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“Go put it on now. I’m sure it kills you to take it off,” Blanca says.
I slide off the stool. “It does. I’ll be right back.”
Heading down the hall, I snag my purse on the way, pulling out my phone.
Me: Does Blanca think our marriage is real??
No response.
Me: Dom!?
Finally I hear him tell Blanca he’s got to return this email and to give him a second.
Dom: She doesn’t know. She’ll tell Ma.
Me: I hate all this lying.
Dom: It’s just Blanca.
Me: She’s your sister.
Dom: Exactly, my sister.
I throw the phone on the bed and sit down. Why am I annoyed that he’s keeping our secret from his sister? He kept it from his cousins. He kept it from the people at his work. I won’t see Blanca again until this charade is over.
I dig the ring out of my underwear drawer and slide it onto my left hand. It really is gorgeous—exactly what I would’ve picked—but I hate that it represents our fake marriage. I fist my left hand as I walk back into the main living space.
“Your blog is great. Why haven’t you told any of us about it before?” Dom’s leaning over the counter with a computer in front of him. Three plates with a chicken dish and garden vegetables sit to the side.
“Because I went to school for business. I should do something with my degree. This is just for fun.”
“What is it?” I sit on the stool, and Dom swivels the computer my way.
“Blanca writes a blog.” He steps aside and opens the silverware drawer.
The blog is well organized with a bright logo that reads “Post College, What Do You Do Now?”
“I started it anonymously when I graduated and was searching for a job. I needed to vent to someone and who better than strangers? Once I found the job in banking and started making money, I blogged about what it’s like to start your life journey after college. You know dating, finding an apartment, how to stretch a dollar.”
I scroll through to find that it’s very professional and screams Blanca. “Who’s your photographer?”
She laughs. “Me.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Do they look amateur?”
I shake my head. “Not at all.”
I skim a few articles, and it’s clear to me that she has a way with words. I want to eat up each and every one of them and I’m not even her target audience.
“I only have time to write in it four times a week now because of my work schedule. I find myself missing it.”
I slide the computer back toward her, planning on looking it up later and reading all her posts. “A lot of people make money off blogging.”
She shrugs. “I had a few people reach out to sponsor me. Makeup and health people mostly. They send me their goodies and I promote them. But trying to make this a bigger source of income would be a huge jump and my parents spent a fortune on my college degree. How do I just walk away from that?”
I nod, understanding all too well.
