“No, she’s fine,” I say truthfully, as I let Jean know I’ll be back later and tuck the phone back into my pants pocket.
“Then what’s that about the spotting and doctor and all that.”
“Man, you’re nosey,” I remark, my hostility bleeding through.
It slides right off his back, though, and he presses on. “You weren’t talking about you, right?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, debating on how much to tell him. But in typical Mark fashion, he fills in the blanks for me.
“Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He stares at me, and I stare right back, and then after a moment he says, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Not one to lie, I shrug and look away. “That’s what I’m waiting to find out.”
The silence is thick and oppressive, unlike the kind that Alejandro and I share. It’s the perfect representation of what Mark’s and my relationship has become though.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “Didn’t he use a condom?”
“We kind of got carried away. It was the last thought on either of our minds.”
He looks at me with utter bafflement and a heavy dose of shock. It’s easy to see that this bit of news has hit him hard. Good, I laugh to myself. He should be affected.
“So, you don’t know if you are or not yet?”
“I had a positive test a couple weeks ago and I have a lot of symptoms telling me I am. I’m just waiting for blood test to confirm it.”
This sends him into another bout of reflection in which I silently cheer. Call me a bitch, but it feels good to see him hurting. And he is hurting. He might deny it later, but he’s barely holding it together right now. I can see the pain in his eyes, and when he gets up and walks off toward the bathroom again and doesn’t return for nearly ten minutes, I know he’s been crying again.
It’s hard not to wonder what his little mistress would think if she knew how utterly affected he is by my involvement with another man, that he runs off to cry it out. To me it says that he’s not nearly done with me, but the problem is, I am beyond finished with him. It becomes clearer every day, through odd behavior like this, that Mark will come crawling back someday, but my door is now forever closed to him. When someone you pledged to love the rest of your life inflicts soul-deep pain like he has, the wounds cut deep and never truly heal. After coming as far as I have, going back to him would be a death sentence.
When the woman calls us back to sort out the support order, Mark is still pulling himself together, but knowing him as well as I do, I’m the only one who sees how broken he really is.
We drove here together, since Mark was too nervous to try to find the place by himself, and we drive back to my house afterward so he can see the kids for a brief visit before returning to his cramped apartment to play the dutiful boyfriend.
The talks between us are friendly, amicable, and he attempts to pry more private information out of me. As usual, I only give him the bits and pieces I’m willing to share, things that leave him wanting more and are designed to drive him crazy later. I can tell by the way he presses for information that I’m doing a fine job of it, which pleases me. I hope he loses tons of sleep tonight.
Thankfully, we arrive back at the house, offering the perfect distraction, and I can break away. I let Alejandro know that the hearing went well and ask how his day is going. He asks for a picture and I’m thankful I put in some practice earlier so I have one on standby. I send it and then I get started on dinner. Mark lingers long enough to eat before running off to make dinner for the tramp who doesn’t cook at all because “it’s not her thing.”
The peace that settles over the house once he’s gone is like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night—soft and cozy. In fact, everything is calmer since Mark has been gone, making me realize what a negative presence he was all these years. I’ve heard distance makes the heart grow fonder, but sometimes, it serves as an eye-opening experience instead.
6
I get a text from Alejandro with a link, followed by a text that says:
A: Listen up that song ^^
I’m lying on the couch, watching some lame movie about moms who go crazy together after snapping under the pressure of unrealistic societal pressures when I read the text. It’s a perfect and welcome distraction.
I pause the movie and click on the link. It’s a song called “Diles,” which means “Tell Them” and it’s all in Spanish. I listen to it twice through before I hit the computer and look up the lyrics so I can then look those up and fill in the blanks for what I don’t already know.
It’s a sexy song. Like, really damn sexy. Talking about knowing my favorite positions and handprints on car windows, it reminds me a lot of all the naughty, uninhibited things we’ve already done together, and I’ve no doubt that’s where his mind was when he listened to it too. Everything about him, from the way he smiles, laughs, speaks makes me weak…everywhere.
Lying back down on the couch, I text back.
Me: Thank you baby. That’s very sexy
A: You like it?
Me: Very much
Me: You’re bad
A: That’s right Mami
A: You have to watch out for me
Me: I can see that
A: I miss you
A: Send me a pic
I sigh out loud, but I’m smiling. There’s no point denying that I would do anything and everything he asks, so I might as well not even bother kicking up a fuss—we both know I’m going to give in.
So I pull up the camera on my phone, extend my arm, and snap the picture. I hate it. I take five more, all in varying angles. After a moment of review, I select the most acceptable one and send it to him.
A: You so cute
Me: <3
Me: Your turn
A moment later, he sends me one of himself, and my heart stutters before racing. He’s too damn sexy for his own good.
