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LOVE IS MY FAV ILLUSION

3 of 3

She had planned a trip to Mexico with some friends before we met, and so, she flew to Mexico. During the first days of her trip, we talked every day. She’d send me pictures of street dogs and I'd send her pictures of stray cats. On the fourth day, we didn’t write. That was the first day that we didn’t talk since we had met. I don’t know if she was as aware of that fact as I was. I thought about it all day , but for some stupid reason, that day I wanted her to initiate the conversation. I wrote her the next day, casually. Nothing terrible had happened really, even if it felt like it did. She didn’t reply that day. I tried not to make too much of it. She’s on a trip with friends, that’s all there is to it. But it smelled funny. Over the next couple of days we still talked but it was sparse and felt forced. Something had changed. 

 

I offered to pick her up from the airport when she came back but she declined. A friend of hers was picking her up already. “Ok, see you tonight?” I asked.

 

“Let’s talk later,” she replied. I knew at that moment that our relationship, however one wanted to categorize it, was over. I just didn’t know why. Trips are tricky. They can rewire a person’s circuits in inexplicable ways. It must have something to do with the interruption of the continuum of events…it seems like we’re not built for it. Loss of momentum can be lethal. 

 

I talked about this with my wife. I proposed the most obvious theories, which were that she either met someone in Mexico, or she went there to see someone to begin with, or she had re-started things with her ex, the one she had recently broken up with. My wife suggested another one: “Maybe she likes Lucas.” 

 

“What? No way, you’re crazy,” I said.

 

“I don’t know. There’s something weird… and I’m pretty good at noticing these things.” She was right about that. She was good. And I was terrible. Men are clueless. 

 

“So what, she’s just sleeping with me to make your boyfriend jealous?” I said. 

 

“It’s possible,” she replied. 

 

I didn’t give any credit to that theory, mine were way simpler, and, as they say, the easiest explanation is usually the right one.

It was five days after her arrival that she texted to see me. We were going to “have a talk.” I agreed out of pure curiosity, nothing more; the mourning had already been done. Before leaving my house, I went through some of my favorite Stoics prayers. I wanted to make sure I was mentally prepared to face the forthcoming situation. Whichever explanation would come out of her mouth, I was to accept it without any resentment or anger whatsoever. I was ready to hear anything. We agreed to meet at a park of her choosing near my place around 5 PM. 

 

When we saw each other from afar, we both chuckled. I found myself happy to see her, which was unexpected. She walked towards me, and I skipped towards her like a schoolkid. Having mentalized myself that the relationship was over liberated me to be as goofy as I wanted. When we finally reached each other, we didn’t kiss or even hug, we just said ‘hi’ and laughed. She guided me to a wooden bench that I previously didn’t know existed. It was placed directly over the grass, surrounded by bushes, and with a perfect view of the little artificial lake. One of the city’s best kept secrets. We sat there and talked about random shit, completely ignoring the mammoth in the room. 

 

Time flew by. The sky went dark. After hours of fluent conversation, a few seconds of silence opened the door to the unavoidable. It was time. “So, what is it?” I asked.

 

“Nothing, I don’t know,” she said with her face down. I translated that as: “it’s something, and I know exactly what it is, but I don’t want to tell you.”

 

“I swear I’m prepared to hear anything. Is it a guy you met in Mexico?”

“No”

“Is it your ex?”

“No”

 

I made a longer pause before my next question: “Are you in love with Lucas?” 

She covered her face with both hands and buried her head between her legs. I gasped but immediately started laughing. The whole thing was simply too precious for me to be mad. Granted, from my point of view it wasn’t ideal. But from God’s perspective, it was perfect. I tried to explain this to Maria, who was even more shocked at my reaction than I was at her revelation. “So, it doesn’t bother you?” she asked.

 

“No, I swear I find it hilarious,” I said. 

 

“Please, please, please, don’t tell anyone,” she said. 

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Ok,” She said. “Can I sleep at your place tonight? I don’t want to sleep alone.”

 

“Yes.” I figured since things were going to hell anyways, I may as well get some sex out of it. 

 

She left early the next day, before the other two woke up. As soon as they did, they ran to ask me about her. I told them everything, except for the part she had asked me not to, which left my story tasting pretty bland. They wanted gravy, I gave them unsalted lettuce soup.

 

“Are you gonna keep seeing her?” Lucas asked, to which I answered that I would play it by ear, no expectations. My wife squinted at me with her lips pressed together; she had noticed right away that I was concealing information.

 

That evening, Maria asked Lucas to join her for dinner, as they used to do back when they were a bit closer and my wife and I didn’t exist. I found out about it through my wife. Maria and I hadn’t talked that day after she left my apartment. The rules between us were too fuzzy. Things weren’t going to end well. That was fine with me, I was along for the ride. At that point I felt more like an audience member than as a protagonist of the story. 

 

Lucas went out to meet Maria. My wife and I stayed home watching a movie, trying and failing not to think about what the other two were doing. I–unlike my wife–knew what the dinner was about, but I wanted to honor my promise of not telling anyone Maria's secret. The movie ended. No sign of Lucas. His phone was off, which wasn’t uncommon. 

“Text her,” my wife encouraged me. 

 

“No way,” I said. She insisted, but I stood firmly. “Let’s watch another one, he’ll be back soon.” 

 

We put another movie on, but this one we watched in the horizontal position, resting our heads in opposite arms of the sofa, and covering ourselves with two airplane blankets we had taken long ago. We fell asleep before Jennifer Aniston even made her first appearance. 

 

“Diego,” my wife woke me up in the middle of the movie. 

I let out a guttural sound.

 

“He hasn’t come back,” she said.

 

Again, I let out a guttural sound. Silence followed.

 

“I have a bad feeling,” she said. 

 

“Let’s sleep,” I said. 

 

“I don’t trust them,” she said. I didn’t reply.

“Diego.”

“Yes-my-dear.”

 

“Should we get back together?”

“Mmm…ok, but when we’re sixty.”

 

“My sixty or your sixty?”

 

“My sixty.”

 

“Ok.”

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