Chapter 21
I nervously fidget in my seat, hands gripping the edge of a pillow as I watch Blanca balance my laptop on her legs, reading an article I spent all Sunday drafting.
My mother is out. I left Simón at his hotel an hour ago and picked up Blanca for a girl’s night right after. By girl’s night, I mean forcing her to critique my work and rewarding her with a pepperoni pizza and a rewatch of You’ve Got Mail.
Mouthing the words as she scrolls down the pages, I wait for the verdict. I’ve read it so many times I have it memorized:
Status: Ongoing.
When singer/songwriter Simón Arreaza told me my plan of action was doomed to fail, I didn’t believe him. But his methods proved me wrong, so I decided the smart thing to do was bring him along for the ride. After all, two brains are better than one.
So far, no complaints. My partner in crime is wise, patient, and most importantly?
A man. Which, as much as it pains me to say, is perhaps the key to the success of this entire experiment.
No one knows the mind of a man better than another man.
So if you’re planning to embark on a similar journey, I suggest recruiting your best male friend and make your breakup his business.
Even when he claims he wants no part of it, he’s probably lying…
Experiment #2: Don’t text/call.
Status: Ongoing.
According to my coach, you should do this until your target reaches out to you, and then for a while after that. Apparently, this will make him miss you (emphasis on “apparently”). He can’t miss you if you’re always there, reminding him of why he broke up with you. So, be absent.
I have been following this rule for the past two weeks. Here are the results:
Number of times he’s called: 2
Number of times I’ve called: 0
Not that I’m keeping score…
Experiment #3: Treat him like a friend.
Status: Completed. Successful.
Okay, I will be the first to admit this one is a little harder, but the results are AH-MAY-ZING. By following this experiment I’ve gotten him to break his no contact rule, which is what we want.
There’s a delicate balance on how to carry this out. You can’t simply send him memes with the excuse of friendship. You need to wait for the perfect moment, or it won’t work…
Experiment #4: Have a blast without him.
Status: Completed. Successful.
Warning: Having too much of a blast can be dangerous. Make sure you’re with a trusted group of friends or family and above all that you’re truly having fun.
My coach—
“Okay, I can’t read any more.” Blanca slides the laptop off her legs. “I get that Simón is like your love guru, but there’s entirely too much of him in this.”
Frowning, I grab the laptop from where she discarded it and skim the document. “I think there’s a good amount of Simón content. It obviously needs expanding, but I’m just trying to paint the picture of what it could be. Eugenia said I should talk about him.”
“Expanding?” Blanca stares blankly at me, as if my words weren’t making sense. “You mention him more than you mention Alejandro.”
How is that too much Simón? He’s the one giving me advice. Alejandro is the one trying to kick me out of his life. One is obviously going to be more present than the other.
“Well, he’s my coach,” I remind her, like she needs it. “Again, Eugenia said I should include him. And Simón wants exposure. This will expose him.”
“Sweetie, people are going to ship you with your ‘coach.’ ” Blanca makes air quotes at that last word. “Also, what would Alejandro think? Have you stopped to ask yourself how he would react to this article?”
“He’ll never see it. In all the years that we’ve been together, Alejandro has never read any of my work. He thinks it’s too cheesy.”
Blanca shoots me a doubtful look.
“Do you not remember how the internet works? Besides, I don’t think this is the kind of exposure either of them want.”
My heart falls to my stomach, my hands growing cold. Oh, I can picture it. The comments, the ship names, the videos displaying evidence of Simón and me dating. The complete invasion of our privacy. Not that there’s anything for us to be private about. Suddenly, the room is too hot.
“I—”
My leather couch creaks as Blanca pushes to her feet, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. She collects both our empty glasses and gracefully carries them into the kitchen.
“You know, when you asked me over to read the article, I figured you had a lot more done,” she says, poking her head out from the kitchen. The sharp whistle of my coffee maker reaches me at the same time the smell does. “What with all the time you two have been spending together.”
“Is that jealousy I sense in your voice?” I ask, glad for the change of subject.
Blanca makes her way back, carrying two steaming mugs, one in each hand, as she snorts. “Hell no. Better him than me.” I take my favorite Mickey Mouse mug from her. “I just thought, you know, that you were on top of things.”
Notes of cocoa and wildflowers waft inside my nose as I take the first sip. My body temperature rises as freshly brewed coffee enters my bloodstream. Heavenly beverage. Pizza should be here in about ten minutes. If I want her to read my other project, the time is now.
