Chapter 8
The edges of my phone dig into my palm, tattooing a fine red line on the inside of my hand. My leg bounces up and down as I sit on the couch. I’m hunched over the phone, holding it so close to my face it can’t possibly be good for my already decaying sight.
My personal Instagram account is private, but the post has had enough engagement that the possibilities of Ale not seeing it are virtually zero.
Three of his cousins have liked it. One went so far as to leave a comment.
Five yellow hearts. That means something.
But Alejandro? Nothing. This was supposed to remind him of brighter days when we were young and drunk with love, celebrating that we’d made it through a year, and if we made it through a year, we could make it through two or three or four and so on forever.
I bite a corner of my lower lip, considering my next move.
It’s been twenty-four hours. There’s no way he hasn’t checked his socials in twenty-four hours.
He takes his phone to the bathroom, for God’s sake.
With a few taps, I go into his profile and find our mutuals, all seventy-nine of them, looking for someone who posted around the same time I did.
I find the cousin who left the hearts. Her last post was eighteen hours ago.
She has thirty-four likes. He’s one of them.
Seeing his name sends a shot of pain through my chest. So he has been checking Instagram. He just decided not to engage with me.
To say this experiment is not going the way I planned would be an understatement.
A rattling sound comes from the kitchen, telling me my mother has started the dishwasher.
“Come on.” I shake my phone. “Say something.”
“—I know, I’m so worried about her—” My mother’s voice reaches me from the kitchen.
Slowly, I sit up. Who is she talking to? And more importantly, does she think I can’t hear her? We’re sharing a matchbox of an apartment.
“—you know how many times I tried to tell her he wasn’t good for her.
” Oh, God. Unwittingly, I’ve risen to my feet, inching closer to the hallway leading to my kitchen, where I can hear her pacing.
The dishwasher stops running. A cupboard is shut.
A plate is placed on the granite. “Of course I’m not trying to pick a fight, Francois. I’m keeping the peace.”
Anger ignites in my chest. Ever since the breakup my emotions have been at surface level.
Hearing my mother talk about me like I’m a child who doesn’t know better is the last thing I need.
I’m no longer a child, and this is my house.
That I live in. That I’ve been paying for on my own for the last five years.
By myself. She can’t talk about me like that in my own house.
I have half a mind to march into the kitchen and tell her exactly this, but I can’t.
She’s my mother. The only one I have. The only one I’ll ever have.
Good children respect their parents, and I am a good daughter.
Talento V, the show she’s here to host, starts shooting on Monday and it will only last twelve weeks.
Eighty-four days. Then she’ll go back to her life as a Venezuelan in Miami, living it up with her French husband and only seeing her daughter once a year in Cancún or Puerto Rico, for no more than a week.
The way God intended. By then, Alejandro and I will be back together, I’ll be working at Ellas again, and everything will be in its rightful place.
“Twelve weeks,” I whisper to myself.
I swallow my anger, grab my keys from the dining table, and leave. This doesn’t have to bother me. So, it won’t. I have work to do.
—
Experiment #1 was a disaster. No interaction whatsoever. Not even a pitiful like. Nothing.
I’m hoping Experiment #2: Be unpredictable (so he knows I’m not a control freak) works better.
Since I can still see Alejandro’s location on my phone, I tracked him down to a new sushi place in El Hatillo where he’s having dinner.
It’s not weird if he hasn’t turned it off and I use it to my advantage.
“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Blanca says from the passenger seat. “You hate sushi.”
Untrue. I’ve never tried sushi because I refuse to eat raw fish.
I’m allergic to the majority of seafood, so I can’t take risks when it’s also uncooked.
But Ale loves sushi, and what better way to show I’m unpredictable than choosing, out of nowhere, to try his favorite food for the first time at the new place where he also happens to be?
“Because love will triumph in the end,” I tell her. “Who knows? I might like it.”
I park in front of the restaurant. The first thing I notice is that instead of windows, it has giant fish tanks filled with fluorescent little fish that must have been genetically altered—yellow, blue, pink, orange, and purple. I bet they glow in the dark. Beside me, Blanca also stares at the fish.
“That must be illegal.” She undoes her seat belt.
“Yeah.” I grab my purse from the backseat, find my EpiPen, and hand it to her. “You’re responsible for this.”
“You mean for your life?”
I nod, unbuckle my seat belt, and climb out of the car.
Blanca walks in before I do, pushing against the heavy metal door.
Inside, the ambience is dark. There are mini fish bowls on every table as centerpieces.
The ceiling is lined with LED lights, changing color according to the beat of the music.
“We Can’t Be Friends” by Ariana Grande is playing, so the changing of the lights is slow but perfectly timed.
A woman stands beside the door, holding an iPad.
Blanca engages in conversation with her, but my attention is on the familiar figure sitting by the bar.
The music, the lights, the fish fade into the background.
The space that physically separates us seems to disappear as well.
We’re the only two people to exist here.
We’re the only two people to exist in the universe.
Alejandro hasn’t seen me. He’s sitting with his back to the door, one arm propped on the bar, leaning on it. He’s wearing a baby blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up like always. He’s untucked his shirt. This is relaxed Ale. The sight makes my heart ache.
“Marianto?” Blanca grazes my elbow with her fingertips. “They have a table for us.”
“Oh, great!” But I’m not even looking at her. Ale’s posture is slouched, he’s balancing on a barstool, a beer beside him. He never slouches. But one of his friends says something and he throws his head back and laughs. He doesn’t look tired or heartbroken. He seems happy.
