Chapter 4
Four years. That’s how long Alejandro and I have been together.
Gone in a ten-minute conversation. Was it even ten minutes?
My XXL bag of Doritos crinkles when I hug it to my chest. I’m moping as I walk out of my kitchen, crushing the chips in the process.
Caballo de Troya is blasting so loud I feel the sound waves moving around me. Helping me. Healing me.
“Porque Ya No Te Necesito,
Y Si Te Llego a Extranar Por Un Descuido,
Eso Al Rato Se Me Paaasaaa!”
I yell the lyrics at the top of my lungs. Tears prickle my eyes. The words that shattered my reality mere hours ago are echoing inside my brain. The pressure in my chest makes it hard to breathe, and I have to remember the exercises I learned back when I was in therapy.
Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Repeat until your eyes suck back the tears.
I groan and tear the bag of Doritos open with such strength that it explodes around me.
Some land on my head, but most of them fall unceremoniously to the floor.
I drop to the living room carpet and start eating them.
I don’t care. My eyes burn again. Small pieces of Doritos stab my knees.
Getting them out of the carpet is going to be a pain.
Ants will infest my apartment. I’ll have to call a professional to get rid of them.
I angrily wipe the tears that escape. None of this was part of the plan.
Tonight was supposed to be happy. It was supposed to end in tears of joy, not in this hole in my chest the size of Venezuela.
We’re supposed to be calling our families with the happy news.
What about his birthday? It’s coming up in a few weeks.
I’d already made plans for it. I paid a deposit.
I hired a caterer. Am I supposed to cancel that?
And what if he regrets it before then? What will happen to his birthday party?
What’s going to happen to the rest of our plans?
The house in La Lagunita, and the kids, and the dog, and the vacationing in Los Roques, which he still doesn’t know about because I didn’t get a chance to tell him.
We’re people who stick to the plan, we always have been. So why didn’t he?
The usually comforting four walls that make up my tiny living room now feel suffocating, and I have to remember to breathe again. In and out, in and out. But breathing just makes it harder to keep the tears in.
Somewhere in the apartment, my phone vibrates.
Alejandro.
I crawl to the couch and start throwing pillows aside until I find it, wedged between cushions.
Eugenia Fajardo: Maria Antonieta, where is the Q no technique is going to help me now.
Tears stream down my face, my chest heaving as sobbing makes my entire body shake.
How could I forget? It was supposed to go live at nine, but I have been having a breakdown since eight thirty.
I send a quick reply: I’m sorry, I’ll do it right away.
Through teary eyes, I find the video and click post. Hopefully I can now mourn the pause on my relationship in peace.
God. A break. Like Ross and Rachel. We all know how that turned out.
The urge to google “what to do when your boyfriend asks for a break” is strong, so I lock my phone and put it back on the couch where I found it.
I walk down the hall to my room, switching off the lights as I go.
I climb into my bed, then lie on my side as I pull the covers all the way over my head.
I hate crying, but all the willpower in the world wouldn’t help me stop now. I cry, and I keep crying until I fall asleep.
—
The piercing cries of macaws cuts through the still morning, stirring me awake.
I sit on my bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
My skirt has rolled up to my waist, leaving my legs bare.
My top is attempting to strangle me. For a second, I’m confused as to why I fell asleep in last night’s attire. Then I remember.
The scrubs, the restaurant…the break. I was hoping it’d all been a dream, but my swollen eyes confirm it wasn’t. My chest hurts from sobbing, I didn’t know that was possible—to physically feel a pain that should only be emotional.
My throat closes up again, and I hug my comforter closer. After last night, you’d think I wouldn’t have any tears left, but you’d be wrong. I’ll have to call in sick; there’s no way I can show up to work like this.
I drag myself out of bed. I need to feed the birds, I need to find my phone, tell Eugenia I’ll be working from home today and won’t be showing my face.
At the kitchen, I grab two bananas. Then, in the living room, I pick up my phone from the couch, where I left it last night, and head to the balcony. I peel the bananas and place them on the railing before sitting on my lounge chair, grateful for the morning sun and its warmth.
