by Jane Igharo
“I also like the names Matías and Catalina or—”
“Um . . . I would like to give my child an Edo name. If it’s a boy, Esosa. It means ‘God’s gift.’ And if it’s a girl, Amenze. It means ‘a river that’s calm and brings order to chaos.’”
“They’re beautiful names,” Isabel says, smiling. “But you must understand our side of the family won’t recognize those names.”
And my family won’t recognize or understand Ximena or Mateo.
Baby names that reflect our two cultures—it’s something Rafael and I have discussed casually. Clearly, we need to discuss it in depth. Separate from his family.
“What about the name—”
“Okay,” Rafael says, interrupting his mother. “Why don’t we talk about something else?”
“Yes. Why don’t we?” Selena agrees, turning to me. “Azere.” One eyebrow lifts off its base in a pronounced arch. “I’m curious. What in the world is a girl as fabulous as yourself doing with my bore of a brother?”
The question makes everyone laugh.
“Seriously. Give me a little insight because I don’t get it. Why are you with Rafael?”
“Well . . . um . . . he’s a pretty cool guy.”
“A pretty cool guy?” Selena shakes her head. “Nope. That doesn’t work for me. Please elaborate.”
Everyone at the table, including Rafael, seems just as interested in my elaboration. They’re a nosy bunch, prying into my personal business just as my family did when Rafael visited. Back then, all those months ago, he confidently and sincerely expressed himself to my family. I owe him the same courtesy.
Smiling, I turn to him. Things aren’t perfect with us, but what makes being with Rafael easy is recalling all the reasons why I care about him. “He has a good heart,” I say. “He’s selfless. His confidence isn’t arrogant or offensive. He makes me happy. My career, my dreams matter to him.
“He supports my romantic movie addiction. He is already obsessed with our unborn child. He talks to my stomach far too much, but it’s the cutest thing. Rafael is . . . he’s amazing.”
“You’re pretty damn amazing too, cariño.” He leans into me and presses his lips to mine.
Momentarily, I forget his family is present. The world around me dissolves. I swear his saliva is laced with some venom that penetrates my system and renders me delirious and half-witted. Whenever he kisses me, no matter how brief, reason eludes me, and I forget I’m kissing lying lips. Even now, I struggle to resist the effect of his kiss. My attempt is unsuccessful until someone coughs. Finally, Rafael sets me free, and the world comes into focus again.
“Oh my God.” Embarrassed, my cheeks turn hot. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Isabel says, laughing. “That was—”
“Totally adorable!” Selena shouts.
“He’s obviously crazy about her,” Max adds. He takes a sip of red wine from the goblet in his hand. “Haven’t seen him with puppy-dog eyes since Sofia.”
The instant Max utters the name, everyone falls quiet. Even the silverware stops clinking against the china. All eyes are downcast except for Gabriel’s. His features harden as he regards Max with a censoring glare. He says something in Spanish, his tone gruff. I don’t understand what he’s said. I don’t understand why the atmosphere has suddenly changed. I look to Rafael for answers.
“Who’s Sofia?”
He says nothing.
“Rafael?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze, and that’s when my heart races.
“Who is Sofia?”
“His wife,” Max answers. “Sofia was Rafael’s wife.”
No one makes a sound as I turn to Rafael and wait for his explanation, his defense, his denial—anything. But he doesn’t utter a word, so I do the only thing I can while dining with his upper-class family. Under the table, I pull my hand from his and continue eating with a stoic expression keeping my face straight.
chapter
32
When I step into my apartment, he’s behind me. When I pull off my shoes, he pulls off his. My coat comes off next, and so does his. When I walk into the living room, he mimics my steps, and I halt. I look at him for the first time since Max revealed the truth—a truth Rafael kept from me for months, a truth he didn’t even bother explaining during our extremely quiet ride home.
“Rafael, you can’t stay here tonight. I don’t want you here. Please leave.” I hurry to my room, not caring to read the expression on his face.
“Azere, wait. Please.” When I enter the bedroom, he grabs me.
“No! Don’t touch me!” I wrench my arm from his grip and shove him back. “A wife! You were married!” Tears drop, dampening the mold of mascara on my lashes. “How could you keep something like that from me?”
“I thought . . .” He tightens his jaw. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Okay.” I rub my wet eyes and mascara residue accompanies tears, painting my hand black. “Then tell me now. Tell me everything.” My anger, intensified by pregnancy hormones, is passing. “Who is she? Is she the woman in the picture?”
“Yes.”
And he still has a picture of her stashed away. Why? Does he still love her? I’m not prepared for the answer. “What happened between the two of you? How come you’re no longer married? Tell me.”
“Azere, I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.” A deep blush tints his white skin. “Just let it go. Please.”
“You’re keeping things from me. I know you are. And this happens to be one of them. You can’t ask me to just let it go. That isn’t fair, Rafael.”
“Zere, I’m not asking.” He expels a shaky breath and ruffles his hair. “I’m begging you. Please. Just stop.”
