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Nada. Nothing. Emptiness.
He’ll never be with me in the way I need. Love me with every fiber of his being as I do him.
Instead, the man I yearn for accepts another drink while his unoccupied hand goes inside his pant pocket. It’s there for a minute at the most when my cellphone vibrates inside my wristlet, and I know it's him.
The same things he’s done when around others; I’m number “1” on speed dial, and it’s another means to control me. Keeps me thinking that I mean something—anything—more than what I am:
I’m his duty. Work.
I don’t acknowledge it and give him my back, focusing instead on those around me and the drunken group dance taking place. They're laughing and off-rhythm while those who are still sober enough to not join egg them on. It’s loud and full of happiness, and I don’t want to be here.
“Here, take this and breathe,” Nat says from my left, passing me a glass of red wine. “Knock it back, and I have the next one on its way.”
“Thank you.” Taking her advice, I sip it quickly but not fast enough to draw attention. The robust red is drier than I like, but the warmth that follows gives me something else to focus on, and I close my eyes for a second. It spreads, soothing my nerves a little while the empty glass is replaced. The first sip is a blind one. I just bring the glass to my lips and then snap my eyes to Nat when the sweeter spirit greets my tastebuds. Much lighter, the berry notes in this one is stronger, and I take another light sip. No rush.
The last thing I need is to end up drunk and in bed with him again.
That’s also when I notice that Luna is now missing.
“Where did Lulu—?” A whooping chorus comes from the dancing group and when I shift my gaze over again, I find the bride and groom are busy showing the older people how to do the Macarena. Well, more her than him. Thiago just watches Luna with amusement while following her lead. “Never mind.”
“I say we teach them how it’s really done.”
“Do you, now?” If she can tell my laugh is flat, Natasha doesn’t mention it.
“I do, chica.” Grabbing my arm, she begins to tug me along and I don’t fight her. “Let’s drink and dance and forget the bad shit for now. Don’t let him steal your happiness, mami.”
“You’re right,” I say and place my wine on a passing waiter’s tray before joining the dancing to-be newlyweds. She turns her head in my direction, never missing a step with a raised brow, and I shrug. “You looked lonely.”
“She’s mine,” Thiago grumbles, placing both hands on his hips but doesn’t gyrate. More like hungrily watches Luna shake hers. “I don’t share.”
His bride blows him a kiss. “Cool it, Romeo.”
Their playful banter reminds me of Ivan. Of that side of him that I see when it’s just us, no work or family, and distractions are limited to our moans and teasing.
So I do what any friend would do in that instance and bury my jealousy deep—shake it off until this is all over. Taking up a spot on the dance floor, I finish this dance and three more after without searching for him. While ignoring the intensity of his gaze that slowly burns me alive. From one song to the next, I keep my pace and swallow down the hurt inside my chest that makes it hard to breathe.
I’m one of the maids of honor and will do my duty.
I will party. I will be supportive. I will live.
And even surrounded, I feel like an outsider now more than ever.
This is the final nail in my love for him.
I’m done.
He’s lost me without ever appreciating how devotedly his I was.
6
I FEEL RUN over the next morning, and it’s not from a hangover.
No. This comes from heartache and self-reproach—from hours of over-analyzing everything we’ve been through while acknowledging the ever-present truths I’ve ignored. I’m at fault for not accepting them sooner, for thinking he will come around when Ivan’s never given me any indication that I’d ever existed outside of the shadows.
I drank but kept it to a low buzz while Luna and Nat subtly watched over me. Their concern is sweet, but at the moment it’s unhelpful as it unfurls along with my guilt, and the concoction isn’t pleasant. No fuss from me and while they checked on me in between dances, I kept up the charade of being angry—not hurt—into the early morning hours. Instead of crying and venting, I put my feelings aside and did what a good best friend does when her girl is hours from getting married to the man of her dreams:
I smiled.
