Aaron stared at me for a long moment. And somehow, I discovered that six-letter word turned out to be the key to making him do something for me without putting up a fight.
He sighed, falling deeper into the seat. “Fine.”
“Oh, and be as detailed as you can too. Use her exact words if you can.”
He exhaled again. “After she switched to English, she said that it was nice to meet me. That you’d better have a good excuse for not picking up because that text was scary. That the stupid hippie who was in charge of the flowers was going to ruin her wedding because, now, the linen of the tables wouldn’t match her bouquet.”
That had me snorting. That poor florist was about to pay for his sins.
He continued, “And that she’d see me in a few days. At the wedding.” That last part wiped all humor off me. “Before that, she asked me if I was one of those hipsters who didn’t eat meat. Because in that case, she would have to uninvite me to the wedding. Then, she added that she was joking and told me that I’d better be there if I knew what was good for me. Especially if I loved roasted lamb. I said sure. I do love lamb, to be honest. I don’t eat it often enough actually.”
An ugly, loud, animal-sounding groan left my body.
“Mierda. Qué desastre. Qué completo y maldito desastre.” I brought my hands to my face, covering it with my palms and wishing that hiding from this stupid situation were as easy as that.
“She might have said something like that, too, when she thought it was you on the phone.” Then, with medical curiosity, he asked, “What does that mean exactly?”
“It means shit. Mess. Disaster. Catastrophe,” I answered, my voice muffled through my fingers.
Aaron hummed in agreement. “That would definitely fit the tone of the beginning of the conversation.”
“Aaron”—my hands dropped to my lap—“why did you tell her that you would be there? The wedding is only a few days away. I’m flying to Spain in three days.”
“We just went through this,” he said, sounding as exhausted as I felt. “I did not tell her I’d be there. She assumed I’d be there.”
I shot him a glance.
“After what went down?” I told him, trying a new approach to the topic. “After our conversation and how we agreed that our deal was off? You let her assume you’d be there.”
Had he forgotten about that? Because I had not.
“I told you we would talk about it.”
When? I wanted to ask him. While I was on my way to the airport? We were out of time to talk about anything.
“But we haven’t talked, Aaron.”
Two weeks. He’d had two weeks to reach out to me. And as much as I had hated myself for it, a part of me had waited for him to do that. I had just realized it. Well, at least that explained why I hadn’t brought myself to tell Rosie. Or my family. Yet.
I shook my head. I was so dumb. “And we don’t need to. We have nothing to talk about.”
Aaron clenched his jaw, not saying anything else.
My phone pinged a couple of times, but I ignored it. I was busy shooting daggers at Aaron.
Depleted of energy, I gave up and rested my head on the lush headrest of the copilot’s seat. My eyelids shut, and I wished I could shut down the world too.
The sound of my phone going off again with a couple more texts brought my eyes to my lap.
I ignored it again. “What am I going to do?” I thought out loud. “In a few hours, Isabel will be calling everyone to tell them she talked to Lina’s boyfriend on the phone.” I was screwed six ways from Sunday. “I guess I could always tell them I broke up with you.” I released a long sigh. Then, I turned to look over at him. “Not with you, you. But with—” I shook my head. “You know what I mean.”
At that, Aaron straightened in his seat, further cramping the space inside the car.
Before either of us could say anything, my phone went off again. I lifted it off my lap with the intention to silence it. “Por el amor de Dios.”
An alarmingly large number of messages flashed on my screen, confirming my suspicions.
Isabel: I just talked to your BF. *smirking emoji* What a deep, sexy voice he has. Send pics, pls.