Chapter 35
The plane lands in the Simón Bolívar International Airport with a jolt.
Above us, another plane is taking off and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Simón is on it.
I spent the entirety of the flight with my headphones on, pretending to sleep while I listened to Caballo de Troya over and over and tried not to cry.
My mother tapped my shoulder once, but I continued my act and ignored her.
I know there’s a conversation we need to have, but I’m not ready to do it today, and I’m certainly not going to do it while we’re stuck on a plane and Mileidy is sitting two rows away.
When the plane comes to a stop, I pretend to wake up. My mother does not wait five seconds before she’s tapping my shoulder.
“Marianto, mamita, are you okay?” she says. “You look a little…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence.
A little what? I want to push her to answer. A little worn-out? Sad? Like I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going?
I unbuckle my seat belt and stand. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Sí.”
The door is open. I don’t wait for most people to vacate the plane like I normally do but instead fling myself into the mass of moving limbs. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to have a panic attack.
I’m sitting on a bench next to a donut shop waiting for my mother so we can go home, luggage at my feet, when my phone chimes with a new notification.
It’s an email. From Mileidy. No subject line.
I know it’s bad the instant I see it. We just shared a weekend on an island. She’s probably around this airport somewhere. Why does she need to send me an email without a subject line? My chest rises and falls rapidly, and my hand instantly opens and closes in an attempt to soothe myself.
The first thing I see when I open the email is a picture. My heart plummets. It’s us. Simón and I. Kissing at the beach.
No. The airport starts spinning around me, my heartbeat is loud in my ears. If I wasn’t sitting, I would have fallen to my knees. I shut my eyes instead, trying to get the ringing in my head to stop.
Of course we were seen. Of course. It was a public space, the only route to the beach, and we were staying at a hotel that, scarcely three hours prior, had been brimming with reporters.
The picture is a screenshot from a gossip website.
No, not a website. I recognize the color palette.
The font, even if the source is cropped.
The picture was published by Ellas. In the email, below the photo, there’s a message.
Short. Precise. It doesn’t need clarification.
You’re fired.
I remain there, sitting, eyes glued to the screen. I swallow hard. Mm-hm. Sounds about right.
—
I was going to quit anyway. I was going to quit anyway. I was going to quit anyway.
I repeat this in my head over and over, sitting in my living room, as my leg bounces up and down.
“She cannot do that,” my mother says, pacing the living room, both hands perched on her hips. “I’ll get her fired. See how she likes it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feigning calm. “Mamá. Stop,” I say. “She can, and she did.”
That’s not what I care about. I was going to quit anyway.
I just…I didn’t want to get fired. I didn’t want to burn possible bridges.
I wanted to leave, not to be thrown out.
All because of Ellas. And my own actions.
Of course. I shouldn’t have been publicly doing things I don’t want people to know about in the first place.
But Ellas. Eugenia had to approve it. And for it to come out on a Sunday?
Like Simón and I are Taylor Swift and literally anyone on earth?
Blanca texted she had no idea Eugenia was going to run a story about how her former romance columnist, who posted a video of her breakup, was now dating the Caballo de Troya vocalist Simón Arreaza.
“Bueno, what does Simón have to say about this?” my mother asks. “He didn’t get fired.”
Simón didn’t say anything about it because he doesn’t know. He’s probably still on the plane. And I sure as hell am not going to tell him.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is why I can’t have a relationship with someone from the business.
Because then my business becomes everyone’s business.
I knew this. I’ve been here before. I set the no-famous-people rule for a reason.
When I lived by it, everything was fine.
Rules are there to be followed. Especially rules that I planted with a clear head instead of a confused, smitten, silly little heart.
Hearts can’t be trusted. My heart is like a toddler with a marker.
“Simón is not an assistant,” I say instead. “If they fire Simón, they’ll have to reshoot the whole show. They’re not going to lose all that money because his assistant was dumb enough to get involved with him before she had the good sense to quit.”
Mamá shakes her head at me, disapprovingly.
“This wouldn’t be happening if you listened to me,” she says.
“No, Mamá.” I push to my feet and head toward the kitchen, drawing a long, steady breath. She follows. “This wouldn’t have happened if you listened to me. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t helped Alejandro set up a romantic dinner while we were away for work.”
“Disculpa, I’m not the one who was kissing Simón at the beach,” Mamá reminds me, which only serves to make my blood boil hotter. “That’s what got you fired.”
“No, but you are the one who flew my ex-boyfriend in, which is why I can’t talk to Simón right now.”
“I was trying to support your choice!” she says behind me. “He reached out to me, he said he needed to talk, so I helped him. I thought that’s what you wanted. What was I supposed to do?”
I turn around to face her. “I don’t know! Leave it alone? Support my choice to break up with him?”
“You said you were upset about the breakup,” she says.
“So what?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Only anger. Twenty-seven years of it. “I was with the man for four years and all you did was tell me how bad you thought he was for me.”
“Well, was I wrong?!” She opens her arms as if to say, Look at the mess you’re in.
I need some water. But my hands are shaking so hard I’m sure I’ll break a glass.
“That’s not the point,” I say. “The point is you only decided to support my choices after we’d broken up. God, that is so you.”
I have a mini fridge in my room with a water bottle inside. I attempt to leave and go lie down, to forget this whole day happened before I say anything I’ll regret. I sidestep around her. My door is right there. But her voice stops me.
“What,” she says, “pray tell, is so me?”
I groan, my hands fisting, as I turn back to face her.
“This. You, showing up for me when I don’t need you to anymore.
Making quasi-efforts only after it’s too late.
Ballet, college, Alejandro. You name it, you weren’t there when I needed you to be and you’ve been trying to make up for it now that I’m an adult, but it doesn’t work like that, Mamá! ”
“Marianto—”
“No.” The words flow out of me, causing wreckage like a swollen river, but I can’t stop now that I’ve started. “I didn’t need you to help patch things up between me and Alejandro, and I don’t need you talking to Mileidy—”
“Well, the whole reason you even have a job to lose is because I talked to Mileidy.”
I straighten. “You got me the job?”
Mamá looks away. I think back to the whispers, the little jabs from Irina’s assistant, how I was brought in after being rejected.
“I didn’t need you to do that,” I say.
“Clearly, you did.”
“No! No.” I’m so tired of her treating me like a child, of her good intentions messing up my life. “What I need is for you to stop casting judgment on my choices, take a step back, and let me screw up. Heaven knows you screwed up enough.”
I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. I’m frozen, eyes wide. Take it back. But my throat is tight, my eyes are burning, and no words come out. I should not have said that. I didn’t want to say that. I love my mother. I love her so much the thought of hurting her is unbearable.
Mom blinks, swallowing. There’s no taking it back. The damage is done. She should have let me go.
“I see.” She sniffs without meeting my eyes. “I’ll stay at a hotel tonight.”
“Mamá.” I take a step toward her, but she’s already picking up her suitcase—still packed from our return—and walking toward the door.
She stops before she opens it. “I did the best I could,” she says. “I’m still trying to do the best I can.”
“Mamá, wait—” I choke on the words.
She doesn’t wait. She walks through the door, slamming it on her way out.
I flinch, but don’t move beyond that. I let her go.