Enchanted By You

by Alexander, Hilaria

  “I see. You’re one of those people who claim they can work in their pajamas.”

  “Not always pajamas,” I tease. He breathes an almost incredulous laugh, and then scans me from head to toe again, lingering on the dress I’m wearing. Esteban’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His perusal pauses on my shoulders, as if he were trying to figure out how to undo the knots of my dress. He clears his throat, pushes his hair away from his face, and looks away. Even with his skin tone, I see a faint red hue color his cheeks. It’s one of the most endearing things I’ve ever seen, and I bite my lips to hold back my smile. Brad never blushed, even in the early stages of our relationship. He was always bright and confident, cocky even. I liked that about him, but seeing Esteban flustered like this, has me all…out of sorts in a way. In a very good way.

  My stomach flips again, and my panties dampen.

  Settle down, Ines.

  What am I doing, crushing for a man I’ve barely just met? What am I doing crushing on a stranger when I’m still married to someone else? Why do I have this overwhelming urge to know him and have him around me?

  It happened last night, too, when we said goodbye. Part of me didn’t want to let him go. It was the strangest pull.

  “Are you thinking about staying? You didn’t change your mind by any chance?” he asks, clearing his throat once again. I frown, considering his words. I suppose that’s a legitimate question. From the outside it might have looked like a married couple’s quarrel, but my marriage with Brad had been long on the rocks before this vacation. Still, I can’t be completely sure until I talk to my husband…who hasn’t even called or texted today.

  I shrug. “All signs point to yes,” I tell him, not needing to say more than that. The grin spreading across his face tells me he caught my terrible Magic 8-Ball humor. The smile on his face falls much too soon, however, and it saddens me when his expression becomes somber.

  “Have you heard from your husband?” he asks, with a tone so concerned it tells me he’s truly worried about me. At the mention of Brad, my stomach is in knots. It’s not just that I don’t understand why I have such a strong reaction to his question. Aside from the butterflies and the ache in my chest, I honestly don't want to talk about him. Somehow, discussing Brad with Esteban doesn’t feel right.

  “Not really.” I don’t want to tell him how every text I got from Brad last night was a “fuck you, bitch” message. I can’t see our communications getting any friendlier today. I wonder when and if he’ll change his tune. But I don’t intend to fall for his games again.

  Brad’s ego is bruised right now. And goddamn if I don’t know how easily it bruises. It might be days before he decides to start playing nice and before he’ll apologize for anything, if ever.

  Problem is, I don’t think I ever want to play nice with him again. I’m tired of going through the same pattern over and over. Argue, fight, make up. We’ve done it for years, and I’m at the end of my rope. I don’t think I love him anymore. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve felt in love with him.

  “Okay, here’s the password. So sorry about that.”

  “Actually, that reminds me, I need to pay you for the apartment.”

  “You’re staying?” she asks, incredulous.

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that? Yes, I am.”

  “It’s just…we weren’t sure you would want to stay. If there’s anything else we can do to help you out with your…situation, please let us know,” Lupe says in a tone sweeter than anything I’ve heard her say so far. She glances briefly in Esteban’s direction, and he straightens up immediately, somewhat flustered.

  “I should go. I’m glad you’re doing okay…Ines.” The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine and my skin erupts into goose bumps. I tell myself I’m acting stupid, but when I glance at him and meet the intensity of his eyes, the air leaves my lungs.

  “I’ll talk to you later, Lupe,” he says to his sister and then nods slightly in my direction. I nod my head, unable to say anything, and regret it immediately.

  I stifle my need to run after him and say something, the words almost bursting out of my chest.

  “Thank you for checking on me, Esteban,” I say, loud enough for him to hear me as he’s about to walk past the store’s entrance. He stops in his tracks and turns slightly, a charming grin stretching slowly across the side of his face visible to me.

  Once again, I’m taken aback by how strongly I’m pulled toward him. Too many emotions surface that I’m not prepared to handle.

  Excitement mixed with guilt and curiosity.

  He walks out of my line of sight and all I can think of is when I’ll see him again.

  Brad: I think we should talk.

  Brad texts me later that night. I knew we had to talk again, at some point, but when the phone buzzes and I read his name, I’m not ready. I’m still hurt and resentful, and a bit puzzled at how our lives together changed so quickly. I know I owe him at least the decency of talking to him. Maybe he’s had a chance to calm down and will actually listen to me for once.

  Me: You’re right. I think we should.

  Brad: Can I call you now?

  Me: Sure.

  I expect him to call my phone; instead he FaceTimes me. I don’t know why answering his FaceTime bothers me—it just does. I still have the image of a furious Brad in my head, and the last thing I want to do is see his face now. I accept his call reluctantly.

  “Hey.” He’s sitting outside in our backyard.

  “Hey, you,” he answers, taking a swig of his beer, looking happily buzzed and maybe a little high.

  I refrain from asking him if he had a good day, because that’s beside the point right now. We have more important things to talk about. As of last night, he was threatening to divorce me and leave me with nothing. I put most of what I got from selling my parents’ house toward our mortgage. He’s going to have to buy me out of what’s mine.

