Page 3 of After the Fire
I openedmy eyes as the bus slowed down and approached a little town on what looked like a small, yet stunningly luscious hillside.I had never even heard of it before, yet here I was. So, so far from my so-called perfect life.
Right across the aisle from me sat a couple who looked like they were in their early thirties and had heart eyes for each other. They were both ridiculously attractive, but she had this shine that made her particularly so. She was glowing. They looked to be in love, drunk on life and each other. I’d heard as they whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears all afternoon. As soon as the bus started to slow down, families and couples reaching their destination started to collect their belongings. The chatter increased; laughter was everywhere. These people were happy to be here. A total contrast to how I was feeling.
Instead of running through possible scenarios in my mind like I had done for the whole nine hours of the bus ride, I started to find things to distract myself with. I looked around and made up stories of the families sitting in front of me. Maybe they weren’t able to take a proper summer vacation, so they opted for an extended weekend somewhere closer to home. Or maybe some of these people were on their honeymoon.
Like you should be in about twenty-four hours. If you had chosen to fight instead of fleeing.
My phone had been off since I left my grandmother’s house without even turning back to take one last look at Manuel. He hadn’t even tried to stop me, not even uttering my name with a little regret.
I considered myself to be a smart woman, but Manuel was certainly my kryptonite. The first time I saw him, I was having lunch with my grandmother in the restaurant at the country club where she was a member. She used to get together with some of her oldest friends for lunch every Thursday, and it was a well-known fact among the families in our social circle that the “ladies” were there to see and be seen. And that day, I was there too. I was close to finishing my fourth year of law school and I had an exam a few days after that, so I’d taken the day off work to study. During one of my many breaks, I decided to visit with my grandmother.
Manuel came to our table to greet us. I’d never seen him before, and it was rare because Susana wasverywell connected. Anyone that was someone knew who she was, and vice versa. He’d just returned from a six-month trip to South Africa with his buddies, a gift from his parents after he graduated college with a marketing degree. His skin was golden, almost pearlescent, his hair in a permanent state of tousled, probably because it was longer than it should have been. His eyes, deep brown like chocolate, were shining with mischief. He was handsome, with so much charm that it oozed from his pores. He was a few years older than me but looked boyish, with soft, full lips and an untroubled attitude. He emanated joy and happiness. Could that be contagious?
He was carefree, and it was blatantly obvious. Probably because he didn’t care much about his career or what his family said. And he lived in a world of happily ever afters. I wanted that for myself.
Up until that point, I’d never really believed in how fairy tales or romance novels described love: those insta-connections and love-at-first-sight situations where the main character fell head over heels for a man instantly, even before anyone had spoken a single word.
I’d reserved all my giddy daydreaming abilities to the stories my grandmother told us about her husband, the grandfather I’d never gotten to meet but had heard so many things about, almost idolized in our family for his courage and his honor.
But in that instant, I knew. Right there, with my grandmother as witness, I knew and understood that my life was about to change from having almost everything to having it all. Even without uttering a single word.
Manuel and I dated for what seemed like an eternity. By the time we started our third year of dating, people were asking questions. My go-to answer had been that I wanted to be done with school and established in my career before we got married or took the next step, but the reality was that Manuel never seemed to be as committed to me as I was to him. I was ready to marry him the day I met him. Him, not so much. That had to have been my first red flag, I reckoned.
Once we moved in together—my idea, of course—and the rumormonger aunts were calming down, Susana took it as a good sign, although with some reticence (because why would her perfectly educated, upper class Catholic granddaughter live in sin? “¡Ay! ¡Que horror!” she had said). And Manuel’s parents understood it as a sign that maybe their son was choosing the right path and that I was guiding him in the right direction. It still took some convincing but finally,finallyManuel hinted that it was time we took the next step, and I held on to it like my life depended on that one single statement.
My perfectly, impossibly handsome boyfriend wanted to marry me. Finally.
That was almost two years ago, and now I was in a bus in front of a bus terminal in the middle of who knows where in Córdoba, without knowing a soul and with no plans whatsoever for the first time in my adult life. I couldn’t remember when the last time was that I didn’t have anything planned—probably when I was in my teens—and for a second, it almost felt as if life was playing me a bizarre prank and transporting me to easier times to soften the massive blow I had just been given.
The bus rolled to a stop at the corner of the town square, right in front of the community center. Dusk was finally descending on the rooftops, the last of the long summer nights upon them. The air felt strange, almost giving me a tingle all over my exposed arms. It somehow felt cleaner, lighter. It felt different than what I was used to, kind of like the feeling of relief after getting good news. Or maybe how you would feel right after a good night’s sleep. I felt a rush of adrenaline out of nowhere—perhaps my body’s way of telling me that I was making a mistake and I needed to run back to my grandmother and apologize for putting her through that.
I turned on my cell phone with the sole purpose of trying to find a hotel that could take me in for a few days until I could come up with a plan. I didn’t know what I was doing there; my life was pure contradiction. The air was inviting, the town alive with movement and its people. But I felt angry and lonely, dragging all that I had with me.
Maybe if you closed your eyes, you could be transported back to your real life.
As my phone started up, I looked around me. It looked like a small town, laid out in a grid pattern as far as I could see. From my vantage point, I was able to glimpse a large house at the edge of town surrounded by smaller ones lining the street north of the square. No tall buildings in sight—the biggest contrast with the large city I was so used to.
To the south of the square, I could see rolling hills, lush with native landscape. The trees were slowly changing their leaves, with pockets of yellow and orange in between the different green hues. It was faint, but I could hear a creek nearby.
It felt like a pleasant, quiet mountain town.
My phone started buzzing with messages and voicemail notifications. They were relentless.
2:03 p.m.: “Victoria,¿dónde estás?Have you any idea what chaos you’ve created here? Do you realize what you’ve done? Manuel said that you were supposed to meet him for coffee, but you never showed up. What type of person does that? Don’t you realize the importance of today?”
2:15 p.m.: “Victoria, answer the phone immediately. This is a scandal. Manuel is here trying to fix what you’ve done. What are we going to tell the gues—”
Susana’s voice bounced around in my head. I didn’t need this right now. My relationship—dare I say potential marriage—had just ended, and this woman had the nerve of putting this on me? And what was Manuel doing there with her?
I knew I was a smart woman. I was excellent at my career, very dedicated to my job. I could sniff out a lie from miles away. How did I not see the red flags? I mean, yes, seven years was a long time before getting married. Also, yes, pressuring your boyfriend to move in with you could be, maybe, who knows, part of why this was happening to me.No proposal either, remember?Our decision to get married was more of a conversation—a conversation and an arrangement and a transaction between two adults, no less—about taking the next step.
Had I had it wrong the whole time?
“Hi,” Catalina answered on the first ring. “I’ve been waiting for hours, you know?”
I rolled my eyes and smiled for the first time since my morning started. “I’m fine, how are you?”
“Victoria, what the hell!” she screamed into the phone. Her breath was short nowadays, that baby in her belly doing a number on her. “You know I can’t breathe well with this freaking baby in here. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
