You can't always have what you want

After weeks of messages, everyone was in town. The last time I had shared coffee with my girlfriends had been six months before, during the Christmas holiday. That rainy afternoon, while they told me horror stories about children's presents and family dinners, I smiled inside, grateful for my simpler life, which did not require as much work or stress as theirs seemed to. I could not stop wondering what the point of such a daily rush and continuous pressure was when it was clear to me that it did not make them as happy as they pretended to be.

Our summer gatherings had become a yearly tradition, when we spent two to three hours talking about our lives, complaining about our kids and partners—whenever we had them—and wondering what the future would bring us. Spending time with my girls usually made me happy and enthusiastic, but that day was different. I had been cleaning the house and wondering why I was always cooking, buying groceries, vacuuming, and doing the laundry. After my boyfriend moved in, all I had gained was a couple extra nights together—two more nights I had to be mindful about dinner— and resentment growing inside me like bad weeds. I felt I had been demoted from girlfriend to unpaid maid, which was not what I'd dreamed of when I thought of us living together.

I spent one hour before the meet-up in front of the wardrobe. I piled up clothes on the floor that either did not fit me, or I did not like anymore, until I found a good- enough dress. It did not make me fully happy, but it didn't make me hate myself either, which, considering my state of mind, was already a huge success. I was not in the mood for makeup or choosing accessories, so I kept it simple, took a pair of sandals and sunglasses, and left the house. I was late, but I was sure the girls would not mind… or at least not be surprised.

I was the last one to arrive. They were sitting on the terrace before the bar, sipping coffee and laughing. The first one I saw was Penelope. She was usually the first to message all the others and tell us when she would visit the town. That had been the trigger for many years for all of us to meet, and that afternoon was no exception. She was talking to Valentina, and even if I could not hear what they were speaking about, I could bet it was either related to Penelope's job or Valentina's ex-husband. They both had studied in different cities and made their lives as teachers away from the town where we grew up, so we did not spend much time together. Still, we shared the important stuff, and that's what we were about to do that afternoon.

I had not seen Elena, who lived abroad, for a year. She spoke with Ana, who seemed as tired as all the other times I had seen her in the past years, and Bea, the calmest person on Earth.

I said hello and quickly went inside to get something to drink. When I sat down and looked at them, I saw adventure, glamour, hard work, family, and resilience. Somehow, those five women represented the things I was missing in my life.

As expected, the conversations were not much different than the ones we had had before: work, men, and children. The talks flowed from funny to sad and back to ridiculous while sipping our iced coffee, and then, as if someone had pushed a secret button, I lost it and started to cry. I could not stand it anymore.

"I am sorry," I said. "I was ashamed and did not know how to tell you."

They looked at me as if I had done something terrible- which makes sense because that's what I was telling them. I had not robbed a bank, had an affair, or run over an old lady, but I felt like the most villainous villain because I had not told them what was happening to me.

"What happened?" asked Valentina. She looked so calm that no one would say, looking at that serene skinny woman, that she was going through an emotional roller coaster in her life.

"I lost my job a month ago and did not know how to tell you."

"Why not?"

"It was such a stupid situation… it was not even my time to go."

"Your time to go? Was it planned?" asked Elena.

"No, it wasn't. My boss told me production was low, so they had to let people go."

"But you had been working there for how many years?" asked Penelope.

"Many, but they couldn't fire others, so they chose me."

"That was the explanation? It was you because they couldn't fire others?"

"Yes."

"OK… so that means you were just a number?" said Elena.

"Elena! Be nice! You're not helping!" said someone else.

"I'm just asking," she said, lying back in her chair and touching her sunglasses. I was sure she was more upset because of the others' reaction than because of what happened to me, but I tried to keep it cool. I knew what she meant. She had spoken about it many times before— mostly when we talked about my jobs, and she asked how they made me feel and "what did I bring to the table." Elena lived another reality. Sometimes, it seemed she was on another planet. I don't think she ever understood what people like me do or how we live. For her, everything was about competition; she spoke about personal development, leadership skills, and professional challenges, while I talked about paying rent and saving up for a weekend trip. We were friends because we had known each other since we were kids. It was a habit difficult to kill, despite the fact sometimes I only thought about strangling her and her lifestyle opinions.

Then, Ana came to the rescue. She did not criticize, maybe because she was fed up with others doing it to her. She was a shadow of the Ana I had met many years before, in school.

