"Call me later."
"I will."
We hang up, and I'm alone again.
Two o'clock.
I look at the clock on the nightstand. It's just past ten. Four hours until I have to face Pedro.
The ache in my belly pulses. A reminder that my body doesn't care about my emotional crises. It has its own agenda now.
I stand up and head downstairs on shaky legs. The kitchen is painfully empty. No smell of coffee. No breakfast waiting. Just me and the silence and Mom's perfectly clean counters.
I should eat something. Mom said to eat. But the thought of food makes my stomach turn.
Instead, I pour myself a glass of water and lean against the counter, trying to breathe through the waves of sensation washing over me.
My phone buzzes. A text from Mom.
Mom:There's bread in the breadbox and peanut butter in the cupboard. At least make yourself toast. And there's juice in the fridge.
I smile despite myself. Even from Mexico, she's taking care of me.
I manage to make toast. Burn it slightly. Eat it anyway with peanut butter that tastes more intense than it should. Wash it down with orange juice that makes my mouth tingle.
My phone buzzes again.
Mom:Jessica! I forgot to tell you - Ricardo has a yacht. Well, his nephew Alejandro has a yacht. He's very interested in meeting you.
Me:Mom, I literally just ran from my wedding.
Mom:Which means you're single! Perfect timing! Alejandro is very handsome. Aunt Linda met him. She gave him 8 out of 10. She only takes off points because he's too young. He's 32. That's prime.
Me:Please stop trying to set me up with yacht dentists.
Mom:Doctor dentist. There's a difference. He has a yacht.
I turn off my phone. My mother is rating Mexican dentists on a scale of 1-10 while I'm having an omega crisis.
I need a shower.
I head back upstairs and turn on the water as hot as it will go. Strip off Dad's t-shirt and the borrowed sweatpants and catch sight of myself in the mirror.
Same body. Same curves that Callum called too much but that Sergio used to look at like I was a feast and he was starving. Same soft stomach that Pedro had pressed his palm against once when he was checking for appendicitis symptoms, his touch clinical but his scent giving him away. Same thick thighs that had been wrapped around Nacho's waist when he'd given me a piggyback ride to the car because I'd twisted my ankle. Same fullbreasts that Carlos had very carefully not looked at even though I'd caught him glancing more than once.
But different somehow. Like I'm finally seeing clearly for the first time.
I step under the water and let it wash away the last remnants of yesterday. The dried tears. The exhaustion. The woman who almost married a man who didn't deserve her.
When I get out, I wrap myself in a towel and stand in front of my old closet.
Mom was right. There are clothes here, but most of them don't fit anymore. I feel like having a party when I find a pair of jeans that still button. A soft gray sweater that hangs loose and comfortable. My old Converse that are scuffed but familiar.
I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back.
She looks tired. Scared. Vulnerable.
But she also looks like someone who's done running.
