights, at a nutty campsite that has tons of waterslides and all that stuff. ”
“Sounds awesome.”
“Then we have one night of boondocking, hippie style, and the last stop is Mojacar, but we haven’t actually booked the campsite in case Blanca is more into the wild camping.”
“Wait!” he yells. I spin around, scared, and see Marín smiling. “When will you be in Torrevieja until? Noa has a concert there! One of those ‘Top 40 Summer Pop Hits.’” He grabs his phone from his pocket and fiddles with it. “On Wednesday!”
I blink. This can’t be happening.
Lord. I haven’t been to mass since I took communion, but please, please… Please let this be a sign.
“You couldn’t have told me this earlier?” I slap on a carefree, funny tone.
“When I told you I was going to be on tour, you kicked me out of the WhatsApp group for the bachelorette party ‘so I wouldn’t leak any information to the opposing team.’ That’s a quote.” He laughs.
“Yeah, well, according to the plan, we’ll be in Torrevieja until Thursday morning.”
“Well, we’ll have Wednesday for you to join us. Better than nothing, right?”
Better than nothing? There’s a fucking pagan festival in my stomach, bonfire and all.
Dancing around it are all my illusive hopes, raising their voices above the trail of smoke curling into the sky from the fire, singing songs about how beautiful our love story will be when we finally star in it on this trip.
“It’ll be cool,” I say, turning back to my suitcase.
“And a good opportunity.”
Excuse me. A what? I’m paralyzed and I don’t even want to turn to him to ask, “An opportunity? To what?”
“To be your wingman so you can meet someone, Coco. Your thing with Gus was great, but it’s over.
I’m sorry to be so harsh, but you have to get back to building your life without him.
I really like him, he’s a good guy, but as your boyfriend…
Admit it, he left a lot to desire. Plus, look at you…
You’re not exactly following him around trying to get close to him again. ”
“I do follow him around,” I justify. “We’re always together.”
“Yeah, together, but never alone. You act like colleagues. It doesn’t make sense for you to ‘wait for him.’ He… I mean, you’re not stupid and you probably know this better than anyone, but he’s out there living his life.”
Gus sleeping with half of Madrid is something I’ve taken as a given since the day we broke up. And it didn’t even bother me back then, but I have to pretend it affects me.
“I know that already,” I add sulkily.
Marín perches on the edge of my bed and gestures for me to look up. I lift my eyes to meet his and swallow. His pupils are so dilated from the tenuous late-July evening light in my room, and it feels like he can see right through me and read every one of my fears and lies.
“Coco… You’re an incredible girl. You’re fun, intelligent, you never keep quiet, you’re very pretty, you have a personality that people fall in love with”—Mama, send help—“and you’re thoughtful, charming…
and a thousand other things. If you want to be alone, that’s fine, but if you actually want to share your life with someone and fall in love, don’t cling to something that’s dead.
Either make it your mission to get him back or do something else. Live, Coco.”
I nod before I turn back to my suitcase, which I’m filling unusually meticulously, stretching out the process.
I avoid his gaze until he announces he’s going to make dinner and leaves.
I don’t want him to look at me and know how scared I am by the idea of starting, living again.
Especially considering that if Marín hasn’t shown any symptoms of loving me up to this point, he’s not going to, no matter how long I drag it on.
And that only means one thing: I have to make a decision.
Either I tell him and let Jesus take the wheel or I move out of the apartment with whatever excuse will cause him the least pain possible and…
start again. For real. And without lies.