Me: I miss your face :(
A: I miss you too Mami
Me: When are you coming back
A: Idk
A: Soon I hope
Me: Me too
A: You going to wait for me
Me: Of course
A: I love you Mami
Me: I love you too Papi
A: I hope this works out
Me: What, us?
A: Yes us
Me: Me too baby
That night, I go to sleep with an ache of longing in my chest. I project out, picturing what my future with Alejandro might look like. I imagine if we stay together for the long haul, he’ll be gone often, and I’ll be alone like I am now. Is it worth it, the long distance, the many nights alone? I don’t know how I’ll feel down the road, to be honest, but right now, he’s worth it. I’m too attached to let go anytime soon. Hell, maybe never. I took a chance with my heart the day I decided to respond to that message on the dating site, and there’s just no turning back now. I have to see this through or I’ll always wonder what if.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and it takes a couple times before I realize it’s not just a text or notification responsible—someone is calling.
My heart lurches, and I reach to grab it. Alejandro’s name lights the screen and I swipe my finger across it to answer. “Hello?” I say groggily. There’s a shuffle and then the line goes dead.
I sigh, then briefly debate dialing him back, but I’m still recovering from the rush of seeing his name. And I’m not fully awake yet. I take a moment to catch my breath…and that’s when he starts texting.
A: Buenos dias Mami
Me: Hey baby. Sorry I just missed your call
A: You still sleeping?
Me: Not anymore lol
A: Get that ass out of bed lol
Me: Why don’t you come over here and make me
I laugh as I hit send. It’s a tease, but it’s also a request. I really do wish he was here to make
me.
A: How did you sleep?
Me: Okay. Better if you were here
A: I miss you
Me: I miss you too
I feel like we’re always going to be saying that. Missing him is becoming a common theme in our relationship, but I guess I’d rather miss the man I love and know it’s just a matter of time before we’re reunited than never see him again at all.
Alejandro and I exchange a few more texts and, of course, pictures. I swear, it must be love if I’m willing to reveal my face without makeup and a full case of bedhead. Thank God he isn’t here to experience morning breath. That’s where I draw the line.
Once I finally drag my butt out of bed and shower, I launch into the morning routine of getting the kids up and ready for school. It’s an hour-long process of constant reminders and idle threats, then the five-minute roundtrip to school and home again only to waste too much time downloading songs for my iPod before I start cleaning.
“Diles” is first on my list, and I listen to it on repeat a few times, calling up all sorts of memories of my times with Alejandro. Handprints on the car window. Whispered words and promises. Quiet kisses, breathless pleas, sweat-slicked skin, and late-night conversations, among other things.
I smile so much and for so long, it’s a wonder my face doesn’t hurt.
When I finally sit down to start working, my mind is on overload. Images of the past couple of months that are always playing on the surface of my mind become my inspiration, and I know that the projects I’ve been working on won’t be the center of my focus unless I can somehow purge these thoughts.
So, I pull up a new Word document and start writing.
The day blurs by, my thoughts focused so intently that I don’t even notice the hours pass. If my stomach wasn’t grumbling, drawing my attention, I’d probably sit in front of the computer all day without a second thought.
I’m thankful for the hunger, though. On my way to the kitchen, I glance at the clock and curse. The girls are out of school in a matter of minutes, and I’m still in my pajamas.
I race upstairs to my room, throw on something vaguely presentable for the middle of the afternoon, and call out to my son that I’ll be right back.
He knows the routine by now, but I never feel right just leaving him to an empty house without first giving fair warning.
When I pull up to the school, my girls are just reaching the end of the parking lot. I’m right on time.
“Hey, how was your day?” I ask them as per usual.
With a lax tone, they say in unison, “Fine.”
“Anything fun and exciting happen today?”
“No,” my youngest says.
“No,” her sister repeats.
“Nothing? Did you go outside for recess or anything? What did you have for lunch?”
If possible, their answers are even more lifeless than their first. “Well, my day was pretty good,” I say as I navigate the side streets back home. “I got a lot of writing done today.” It’s my main source of income, which is terrifying now that I am truly on my own. I honestly don’t know how I’ve managed not to dip into the savings these last few months. Looking down the road, though, is what really shakes me. But I’m choosing to focus on today. Everything will work out, one way or another.
The girls think me being a writer is cool. They tell their friends and teachers all about it, even though they know very little. The content isn’t exactly kid-friendly, but I love that they’re as proud of me as I am of them. Still, they have a distinct lack of enthusiasm as I talk about it.
Must be one of those days.
Giving up on general conversation, I say, “Well, I lost track of time today, so what do you say we go out to eat tonight?” I shouldn’t be spending the money, especially when I worry so much about where the next dollar will come from, but we’re not in dire straits—yet—and sometimes we all need a break from the monotony. Sometimes, we have to have a treat just to feel normal, even if only for an hour.
“Yeah!” my youngest practically yells.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. What do you guys feel like eating?”