Blanca has to drag me away from the door. Away from Ale.
Once we’re seated, I’ve lost visibility of Alejandro. The screens and bamboos won’t let me see.
“We’re stealing these, right?” Blanca asks, tapping the bowl housing two pink GloFish.
I scan the restaurant, making sure no one heard her. “Of course not.”
Blanca laughs. “Relax. You’re very tense.”
“Of course I am, I’m about to try raw fish for the first time,” I say.
“Did you know you need a reservation to eat here?” Blanca taps the fishbowl again, startling the little guys.
I had no idea we needed a reservation. “How did we get a table?”
“I name-dropped Ellas,” she says. “She’s your fan. Said you saved her relationship.”
My eyes widen as I lean forward. “My fan? I don’t want fans. Since when do I have fans?”
“Since you revealed yourself to be the mastermind behind Ellas’ account and your breakup went viral online.” Blanca shakes her head as if to say Silly girl. “Also, I might have told her that you’d write a piece on the restaurant.”
“Are you crazy? I got fired. I can’t write a piece on this restaurant.”
“Well, if you decided to make social media your business, you could write pieces without Ellas. You could write a blog, you could start a YouTube channel. You could run around Caracas filming videos galore and make a living out of it. You have no idea how much you don’t need any of this.”
I know that. But I never dreamed of living off social media, being an influencer. I want to be a journalist. Running the Ellas account and the column was great because people didn’t know who I was. The spotlight has never been an aspiration for me. I want to put others there.
“It doesn’t matter, I’ll be back before you know it.”
Blanca opens her mouth, but a waiter materializes next to our table before she has a chance to add anything else. I let her order for us because she has more experience.
For the next ten minutes, I pretend to listen to Blanca talk.
I’ve actually been stretching my neck as much as possible to catch a glimpse of Alejandro, to see if maybe he’s still at the bar.
I have no way of knowing without being conspicuous.
I think Blanca is talking about something Gustavo, her boyfriend, did. I think she’s not happy about it.
“I hate to interrupt you, Blanquita, mi vida, I really do,” I blurt out. Blanca cuts herself off abruptly, as expected, and watches me like I’ve grown a second head. “I can’t sit here anymore. Could you pretend to go to the bathroom and see if Alejandro is still there?”
She watches me in silence for at least five seconds.
“You’re a terrible friend,” she deadpans.
“I know.”
“Really terrible,” she adds, in case she wasn’t clear.
“But you love me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I do.”
“So could you please…?”
Blanca begins to stand.
“Marianto?”
Blanca and I freeze. I look to my right, where Alejandro is standing just a couple feet away, a look of surprise on his face. Blanca slowly lowers herself onto her chair again.
“Ale!” I don’t even have to act surprised. “Hola!”
I need to tone it down a little.
I push to my feet, careful not to seem too eager. I need to be nonchalant, collected. The epitome of a sane woman.
“Hi,” he says, though it sounds more like a question. Right on cue, our waiter brings out our food. Ale scans the table with a frown, his eyes going from the sushi platter to me. “Since when do you eat sushi?”
“Oh, Blanca convinced me to try it,” I lie.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Did she?” He turns to her. “How did you manage that? I tried for years and she never budged.”
Oh no. Abort. Abort. He hated when I made it seem like I didn’t value his opinion. I was supposed to look relaxed and go-with-the-flow-ish. There are a number of other things I could have said. I decided to try something new, or I thought I’d see what all the fuss is about. Literally anything else.
Blanca clears her throat. “You know Marianto.” She shrugs. “One day she just wakes up and she says yes to sushi.”
“Right.” He nods. “Well. Enjoy your dinner.” He pauses. Stares. Damn it, this is a disaster. “I hope you like it.”
He puts both hands deep into his pockets and disappears from our view with three steps.
I watch the space Alejandro was just occupying, replaying all the ways I could have executed that better.
He was surprised to see me. Surprised enough he approached.
He didn’t seem displeased. In fact, I think if I’d asked him to sit with us for a bit, he would have.
Until I practically told him I value Blanca’s opinion more than his.
Defeated, I sloppily sit back on the chair.
“He’ll call,” Blanca assures me. I stab a piece of sushi even though I’m not hungry. I made it this far. I will at least do what I came here to do.
I pop the sushi roll into my mouth. It’s salty and sweet and bland, all at the same time. Plus, it’s not hot or cold. Everything in it is mushy.
“You hate it?” Blanca asks.
“Yup.”
I swallow. Not ten seconds later, I’m clearing my throat. Great.
“EpiPen?” she asks then.
“Yup.”
But the moment that finally breaks me isn’t Alejandro leaving while thinking I don’t value his opinion, or having to stab my own leg in public.
It’s when Blanca calls for the check and has the waiter prepare our food to go.
I gasp at the amount of money we have to pay.
We could’ve gone to McDonald’s three times for that amount.
And the only thing I managed to do was risk my life.
“I got this,” Blanca says. “I’m eating most of it anyway.”
I nod, agreeing. Never mind that it’s too much money for her to cover on her own, or that I dragged her here.
I have no fight left in me. All I want to do is go home, eat cereal, and ignore the reality that this is unsustainable.
If science class taught me anything, it’s that experiments aren’t cheap.
Keeping this up will drain my bank account faster than I anticipated. I need a job.