Chapter 4
“It’s no big deal,” I reassure myself, trying to calm my nerves. “It’s only dinner.”
Alone. With all eyes on me.
I slip on the white crochet lace midi dress I had ordered six months ago. It was too expensive, but I couldn’t resist. It’s everything I envisioned for my first night here.
There’s a V neckline that showcases enough cleavage to entice, with the unspoken promise of more to come later. The lining matches my skin tone, creating the illusion that I’m naked under the intricate peek-a-boo crocheted holes.
Holding on to either end of the dress’s hem, I swish back and forth, imagining myself on the dance floor. The skirt flares out playfully—flirty, flouncy, sexy. I love the way it moves and the risqué possibilities it suggests.
When I ordered it, I had pictured a very different first night than the one I’m currently experiencing.
My mascara, eye shadow, and a light touch of lip gloss are spot-on perfect. Gathering up my hair, I tie it back into a loose bun, still too lazy to straighten it, allowing a few loose tendrils to frame my face.
I exit the bathroom and take in the sight of my spacious bedroom. I’ve holed myself up in here all day, overwhelmed by regrets about coming to this place.
Shiny white marble floors glisten under the soft glow of the lights. The dark mahogany desk and matching dresser show an air of elegance, and the flat screen tv is three-times the size of mine at home. This place is infinitely nicer than my tiny apartment.
The mini-bar beckons me with its array of soft drinks, beer, and snacks, less the stuff I scarfed down when I chickened out of going out to lunch.
Positioned at the base of the king-sized bed, two swans crafted from towels share a kiss, surrounded by a heart-shaped arrangement of red rose petals. A silver bucket filled with melting ice holds a bottle of champagne next to a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries that rests on the coffee table near the couch.
The gesture, compliments of management, is a gift meant for lovers.
I guess housekeeping missed Jorge’s memo.
Taking a seat on the corner of the bed, I slip on a pair of white espadrille sandals. They’re new too. Bought specifically for this trip. Perfect for a slow dance under the star-filled Mexican sky. I walk towards the sliding glass doors, captivated by the sight above.
The radiant moon casts its white beams onto the ocean, creating a mesmerizing zigzag pattern that dances across the water. It’s perfect.
Romantic.
How lucky someone would be to begin their new life under this shining moonlight.
Then there’s me, determined to prove that there is nothing wrong with my old life. Sometimes the best laid plans are better when they’re laid to rest. If I can face this place, under this romantic moon, alone… I can face the embarrassment I left at home and return standing tall. I did nothing wrong, yet I bear the shame of someone else’s actions.
Shaking my head, I try to rid myself of the countless scenarios that have plagued my thoughts. This trip is my chance to move forward, once and for all.
Before heading out for dinner, I stand before the full-length mirror, taking in my reflection. “You look good,” I tell myself. “Now go out there and conquer the world.”
Grabbing my tiny clutch, I check the inside twice to make sure I have my hotel key card, then head to the front door. I grip the handle and freeze. I look toward the closet, spot my suitcase still on the luggage rack, and focus on the outside zipper compartment again. My stomach flips, a knot forming in the pit, and my hand trembles.
Slowly, my fingers uncurl from the doorknob. I take a step back and stare at it like it’s an insurmountable obstacle.
Disappointed with myself, I walk to the nightstand on my half of the bed. Over the past few months, I tried to take over the entire bed. I mean, it’s mine to take…but some habits are hard to break. I open the drawer, grab the room service menu, and dial.
“Umm… hi. This is room three twenty-two. I’d like to make a dinner order.”
Looking down at my half-eaten chicken fajita, I exhale a long sigh. Perfectly seasoned, cheesy, and delicious, but I’m eating because I have to and not because I want to. Tiny bubbles tickle my nose when I raise my flute of champagne up to my lips. Luckily, the room service guy took pity on my pathetic efforts and uncorked it for me.
I walk to the glass sliders with my champagne flute in hand and enter the balcony. The air is warm and thick with humidity, the scent of the ocean heavy in the breeze…the cigar stench is long gone. I sit in my resin chair, take a sip of my drink, and listen to the waves crash onto the shore. One after another, their rhythmic sound lulling me to an almost hypnotic state.
How did my life come to this?
I’m drained. Spent.
Empty.
The weight of it all pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. What if this? What if that? The questions swirl in my mind, a never-ending cycle of doubt and regret.
My heart still beats, but I’m dead inside. My loneliness can be unbearable.
Sometimes I worry that I’m only a day away from drawing a face on a soccer ball and calling it Wilson.
Holding my head up high is exhausting. But if I show how devastated I truly am, he’d still hold power over me. I gave so much—I won’t surrender that too. I plaster on a measured smile in public, then crumble and cry myself to sleep in private.
For months, I’ve vacillated between hopelessness, rage, and numbness. So many mistakes. So many questions unanswered… and the few I do know, I wish I didn’t.
What was I thinking coming here? This is the last place I should be. Memories that will never happen haunt every corner.
I concentrate on the scene directly ahead of me, my eyes fixated on the breathtaking sight. In the distance, I spot the silhouette of a couple strolling along the beach, their figures illuminated by the soft, ethereal glow of the moon that guides their way. The rhythmic sound of the crashing waves fills my ears.
There’s an undeniable feeling of romance in the air as the couple pauses for a quick embrace before resuming their leisurely walk.
As much as I try to appreciate the beauty unfolding before me, it tears me up inside.
With a defeated sigh, I push myself out of the chair, desperate to escape these overwhelming emotions. Returning to the solitude of my room, I eye my suitcase again, its exterior zipper taunting me. Succumbing to its irresistible pull, I approach it slowly, my hand trembling as I unzip the outer pocket, the metallic teeth of the zipper unclasping one by one with a methodical, almost hypnotic rhythm.
The room suddenly becomes suffocating, and my stomach churns. I think I’m going to be sick. My fingers delve into the outer pocket, retrieving the contents. I don’t know why I packed this. I should have shredded it, burned it. Anything to erase its existence.
Struggling to maintain composure, I walk towards the full-length mirror, my throat tightening. Taking in a long breath, I place the object on top of my head, my bottom lip quivering uncontrollably.
Warm tears stream down my cheeks as I gaze at my reflection… adorned with my wedding veil.