It had been six months since Peter and I had broken up. It had been a sudden end. Everything up to that point had been incredible. We were best friends and spent our free time going on all sorts of adventures. Hikes, road trips. Once, we even drove to Canada just to see if we could. We laughed and sang "I'm Going to Be" by the Proclaimers over and over and over again. We slept in the car, cuddling and fogging up the glass by the morning. It ranks among my top memories of all time.
One day we were fighting over something or another, I can't remember what, but it must have been serious. We both were proud people and refused to apologize when it was over. And suddenly we found ourselves declaring that we didn't need the other person and that we were fine being on our own! Unlike with other fights, this one didn't end in make-up sex.
Since then, we've texted a few times but agreed that it was probably healthiest to go without talking for a while. More than once I drafted a message telling him I wanted to see him, before deleting it, not wanting to be the one that caved first.
Then he went abroad. After the last day of classes, he flew to Quito, Ecuador. I learned about it on social media. He had been learning Spanish for a few years and told me frequently how he wanted to try out his language skills on some grand adventure. Through Instagram, I saw snapshots of his trip. Hiking to the top of Machu Pichu, colorful ceviche dishes. Selfies at bars with a group of mid-20s backpackers. In one photo, at the top of a hike, he had his arms wrapped around two people. Both looked Ecuadorian or at least South American. One guy and one girl. I paid no attention to the guy. Peter had always been gregarious and this was probably another of his unwitting 'fast friends.' The girl on the other hand was petite, with an angular face and absorbing golden-brown eyes. I had no right to feel it, but a pang of jealousy stabbed at my chest.
I wanted to text him to figure out who this girl was. I wouldn't come right out and ask, but maybe start slowly with something like "Hola! Looks like you're having fun with your adventures. We should catch up soon!" before finishing off with "Looks like you've made some really good friends." He would pick up on the message.
But as much as I wanted to get to the bottom of it, I doubted the text would go through. He was always talking about disconnecting and going off on a grand adventure. I'm sure the airhead purposely didn't buy an international phone plan. For a second I thought about booking a ticket to Quito and trying to win him back, 90s rom-com style. But then what? Walk around a foreign city, hoping to run into him? Asking random strangers "Have you seen a tall, brown-haired boy, floral tattoos down his right thigh, and vibrant green eyes that you just want your kids to inherit??" Lo siento, no entiendo español. Hablas ingles?
Instead, I scrolled through our old photos and fitfully drifted off to sleep. I had what at first was a nightmare. It looked like a tiny hotel room, maybe a hostel, but what threw me was that it was remarkably clean, not like what you see in the movies. A warm light showed through a large picture window and bathed the hardwood floor with a reddish hue. The walls were stark white and a big bamboo-framed bed sat against the wall. Of all people, Peter was perched at the edge of the bed, his shirt unbuttoned down to his chest.
"Peter?" I murmured, but there was no response. The squeak of a sink shutting off and a door unlocking came from the adjoining bathroom. Bathroom lights flicked off as the same girl from the photos stepped out drying her hands on a towel. She was prettier than in the photo in the photo and was dressed in a flowy, matching sleepwear set. A breeze through an open window pane brought a chill to the air and her nipples hardened, outlined through her waffle tank top.