"Elena, not everyone lives like you. Let her be," said Ana, giving Elena the look we all recognized, the one she had whenever she was pissed about something.

"What have I done? I only asked her about her contract. I am not the bad one here," replied Elena.

"You have no idea," I said, and as soon as I opened my mouth, I knew I was in trouble. Still, I continued.

"And then, to make everything worse, him. He should have known; I told him, here and there, we joked…" The more I spoke, the worse I felt.

"You told what? To whom?" asked Ana.

"Alberto! I told him I would like to have a baby!"

There was a pause, but Penelope intervened quickly.

"Maybe now it is not the right moment, but on top of that... how long have you been together?"

"Eight years," I replied.

"And you joked about it? That's not something you should joke about; that's something you should say," said Elena.

She might have been right, but I hated her for saying it. She's the one that, throughout the years, had told me I should leave my parents house, be more adventurous, look after myself, be more selfish… and now, when I was weak and defenseless, she was again telling me what to do. She's the one who left the country to be successful, who found the love of her life, who had children, and who reminds me, I've not done any of those things. I know I should be happy for her, but it's unbearable.

"Why didn't you tell him before?" Penelope said, looking at Elena as if she were sending her a message to shut up. Penelope is cool; she is a good friend.

"I never thought it was necessary; I told you, I hinted at it…" I replied, sure she would understand. After all, she had had her fair share of trouble getting the job she wanted. She definitely understood me.

"But it was important, wasn't it? What were you expecting?" she continued.

Suddenly, what I expected to be a girly, supportive reunion turned into a vicious attack. I opened my heart and soul to them, and they told me I was… lazy.

Valentina was sitting by my side, holding my hand, which, five minutes earlier, would have comforted me. However, now that everyone seemed to be enjoying how wrong I was, it made me freak out.

"You should love yourself," said Valentina, still holding my hand. She had a pitiful smile, and I lost it—big time. I stood up and pushed the chair back, which made a horrible noise. Everyone around stared at us, at me.

"I love myself! And I love him. You have no idea what it is to be me, to be in this town, and have to go through this. You have your careers and families, and you don't remember how it was for me to listen to your love stories years ago. And you know what? It was boring, more than what I am telling you now. But no, you don't like it. You all have ideas of what I should have done, what I should do, where I should be, or who I should see. And you know what? I don't care, and I don't want to see you. Right now, I don't want to see any of you!"

I took my purse and walked away. None of my friends moved. I walked home, repeating in my head everything I wanted to tell Alberto. It was time for him to listen to what I had to say. 

By the moment I reached the door, my body was sweating adrenaline, and I could have lifted a truck in case of emergency. I felt powerful, my ideas were clear, and I would no longer allow Alberto to step over me. I would be clear in my message, I would tell him what I wanted, and he would realize what an ass he had been with me. When I opened the door, it hit something, and when I looked into the apartment, I saw the boxes.

I pushed my way into the room and noticed the empty spaces. There were no more cans, little cars, or colorful stones. There were no clothes on the chairs or books I'd never read. Alberto was sitting on the sofa, watching something on the television.

"Hi," I said. "You've been cleaning?"

"Not really," he replied. "We need to talk."

He was sweating and tapping his right foot on the floor, which was a sign of him being nervous or uncomfortable. All the adrenaline I had been pumping on my way home disappeared at that very moment. I thought I was about to faint, but instead, I stayed close to the door, looking at the calmest Alberto I had ever seen, telling me the words I did not want to hear.

"This is not working. I am moving out. I'll pick up my stuff tomorrow," he said. 

Before I could say anything, he was gone. Before I could even think of what to say, I was alone. I fell on my knees and closed my eyes. I thought I was about to cry, but I didn't. I was not sad; I was enraged.

I tore the tape on one of the boxes before me and looked inside. I picked a handful of his collection cars and ran to the window, where I saw him strolling, happy and free. I opened the window and threw one of the toys at him, and then one after another, until he looked back, surprised by the rain objects. I hid myself behind the curtain and looked again at the boxes. I ran to the open box, grabbed it, and threw all the contents through the window. Some of them hit Alberto, who was picking up his cars from the floor. He looked up, and I started to giggle first and then laugh afterward as a mad woman. He started yelling at me, but I did not care. I picked four more boxes, all his stuff, and watched them fall from my window on the first floor of the building. When I finished, I closed the window and felt genuinely invincible for the first time. I opened my phone, got my music on, and started dancing around the room.