  “So…have you calmed down? Do you want to talk now? I don’t understand where your breakdown even came from,” Brad says, gesturing with his free hand.

  I shake my head in disbelief. Is he for real?

  “Brad…I don’t even know where to start with you.” I scratch my head, searching for words to relay my thoughts. “Before we get into it, how about I tell you that those are not the words you should say to me right now? You were the one who stormed out of the restaurant last night like an insane person. You were the one who caused a scene.”

  He tries to interrupt me, “Babe—”

  “Don’t babe me. You called me, remember? You said you wanted to talk. I thought you wanted to work things out. If you’re trying to make up, accusing me of being wrong right from the start won’t get you very far. You should know better.”

  “Jesus, Ines, come on. Can’t I even make a joke? Are you that thin-skinned that you can’t take a little teasing?”

  “Teasing? Do you think it’s the right time for teasing?” I frown. “Wait. Help me understand. Have you forgotten what happened between us last night?”

  “No, Ines, I didn’t forget,” he says in a deprecating tone. “It was fucking humiliating, okay? To have your wife snap like that in front of everyone and hear she’s not coming home? To have a stranger tell me to leave my wife alone? How did you expect me to react?”

  “It was all right to be upset, but you didn’t want to talk about it, remember? Things would have been different if you could have kept your cool. I expected you to at least try to listen to what I had to say, but you didn’t. You just stormed out of the restaurant like a crazy fool.”

  “We were supposed to get on a plane, helloooo! Some of us have real responsibilities, you know,” he says in an accusatory tone.

  I scoff. “Here you go again. What are you trying to say, exactly? I pay my share of our bills. I have a job. We’ve talked about this before. Because I do freelance work doesn’t mean I don’t work. I’m not a trophy wife, Brad.”

  “Whatever you say, Ines,
” he says, waving me off.

  This is not how I imagines this conversation would go down. I thought I would be talking to apologetic Brad, let’s-make-it-work Brad or I-love-you-and-I-can’t-live-without-you Brad.

  But it seems I was wrong.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on here, Ines. What…happened?” he almost slurs, but then his lips curl into a sad grin, and I realize he really is high.

  “Jesus…couldn’t you wait to get high until after we talked?”

  “I needed…courage,” he says. “I was nervous. I couldn’t sleep last night and this morning I was a wreck. I ended up calling in sick.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” You don’t have to apologize, I tell myself.

  “What happened last night, Ines?”

  I raise my eyebrows and close my eyes. Right now, it’s like dealing with a version of Brad who suffers from a severe case of amnesia.

  “I can’t talk to you like this.”

  “Don’t hang up. Please.” He’s pleading, but I don’t have it in me to fall for it. Am I being cold-hearted or self-preserving?

  “Tell me what I did wrong. Help me understand,” he says.

  “You were impossible the whole vacation. Do you know how many times we fought about stuff?”

  “No, I didn’t count. We didn’t fight, did we?”

  “Brad, are you serious? We had at least four arguments a day. While we were on vacation, Brad. While we were supposed to relax and reconnect. You said so yourself. Instead, this vacation was far from relaxing. It was stressful as hell for me, and I think it’s time to face the music. Things aren’t working between us. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “You don’t love me anymore.” He bites his bottom lip. My heart hurts for him, because I honestly believe that he loves me, even though he’s a terrible husband. But if I’m serious about changing my life I cannot let myself fall for this. It would only mean getting back on the carousel and starting all over again, until the next big round of fights.

  “It’s hard to love someone who berates you constantly.”

  “I don’t do that,” he says defensively, and I arch an eyebrow back at him.

  “How can you say that? Did you really forget about all the arguments we had over stupid stuff just a couple days ago?”

  He stares at me, looking apologetic, but he doesn’t say a word.

  “And it’s not just the fighting, Brad,” I let out with a deep sigh. “I don’t think we’re right for each other. We aren’t a good match.” I deserve better. Better than you. “I haven’t been happy for a long time, and I don’t think you have either.”

  “That’s not true. I love you, Ines.”

  “You might love me, but you have a crap way of showing it. A minute ago you were treating me like I have no real job or like I don’t contribute at all. All these little things hurt me, Brad. They have over the years. I’ve told you before how every time you belittle me you make me feel bad about myself. I don’t want to do that anymore. I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

  “We can try therapy,” he offers.

  “You won’t listen when I try to tell you how you make me feel, but you’ll listen to a therapist? I doubt that.”

  “Are you saying that this is it? Are we getting divorced?”

  “I guess so. That’s what I want.” I look down and avoid his eyes.

  A noise in the distance startles me.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” he says, pinching his nose, and only then I realize the bottle is not in his hands anymore. It’s probably shattered all over the concrete patio. Another outburst.

  We are both quiet for a minute, and I can’t even bear to withstand more of this video call.

  “Are you seriously staying in Albuquerque?”

  I shrug and try to give him the most diplomatic answer I can come up with.

  “I don’t think cohabitating is in our best interest. Los Angeles is hella expensive and Lily’s apartment is too small for me to stay there for a while. I would rather stay here for the time being.”