Of course, they throw out all the usual fast food joints, but I suggest something more family oriented. They balk, wanting to eat at home rather than going through the trials and tribulations of eating in an actual restaurant, but I eventually get them to agree to my way of thinking.
I want family time. An hour to just sit and talk and not be distracted by cell phones and television. I want to talk to them, hear about their lives, interact. Lord knows we don’t do it nearly enough.
Since they love tacos, we find a Mexican restaurant nearby that we’ve never been to. It’s an adventure for all of us. For me because I’ve always had a fear of doing new things. That feeling of being out of my element, not knowing where to go, what to say, how things work, make me feel like I stick out like a sore thumb. For them, it’s just a fear of trying new food. If only life were that simple again for me. To be a child again…
They don’t know how good they have it.
Holding my head up high, I carry myself as if I’ve been coming here all my life, telling myself that I’m not on display, people are not staring, and I’m not the first to be the last to discover what has probably been in operation for the better part of a decade.
The inside of the restaurant is just what I would expect: hand-painted murals on every wall, colorful everything from the tables to the counters to the tiled floors. Salsa music plays in the background, and it’s everything warm and homey and inviting. I notice the staff all appear to be Mexican and the hostess herself—a beautiful young woman around the age of twenty with long, silky black hair and an amazing accent—greets us right away. We’re guided to a table that overlooks a bank of windows with a view of the harbor, completing the experience.
We spend our time joking around and talking about nonsense while we eat authentic cuisine that’s out-of-this-world amazing, then we dive into plates of sopapillas which they’ve made out of fried tortillas and drizzled with honey and dusted with cinnamon.
We leave stuffed to the gills and lighter in spirit than we’ve been in months.
“Thank you, guys, for getting along so well tonight. I’m glad I didn’t have to beat any of you,” I tease as I open the back door and step aside to allow the kids to file past into the house.
I’m pretty sure I hear their eyes roll in their sockets. The kids are so well-behaved now that Mark is gone, as if they’ve all just pulled together to form a united front with me. It’s a welcome change from the daily fights and endless bickering of the past.
“I wish I still had some of those sopa…sopa…”
“Sopapillas,” I supply for my little one.
“Yeah, those. They were sooooo good,” she says dramatically, her knees buckling and her body slouching until she looks like a wax figure that’s been left out in the sun too long.
“Well, maybe we can go back sometime and have some more.”
“Tomorrow?” she asks, her eyes lighting with excitement.
I laugh. “No, not tomorrow, silly.” I glance at the clock, noting the time. “It’s getting late and you have school tomorrow. Run up and take a shower real quick, and then I’ll come tuck you into bed.”
“But I just took a shower yesterday,” she complains.
“No, you took one two days ago, you greasy bum.” I ruffle her shiny head of hair then grab her by the shoulders and spin her toward the stairs. “Go hop in the shower.”
“But I’ll slip!”
I see the smirk on her face and swat her butt playfully. “Get moving, wise guy.”
She runs off with a squeal, and a moment later I hear the shower running. After a quick cleanup around the house, I go to my room and lie on the bed, waiting for my turn to shower and change. I check my messages, my heart falling when I don’t see anything new from Alejandro. So I send one myself.
Me: Como estas sexy man
&n
bsp; Then, even though a part of me wants to sit there and stare at the screen until I get a reply, I pull up Jean’s name and send her a text too.
Me: Hey. What are you up to
J: Just finished making dinner
Me: I didn’t get an invite!
Me: What did you make me
J: Fried chicken and noodles
Me: Sounds good. I just got back from taking the kids to dinner
J: And you didn’t invite me? I’m offended
Me: lol
Me: We went to a new Mexican place
J: Was it good?
Me: Fantastic
J: You’re really getting into the Spanish stuff huh lol
Me: Hey, it’s Taco Tuesday somewhere
J: lol
J: Heard any more from your Latin lover?
Me: Yep. We talk every day
J: Good. He better keep it that way.
J: I have my pliers ready to take off parts if he doesn’t
Me: lmao
J: I’m not kidding. I’m not afraid of prison
J: I look amazing in orange
Me: You sure do
J: Any news on the baby front
Me: Still waiting
J: OMG people! I’m about to call them myself
Me: I know. The suspense is killing me
J: What does Alejandro have to say about all of this
Me: He said he’d be happy
J: he better be…pliers
Me: hahahahaha
J: What about Mark? Does he know?
Me: Yeah. He started crying
J: Idiot
Me: Yup
J: Why doesn’t he just admit he wants to come home
Me: Because he’s an idiot ^^
J: Ugh.
I couldn’t have said it better myself. Jean has known Mark as long as I have, and I tell her everything. There isn’t much about my life that she isn’t privy to, so she’s just as invested in the outcome as I am. It’s comforting to have her in my corner.
My phone vibrates and I see Alejandro’s bubble with his handsome face pop up next to Jean’s.
Mami: Based on a True Story Page 4