With a few clicks, the document is open before me.
Caballo de Troya (Profile)
Picture this: It’s twenty years ago and bands play real instruments.
“La Camisa Negra” by Juanes is playing on the radio as you make your way to Los Cayos with your family.
Your mother is not yelling at you to turn off that god-awful music.
Your father is not reminiscing about the good old days when music was more than just noise.
In an age when the charts are dominated by urban music, I’d like to offer an alternative for the brave and the willing…
I bring the mug to my mouth again, stalling, but my hands are shaking so much I’m spilling some down my chin.
It’s fine. It’s exactly the kind of piece I’ve been dreaming of writing my whole professional career.
The kind of piece I’ve never had the chance to write.
The first thing I’ve written that isn’t a restaurant review or relationship advice.
I offer her the laptop again. “I’ve been working on something else.” Blanca frowns, looking down at the screen. “When I asked Simón for help, I offered him a profile on Caballo de Troya in exchange, when I get the promotion. I figured I should—”
Blanca lifts a hand. “Shh.”
I obey. The only sound in the apartment is my upstairs neighbor’s A/C dripping water onto my balcony. Blanca’s eyes move swiftly across the screen. I don’t think she notices, but as she reads, she leans forward more and more, until her nose is almost pressed to the screen.
My leg bounces up and down as I wait, but she’s taking forever.
“It’s not finished or anything. I still need to meet the rest of the band and interview them, but—”
“Marianto.” I shut up, meeting her eyes over the computer, my heart beating faster with each second. I wait for her verdict. “This is really good.”
I exhale, relieved. “Is it?”
Blanca nods. “Why don’t you take this somewhere else? I heard Eugenia talking about a new magazine, it’s called Ethos. Apparently, they’re growing superfast, like they could give Ellas a run for their money. It’s all anyone’s talking about.”
I shake my head. “Eugenia will see the potential in the band, she’ll want it. They’re a hidden gem.”
And me being back at Ellas, getting a promotion…it’s almost a done deal. If I started sending this out to magazines, I’d look like a groupie trying to make her favorite band happen, not someone who has grown up in the entertainment industry and could have a critical eye for new talent.
At least Eugenia already knows that side of me. And even if I were to leave, I still need a good reference from her. As proven by the previous interview process I went through, no one is going to take me seriously without one.
“It worries me how much you idolize Eugenia,” Blanca says. “She already hired a new Ella.”
“What?” My voice comes out pathetically soft.
“She started this morning,” Blanca says.
I sit a little straighter. “It makes sense to hire a new Ella if I’m not coming back to my old job, though.”
Blanca sighs. “Stop defending her. You may not see it right now, but this is the best thing that could have happened to you.”
“I—”
“The profile is good,” she continues. “You should focus on that and drop the whole experiment thing entirely. You deserve better than jealous phone calls and little airhead articles teaching women how to go back to the trash men they think they love.”
Knowing Blanca, she didn’t intend for her words to hit an invisible wound, but they do.
Sharp little needles that poke at the bubbles I’d blown in front of my doubts, in front of the nagging voice saying this—the experiments, Alejandro wanting me back, writing about how a near-perfect stranger is helping me put my heart back together—isn’t what I initially imagined.
I’m getting good at ignoring it. I almost did.
But I can always count on Blanca to see right through my smoke screens.
Her gaze softens and she sighs. “I’m sorry.” She’s not. “If you want my opinion on the experiments…cut Simón out of it. Unless you want to retitle it ‘How I Fell in Love with the Man Helping Me Get Back Together with My Ex.’ ”
My eyes snap up to meet hers. I’m stunned at the words.
It’s one thing to objectively say people are going to ship me with him.
Fine. That, I can see. And yes, Simón is ridiculously attractive, with messy hair, his signature hoodie, and his Paisa accent.
Have I fantasized about him kissing me? Yes, once.
But love? “I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
“Sure,” she says, pushing off the couch to grab my laptop. “Would you at least send an application to Ethos? You applied to all those other magazines and didn’t hear back, right? It can’t hurt.”
“Fine.” If it’ll get her to stop talking about Simón.
I get a notification for our food delivery, and she volunteers to go get it while I read through the application instructions on the website.
I hate that every line of the job description is like I’m being called home—looking to highlight the cultural scene of Latin America, looking for sharp, fresh, up-and-coming talent…
I don’t want to hope. I do anyway.