  “Ines…” His voice is deep and laced with emotion. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can say to make you change your mind?”

  I press my lips together and try to break it to him as gently as I can.

  “No, Brad. I’m afraid there’s not.”

  Chapter Eight

  A couple of weeks later, my husband serves me with divorce papers. I open the FedEx envelope in front of Lupe.

  “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” she asks, concerned.

  I shake my head no. “I’m okay.” I smile to reassure her. I had more than a couple days to get used to the idea. I’d heard from my attorney that the documents were being routed to me.

  I’m not hyperventilating anymore like I was a few days ago, when my reaction gave her a scare.

  I pull the documents out of the envelope and stare at them. I run my fingers across the words “petition” and “marriage" and I scan until I see the checked box for “divorce.” My eyes fall on my ring finger, which is now naked. I took my engagement and wedding rings off my finger after I talked to Brad on the phone and it was clear—at least to me—that we weren’t going to find common ground. There’s a white line on my finger, where the two rings had been for the last seven years.

  “It really is for the best,” I tell her. “I think my brain is still trying to get used to the idea.”

  After the initial call with Brad the day after I moved in, I was hoping we could find common ground. Instead, things took a sour turn, as most separations and divorces do. He didn’t accept my decision and was determined to fight me about everything. He was threatening to sue on grounds of abandonment, because according to him, I’d left him.

  Richard, Lily’s father and my attorney, suggested I should maybe agree to come back to LA, but I was reluctant.

  I didn’t want to return to our home in LA. The thought of having to give in because he wouldn’t accept that there was no hope for us made me want to puke. We didn’t talk on the phone anymore. We only communicated via email or text.

  After days and days of unpleasant exchanges, it was evident there was no sign or hope for reconciliation. He continued to dish out guilt in his usual way, and I was over it.

  Arguing for days via text had taken a toll on me, and I felt claustrophobic in my nest of an apartment, so I rushed downstairs to the courtyard. I sat on a bench in the shade, occasionally pacing, waiting for his next message. I dreaded a phone call from him, even though he hadn’t called in over a week, because I knew it wouldn’t be pretty. He wasn’t sorry, even after that first call, when he was trying to lure me back in with puppy dog eyes. He was still angry at me, and I felt drained.

  While I argued with him through texting, I kept pacing in the courtyard, hoping no one would notice me. I knew this wasn’t the life I wanted or deserved, and I prayed the day would come that I didn’t have to put up with this anymore.

  We weren’t right for each other. Or maybe he wasn’t right for me. My fingers became slippery around the phone as I got more and more overheated.

  I collapsed again on the bench when I got everything off my chest and when I told him I was done. I placed the phone next to me, waiting for his reply.

  Like I said, we’d been down this path many times before; fighting was always followed up by kissing and making up.

  But not this time.

  Brad: Tell me where I should overnight the papers. I’m ready to be fucking done with you.

  My lips trembled, and I whimpered before my throat tightened up and tears ran down my cheeks. My nose started running and I tried to clean up the best I could with my hand before someone saw the state I was in.

  I kept telling myself I needed to peel myself off the bench and go upstairs, but I couldn’t move. My sobs became louder, and I started heaving. I couldn’t breathe. I was having a full-on panic attack.

  Lupe found me in tears, beside myself, and took me upstairs.

>   “I’m so sorry for the other day.” Her concern for me is rolling off in waves. “I must have given you quite the scare.”

  She frowns and lets out a breath. “I mean…I wasn’t sure how you were going to react, but I expected that sooner or later the reality of what was happening would sink in. I didn’t want you to be alone for that.”

  “Thank you for being here for me,” I tell her. She nods, pursing her red lips, her eyes wary. I’m not sure if she’s still worried about me, or there’s something she wants to say.

  “Do you have an attorney yet? I know you said you don’t want to leave, but you’ll have to hire someone to represent you.”

  “My friend Lily’s father is a divorce attorney. He’s representing me. Lily and I have been friends since we were kids and he’s been like a second father growing up. Lucky me.” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Did you tell your parents?”

  It’s my turn to purse my lips. I let out a breath before saying the words I always say in this situation. And brace for the apologetic expression.

  “My parents passed away years ago. My father had a stroke when I was a teenager, and my mother had one of those ugly, aggressive types of lung cancer right after I graduated college. She never even smoked. I’m an only child and I don’t really have any family.” There, my entire history was out. Now she had the rundown of my situation. I was on my own with the exception of Lily and a few friends. Brad had been the only constant in the last decade of my life. Maybe that was why we decided to get married so young.

  No. Loneliness wasn’t the reason. You loved him, I tell myself. It’s true. I did love him. Is it possible that it’s truly over?

  I search my heart for any feelings of remorse, but I come up empty.

  Lupe circles around the counter and wraps her arms around me. She’s a few inches shorter than me. Her arms hold me tight and her embrace warms my chest, but the knot in my throat renders me speechless. I reciprocate her embrace, relishing the closeness with another human being. I’ve been okay, mostly, but I can’t deny that I’ve felt a little lonely from time to time.