There are four macaws here today—three yellow and blue, one green and red. They ruffle their feathers as they eat. Two of them are familiar, my regulars. I call them Marta and Pedro Luis. In my mind, they’re married. The other two are smaller and new. They need names, in case they come back.
I’m stalling. My phone is cold in my shaking hands and I’m trying to ignore the stabbing pain of my soul, even though I feel it in my chest. What if I find a text from Alejandro saying we should turn this break into a breakup?
I’m even more terrified I’ll find nothing at all.
At this point, I don’t know what’s worse.
I have maybe thirty minutes before I have to start getting ready for work if Eugenia says, Absolutely not, if you’re not here in five minutes you’ll lose your job. And she would. I wonder if that time would be better spent in blissful ignorance or if I should rip off the Band-Aid.
As if deciding for me, my phone lights up with an incoming call. My heart picks up speed anticipating Alejandro, but Blanca’s name flashes on the screen instead. I forgot to update her on yesterday’s events.
“Aló?”
“Ay, gracias a Dios, you’re awake,” Blanca says. “Where were you?”
I frown. “I was sleeping.”
“You haven’t checked your phone since last night?” Blanca asks, her voice urgent.
“Not since posting the Q&A.” I clear my throat. “Things…happened with Alejandro.”
“I know. I’m so sorry, reina.”
“Yeah, he—” I sit up. “What do you mean you know?”
On the balcony railing, Marta and Pedro Luis bicker with the other two birds.
“There is no easy way to tell you this, so here goes.” Blanca pauses. “Marianto, you didn’t post the Q&A, you posted a video of Alejandro breaking up with you.”
My stomach drops. I stand up so fast I knock over a small succulent I’ve been trying to keep alive.
I deleted it. I thought I deleted it. At the restaurant.
Didn’t I? Please, God, let me have deleted it.
But when I log in to the account, hands shaking so much that keeping a steady grip on the phone is a whole separate task, the video is there.
Eight minutes, twenty seconds long. First thing on our feed.
I move to my photo gallery, and sure enough, the Q&A video is sitting happily next to it with a bright pink thumbnail.
This can’t be real. I stare at my phone in shock for I don’t know how long. I’m hoping I’ll wake up and confirm I didn’t actually post a video of Alejandro breaking up with me on the magazine’s account. Please, let this be a dream.
But numbers don’t lie. My notifications confirm it. Over a thousand messages on Instagram. Thirty-five missed calls from Eugenia. And one solitary text from Alejandro:
Did you get home okay?
I sink to the floor, clutching the phone to my chest. It’s all too much.
Alejandro hitting the brakes on us, on our plans, saying I’m controlling, pressuring him to get married…
and now thousands of people know about it.
Eugenia knows about it. I haven’t had a chance to internalize it, let alone tell her.
God, my mother probably knows about it already too.
It’s like I built my life on a sandcastle I woke up to find crumbling.
Respira, I remind myself. In and out, in and out. I’m about to hyperventilate. I can feel it. And I’m alone.
“Marianto?” Blanca says, still on the call.
This is bad. This is very bad.
My mouth dries. I try to swallow my anxiety, along with the urge to get in the shower and cry.
I need water. I’m probably dehydrated from crying so much and from all the sodium in the unholy amount of Doritos I consumed last night.
So, water. And then I should eat a banana.
And then I need to…move to a deserted island? And hope no one ever finds me.
But first I take the video down. The stats hit me like a brick. Eight hundred thousand views. I don’t even know if we lost followers because we gained like fifteen thousand more. Five thousand comments.
“OMG I WOULD DIE!”
“Why would ANYONE break up with their partner at a fancy restaurant?”
“Is it too soon to ask if he’s available? Demasiado bello!”
“Ay, mami, pero es que tú también…”
Nausea builds in the pit of my stomach. I’m going to throw up. Or faint. Or both.
Dios.
I need to shower, get dressed, and go to the office—there’s no way I can stay home now—but I’m paralyzed on the cold floor of my balcony as the birds, my loyal companions, fly away one by one.