I have never seen him like this. Pain and dread are apparent in his watery eyes and trembling voice. Maybe I shouldn’t push any further. Maybe I should just let it go, but I have so many questions. One especially keeps coming to mind. I have to ask it.
“What’s her ethnicity? Sofia. Is she like you, Spanish?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course.” He was with someone who fit him perfectly, while I am a puzzle piece being forced where it doesn’t belong. “She was perfect for you, and I bet things were so much easier with her.”
“Zere, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“Tonight, your mother and I almost got into an argument about baby names—Edo or Spanish. At the baby shower, she made a speech about taking our child to Spain.” The recollection makes me anxious. “Rafael, I’m starting to wonder where my culture will stand in our child’s life. Will it be secondary or maybe nonexistent while yours is front and center?”
“Of course not, Azere.” His voice is soft, soothing as he tries to reassure me. “That will never happen.”
“But what if it does? How am I sure you won’t impose your culture on our child and push mine to the sidelines? How am I sure you won’t eventually do the same to me?”
“Azere, I’m not imposing my culture on you.” He edges toward me, a small step. “But we’ll have to learn how to compromise. I’ll learn and adopt some of your culture and you’ll learn and adopt some of mine. For the sake of our child and our relationship, we’ll compromise and make it work.”
“I’ve compromised enough.”
I’ve been compromising for thirteen years, rearranging things so I can exist in two different worlds. Now, he wants me to exist in a third—his. I can’t do that. And maybe I’m being unreasonable and even selfish, but I’m terrified—terrified that adopting Rafael’s culture will put me at greater risk of losing my mine. After all, my mother warned me of the possibility.
How much more of yourself, of your culture will you lose to accommodate him in your life?
The question she asked me months ago buzzes in my head like a fly trapped in a jar. I consider i
t deeply. Next, I recall the heartfelt promise I made to my dying father and the disappointment in my mother’s eyes when she learned I was pregnant with Rafael’s child. Last, I close my eyes and envision the life I meticulously planned as a child—simple, uncompromising, and with a man whose heritage was similar to mine. After all this, I look at Rafael and gather the courage to say what needs to be said.
“I can’t do this anymore.” A long breath gushes out my mouth, deflates my chest and makes my shoulders slump. “I’ve been trying, Rafael. For months, I’ve been trying to hold things together, but it’s all become too much.” Tonight—right now—is the breaking point. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be with you.”
“What?” He freezes momentarily, regards me, then shakes his head firmly. “No. Zere, you don’t mean that.”
“Yeah. I do. You want me to compromise, but what will happen once I do? Will I adopt some of your culture and lose some of mine? Will I eventually stop eating Edo food? Will I stop speaking my language? Will I eventually forget who I am and where I come from?
“Rafael, that was my father’s greatest fear. That was why he asked me to make that promise. A promise I broke by being with you, by choosing you. I made a mistake. This—us, you and me— it’s a mistake.”
Within seconds, I’ve said everything I’ve been harboring and mulling over for months. Yet, I’m not certain if those words are genuinely mine or my mother’s.
“Rafael.” I can’t hold his stare. I can’t look at his dejected eyes and confront what I’ve just done to him. “I’ll see you at the office and at doctor appointments, but that’s it. If you want to check on me for any reason, use a phone. You can’t come over. When the baby is born, we’ll figure out a shared-custody arrangement. Now.” I suck in air and release it. “Leave. Just go. I’ll pack up all your stuff and have it sent over.”
For a long while he’s dazed. He says nothing, and then he blinks sharply. “Azere, honey, you’re just upset. I understand. We’ll sleep on it and talk in the morning. Okay?” He takes off his wristwatch and tosses it on the dresser like he usually does before going to bed.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He pulls his tucked shirt out of his pants.
“Stop it, Rafael. I want you to leave.”
He undoes the buttons.
“You’re not listening to me!”
“Because you’re being ridiculous!” He slams his fist against the dresser, and I flinch. “You’re making irrational decisions and quite frankly, acting insane. And I know you’re upset, so I’m going to stay. I’ll sleep on the couch. Hell, I’ll sleep on the balcony if you want. But I’m not leaving.” Resolve toughens his voice. “Tomorrow, we can talk and figure this out. Or you can ignore me if you want. And whenever you’re ready to talk, whether it’s tomorrow or next week or next month, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving, Azere. I’m not leaving because I’m in love with you.” He sighs, and his voice is soft again, vulnerable. “I love you. So much.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until tears overflow, spilling down my chin and hitting my chest. Those words. He’s never said them before, and hearing them makes me both ecstatic and miserable. It’s the best thing he’s ever said to me, but it’s the last thing I need to hear right now.
“Rafael.” My hands tighten to fists that shake at my sides. I’m fighting the urge to reach out to him, to kiss him. “I need you to listen to me. We can’t be together. Okay? Apart from the differences in our cultures and the fact that you’ve been keeping things from me, I’ve been dealing with the guilt of disappointing my parents. I’ve been dealing with the fact that my mother has disowned me because I chose you. It’s been killing me, Rafael. So, I can’t be with you anymore. I just can’t do it. I am so sorry.”
