The following morning we went to Starbucks to have morning coffee. Over the breakfast, Ramon said that it was my turn to give him advice to solve out the problem. I told him that I totally understood his part of not wanting his merriment to be spoiled by her reproach, but he should have answered her call last night. He had better admit that it was his fault for not answering her call, because she was genuinely worried about him. And also I suggested that he should talk to her as soon as possible. He told me that he would try to talk to her, but she was extremely mad at him, so he did not think that she would listen to his reasoning.
It was a Sunday afternoon. The mighty sun was blazing ferociously above me, and beads of perspiration were constantly on my forehead. It was still in April, but I felt as though it were mid-Summer. Ramon and I were returning to the apartment from Mamita Beach on foot. He started making clean breast of his anxiety, “Bitch, I’m starting to worry about the situation. I talked to Patricia. She was still being mad at me and didn’t listen to my reasoning. She is constantly reproaching my past conducts. I really don’t think that the marriage will be over because of the fucking one night incident; it would be fucking ridiculous. However, I’m getting worried that if the marriage is over, I’ll lose my job to boot. As you know, I’ve been working for Carlos, who is her brother in-law, so if I’m forced to divorce, it’ll be goddamn awkward for me to continue working for him.”