“I know, Mamá. But I already told you—”

“You’ll look like a … frog but in heels.”

Gee, thanks, Mother.

I chuckled and shook my head. “It doesn’t matter because I’m wearing the red dress.”

A gasp came through the line. “Ay. Why didn’t you tell me this before? You let me talk for half an hour about all your other options.”

“I told you as soon as it came up. You just—”

“Well, I must have let myself get carried away, cariño.”

I opened my mouth to confirm that, but she didn’t give me the chance.

“Perfect,” she cut in. “That is such a beautiful dress, Lina. It’s classy and flirty.”

Flirty? What was that supposed to mean?

“Your boobs will be entering the banquet before you.”

Oh … oh. So, that was what she meant.

“But the color does really flatter your skin, body shape, and face. Not like the frog dress.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. “I don’t think I’ll ever wear green again.”

“Good,” she said far too quickly for taking it as a good-hearted comment. “So, what’s this boyfriend of yours going to wear? Are you going to match? Papá got a tie in the same shade of baby blue I’ll be wearing.”

A tiny groan slipped out of my mouth. “Mamá, you know that Isa hates that. She specifically told us not to match.”

My sister had been very insistent—no matching couples. I even had to fight her over not adding that instruction on the invites. It’d cost me a lot of energy and patience to convince her that she didn’t want to be that kind of bride.

“Well, given that I gave birth to the bride and that I already bought that tie for Papá, I think your sister is going to have to make an exception.”

Leave it to her to be stubborn. I certainly was, my sister probably even more, but our mother? The woman had created the term bullheaded as she opened her eyes to the world the day she was born.

“I think she’ll have to,” I admitted under my breath.

Reaching for my planner, I scribbled on my to-do list to call Isa to warn her.

“I have an online voucher you can use, I think,” Mamá commented while I unlocked my laptop and absently checked my inbox. “Although maybe it does not work outside Spain. But it should, shouldn’t it? You are my daughter, and you should be able to use my vouchers, no matter where you are in the world. Isn’t that what the internet is supposed to be for?”

I clicked on an email notification for a new series meeting I had received. “Yeah, sure.” A quick scan of the contents of the description told me I should have probably waited for my mother to hang up before opening it.

“Yeah, sure, the internet is for that? Or yeah, sure, you’ll use my voucher?”

I leaned back on my seat, reading through the information attached.

“Lina?”

What are we even talking about? “Yes, Mamá.”

“Well, you’ll have to check the voucher yourself; you know I am not good with this internet thing.”

“Of course,” I said, still not knowing what I was agreeing to.

“Unless he has a tie already?”

He.

All my attention returned to the conversation.

“Does he?” she insisted when I didn’t answer. “Your new boyfriend.”

Small beads of sweat formed on my forehead at the prospect of discussing this.

Him.

The boyfriend I didn’t have but my family believed I did.

Because I had told them.

Lied to them.

All of a sudden, my lips were magically sewn together. I waited for my mother to conveniently change the topic in that chaotic and speedy way she always did while my mind went on a panicky frenzy.

What am I supposed to say anyway? No, Mamá. He can’t have a tie because he doesn’t even exist. I made him up, you see. All in an attempt to look a little less pathetic and lonely.

Perhaps I could hang up. Or pretend to be busy and terminate the call. But that would fill me with remorse, and frankly, I didn’t think I was able to take on any more of that. Also, my mother wasn’t stupid.

She’d know something was up.

This was the woman whose womb I had come out of.

More seconds ticked away as nothing came out of my mouth, and I couldn’t believe that for the first time in probably ever, the Martín matriarch was waiting for my answer in silence.

Shit.

A few more seconds ticked away.

Shit, shit, shit.

Confess, a little voice in my head said. But I shook my head, focusing on one of the little droplets of sweat trailing down my clammy back.

“Lina?” she finally said, her voice unsure. Worried. “Did something happen?”

I was a horrible, lying human being who had unquestionably put that concern I could hear in her voice.

“No …” Clearing my throat, I ignored the heaviness that felt a lot like shame settle in my stomach. “I’m okay.”

I heard her sigh. It was one of those sighs that smacked into you. Making me feel bad about myself. As if I could see her looking at me with eyes filled with defeat and a little sorrow, shaking her head. I hated it.

“Lina, you know you can talk to me if something happened.”

My guilt deepened, souring my stomach. I felt awful. Stupid too. But what could I even do besides keep lying or coming clean?

“Did you guys break up? You know, it would make sense because you have never talked about him before. Not until the other day at least.” There was a pause, in which I could hear my heart drumming in my ears. “Your cousin Charo said something yesterday, you know.”

Of course Charo knew. Anything Mamá knew, the rest of the family knew.

“So, she said that,” she continued when I didn’t say anything, “you don’t have any photos of him on Facebook.”

I closed my eyes.

“Nobody posts anything on Facebook anymore, Mamá,” I told her in a weak voice while I kept battling with myself.

“And Prinstanam? Whatever it is that you young people use now. No photos there either.”

I could picture Charo scouting all my social profiles, searching for this imaginary man and rubbing her hands when she hadn’t found any.

“Charo said that if it’s not Prinstanam official, then it’s not serious.”

My heartbeat hammered louder in my chest. “It’s called Instagram.”

“Fine.” She sighed again. “But if you broke up with him or if he ended things—I don’t care who did what—you can talk to us about it. To Papá and to me. I know how much you have struggled with this dating thing ever since … you know, since Daniel.”

That last comment was a knife to the chest. It turned that heavy sensation into something ugly and painful. Something that made me think of the reason why I’d lied, why I struggled—as my mother had put it—and why I was in this predicament in the first place.

“You have never brought anybody home in all these years you’ve been away. Never talked about a man you were seeing. And never talked about this one before you told us you were dating him and that you’d bring him to the wedding. So, if you are alone again …”

A very familiar and very sharp pang pierced my chest at her words.

“That’s okay.”

Is it?

If it was really okay, I could tell my mother. I had the chance to end this lying circus, bury all that regret somewhere deep and dark, and breathe. I could tell her that, yes, I was no longer in a relationship, and consequently, I was no longer taking my—nonexistent—boyfriend home. That I’d attend the wedding alone. And that it was okay.

She had said it herself. And maybe she was right. I just needed to believe she was.

Taking a deep breath, I felt a surge of courage and made up my mind.

I’ll come clean.

Attending alone wouldn’t be fun. The pity looks and whispers of a past I didn’t want to think of would certainly suck. And that was putting it lightly. But I had no options.

Aaron’s scowling face popped up in my mind. Unannounced. Definitely unwelcome.