“But I—”
“Rafael, you need to respect my decision. You need to leave. If you don’t, I’ll go instead. I’ll stay in a hotel until you’re gone.”
He doesn’t say a word. He must be frustrated and hurt, but his face is suddenly blank, and it reveals nothing. His eyes are cold and hard like the opaque sheet of ice that conceals the depths of a lake. He walks to the front door and puts on his shoes and coat.
“Don’t forget Milo,” I say. The dog is sleeping on a cushioned mat adjacent to the sofa. “Please take him.”
Rafael doesn’t object. He scoops Milo into his arm, pulls the front door open, and walks out.
In bed, curled in the same spot Rafael usually sleeps in, I cry hard until I’m panting and clutching my chest. It hurts. It hurts so bad. There’s a grip around my heart, squeezing the life out of it until it’s a shriveled, raisin-like thing.
Maybe I made a mistake. If it hurts this much, maybe it’s the wrong decision. I should go to him, talk to him, fix this. But I quickly recall the reasons why I can’t do that, why I can’t be with Rafael even though his absence is tearing me apart.
chapter
33
The worst part about being without him is going home—going home to silence, to dinner alone, to an empty bed. The best part about work is him. Knowing he’s close loosens that grip around my heart.
This morning, I saw him briefly as he walked toward the elevator. We greeted each other as civil colleagues would and that was it. It’s currently 7:30 p.m. on the same day, and he hasn’t returned to the office. When we were a couple, he would tell me where he was off to, what clients he was meeting, and what business he was conducting. I’m no longer entitled to that information.
I’m working late tonight. I’ve worked late most nights since our breakup. Four weeks and two days—that’s how long it’s been. I miss him. Terribly. But I immerse myself in work. It’s a distraction that offers the perk of seeing him.
In the office kitchen, I look through the window while waiting for the electric kettle to boil water. The trees that decoratively align the sidewalk are bare now—all bony, dainty branches covered with fresh snow, courtesy of late November. When someone enters the kitchen, I give up the view and spin around.
“Hey, Arianna. You heading out?”
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s getting late. Plus, I have a date tonight.” She walks toward me in her usual style—body straight, one leg falling in front of the other, and hips swaying from side to side. “Looks like it’s just gonna be you here. Heading home anytime soon?”
“Yeah. In about an hour. I’ve got some stuff to finish up.”
“Cool.” She turns to leave, but pauses and faces me again. “By the way, is it just me or do things seem a little off between you and Rafael? You guys don’t seem too couple-like these days. Trouble in paradise?”
Of course the dynamics of our relationship have changed since the breakup. Among many things, we no longer have lunch together, nor do we arrive and leave work together. I’m sure my coworkers have noticed. Though, the only person aware of the breakup is Christina. No one else knows. No one else asks or pries except for Arianna, who has no boundaries and who would thrive with a career as a gossip blogger.
“So?” she persists. “What’s going on between you two?”
“How about you mind your business, Arianna? You must have enough going on, seeing that you have a date and there’s a run in your pantyhose.”
“Oh shit!” She gawps at her legs, mortified. “I gotta go. I might have an extra pair in my car.” She leaves in a hurry, not moving in her usual style.
“Have fun on your date!” Well, that worked out better than planned. I fill a cup with hot water and while ripping open a bag of peppermint tea, approaching footsteps resound. Great. She’s back. “Forget something, Arianna?” I turn around, but it’s not my nosy colleague at the entrance. It’s someone else. Someone I never, ever expected.
“Hi, Azere,” Elijah says, wearing his signature side-slung grin. “Arianna left, but she told me where to find you. How are you?”
“Um . . . I’m oka
y.” But more than anything, I’m confused. “Elijah, what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry for just showing up like this, but I really needed to see you.” His eyes land on my stomach, which swells in a white cashmere sweater. “I went by your apartment. You weren’t there. I figured you might be here.” His eyes meet mine again. “Can we talk?”
“Talk about what?”
“Well, I saw your mom today,” he says. “I went by her place. She asked me to come over. She wanted us to talk. About you.”
“Excuse me?” What the hell? My mom won’t even talk to me about me, but she talks to Elijah. Wonderful. “What exactly were you two discussing?”
“She told me you ended things with Rafael.”
I shared the news with Efe. She shared it with our mother, but that hasn’t changed the status of our relationship. She’s still shutting me out.
“Zere, I’m sorry about the breakup.”
“Seriously?” I arch an eyebrow. “Are you really?”
He contemplates before speaking his truth. “No. I’m not. Because I want to be with you.” He inches toward me until there’s no space between us. “I love you, Azere. I always have, and I’m very certain that will never change. We always talked about having a family. Well, we still can. We can be a family—you, me, and this baby, who I will love because I love you. I’ll make you happy, Azere.”
I don’t think he can, but us together will make my mother happy. She’ll forgive me if we’re together and that means more.
“We don’t have to rush, Azere. We could take things slow until you’re ready.” He holds my cheek in the curve of his large palm. “I’ll be patient for as long as you need.”
