Chapter 34
Efren
Hey,” Alma says softly when I step into the kitchen.
“Did you hear something?” I ask Don Cheetos, crouching down to scratch behind his ears.
“Really, Efren?”
It’s been over a week since the fight. A full week of us passing by each other in silence. Since then, I’ve replayed every word she said, and everything she didn’t say. I cross the kitchen before she can stop me and grab the pitcher of horchata from the fridge. I drink from it, looking straight at her as I finish the remainder.
Her mouth tightens. “You’re being so petty.”
“Me? Petty?” I let out a short laugh. “You washed my whites with your red towel.”
Her eyes roll. “I told you that was an accident.”
“Oh right,” I say lightly. “And I’m supposed to believe that.”
“Efren, this is so dumb.” She turns to dump her untouched coffee into the sink.
She grabs her work tennis shoes and heads into the living room.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“To get coffee,” she says, already crouching to lace them. “Since you ruined mine.”
“Wow,” I mutter. “Don Cheetos hasn’t eaten anything, and there you go—thinking about yourself.”
That gets her to stop. Her brows pinch together as she stands, facing me fully now.
“Why don’t you just say what you actually mean?” she asks quietly. “You’ve never had a problem being rude to me before.”
The words hit because she’s right.
Itwaseasier when she was with Esteban. When I didn’t feel like I was putting my fucking heart on the line to be annihilated. Or this soul crushing feeling that she would never really be mine. All I wanted was her to say that she would come with me—that nothing else mattered but us. But I don’t hold my breath. I swallow hard, watching her gather her bag for work.
“I let Olivia know I’m leaving after the wedding,” I say.
Her eyes flick to the door.
Not to me.
Something inside my chest caves in.
“I gotta go,” she says, already reaching for her jacket. “I’m going to be late.”
The door shuts behind her with a soft click. I stand there longer than I should, staring at the empty space she left behind.
_______
“VIDA, DEVUÉLVAME MI FANTASÍA!” I scream along to theGabito Ballesterossong I’ve had on repeat since I left the hotel. I close my eyes and pound my chest in time with the beat.
A puro dolor.
Yeah. That tracks.
Pure fucking pain.
