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“He has disappeared again. I don’t know. Do you think he was a magician in his former life?”
We both chuckle at the idea of it, but as much as I didn’t want to believe Diego before, it is pretty clear that Jorge does have a problem, he’s supposed to be the older brother but he seems to run off whenever the going gets tough.
“I wish you would talk to Diego.”
I quickly change the topic, to the other thing which has been bugging me.
“Alberto was walking around today. It seems that Diego didn’t do as much damage as he intended to do.”
“¡Gracias a Dios!”1
I’m about to say a little more, but then I decide against it. Cristina is twirling her hair and then she’s giving me the eye. The type that says something else is on her mind.
“You know what’s weird?”
Nerves trickle through me and I blow out a shaky breath.
“¿Qué?”2
I turn around and continue painting the fields of the trail that I used to walk with Abuela. My morning routine consists of walking on the trail and taking photos of when the sun rises or if I feel really anxious at times, I go when it’s nearly night and take snaps at that time too.
Then I spend my time deciding which photos to paint. This morning when I was out at the edge of the open field, the world felt as if it was my canvas. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. The sky seemed to stretch limitlessly, a vast expanse that mirrors the boundless possibilities of the open field.
I managed to capture it at the right angle, taking in the different lights, colors, and movement. All of them produced by natural forces as if they sent me an invitation to lose myself in the beauty of the moment. I was so excited that I didn’t finish the whole trail, but came home to paint it.
“Remember that time in the hospital, when Abuela said that you were pregnant?”
I spin around my stool as I chuckle.
“Yeah, Jose made up that story about me being pregnant to get her to the hospital.”
“Well, do you think it could be a possibility?”
I shake my head, if I were pregnant then I would know.
“We always have our periods at the same time, and I’ve been binging on ice cream alone.”
I sigh. That’s her reason for thinking I could be pregnant. I haven’t had my period and I’m not eating crap as usual like when I usually have my period.
“I’m too depressed to …”
But then I realize she’s right. I’m never late. I always have my period like clockwork, and she was eating ice cream alone, but I didn’t think anything of it.
“I would know. I would feel different,” I panic as I drop my palette on the floor, no longer thinking about painting but Abuela being confident about me being pregnant.
“Pharmacy, now,” I bark as I drop my pallet and my heart feels as if it stops beating.
I’m not ready to be a mom. Diego is certainly not ready to be a dad. We’re not together anymore.
Like the idea of not being with Enrique Iglesias and him not spotting me from the crowd. A teen fantasy I’ve always had, but none of them are coming true, why does life have to be so cruel.
She doesn’t move her feet, but then swings her hand over to mine, a pregnancy test in her hand.
“The pharmacy is closed now, and I figured that you wouldn’t want to wait until five.”
I put my hands on my hips, because I hate when she does things like this.
“Don’t look at me like that. I went there to get your mum some paracetamol and while I was there, I thought why not get something for Lee too?”
