I knew I loved you when I saw the way you devoured your tacos. We were on our first date at Taco ‘Bout It, the tiny taco joint with a neon microphone wearing a sombrero, when you grabbed your taco, tilted your head sideways, and took a monstrous bite, finishing in just two.
You apologized for eating too fast, and I laughed, distracted by the sauce dribbling down your chin. You were so endearing that day, I almost missed the way your gaze lingered a little too long on the blonde waitress taking orders at the table behind me.
It’s been 6 months and we’ve gotten used to each other: you to my passive nature and me to your messy eating habits, wandering eyes, and snide remarks about my weight, as if I don’t notice.
We like to eat together in silence while streaming the football playoffs on your laptop because you refuse to pay for the channel. Not that I’m complaining—it just means more takeout for us.
I used to be a healthy girl—the type who drank green smoothies and ate protein bowls for lunch. But since being with you I’ve put on “happy” weight, which didn’t bother me until month four when you started to notice. Then there was nothing happy about it anymore.
To be fair, you’ve put on some weight too, but I keep that to myself. I’m afraid it might make you love me less. So, instead, whenever you casually ask me when I’m going to join a gym, I redirect the conversation with a smile and a comment about how handsome you are. Maybe, eventually, you’ll accept my flaws the way I accept yours. Maybe, if we make it to one year, you’ll finally realize I’m worth keeping around.
We moved in together last month and I started cooking for you— homemade tacos with lean ground turkey instead of beef because your friend Emily, or Em, a health “professional” who’s really cute and fit and coincidentally blonde, said it’s healthier for you. We even cut out real cheese and switched to vegan cheese because Em says it’s too inflammatory and can cause heart problems. But she doesn’t know it’s not the cheese but the way you look at her sometimes that makes my heart ache.
You say you hired Em to help get us “back on track,” though I’m not sure when we even veered off course, but you and I have been together 9 months and I really want us to work. Sometimes, between your sweet caresses in the kitchen or when you make love to me (even though lately, it’s been with your eyes closed), I truly think we’ll be okay.
It’s our one-year anniversary today and I’m scraping your untouched chicken parmesan into the trash. I spent all day making our dinner, and you’re not back from work yet. My mind drifts to Em, wondering where she is. I try to ignore the sinking feeling that you might be with her, eating vegan lasagna and drinking Welch’s sparkling juice since you’re sober-curious now.
A flash of anger sparks in my chest, and I look down, startled by blood dripping down my fingers into the sink. My eyes drift to the shattered plate in my hands, and for a moment, I briefly wonder if I’m like the plate—breaking without noticing. With gauze wrapped around my fingers, I pour myself a full glass of Malbec and raise a toast to the invisible elephant in the room, who must think I’m an idiot too.
It’s 2 a.m. when I feel your side of the bed dip. I curl tighter into myself and you pause, careful not to wake me. After a moment, when you’re sure I’m asleep, you settle in next to me, the stench of cigarette smoke and deceit melting into the sheets.
When I wake up again, you’re gone. Your side of the bed is empty and I hear the shower running. I wash up in the guest bathroom and once I’m done, walk into the kitchen, where an empty Taco ‘Bout It takeout bag sits abandoned on the counter.
I let out a dry chuckle. It’s ironic, really — the very thing that drew me to you is now here to mock me. A harsh reminder that indulgence is never worth the cost, since people always revert to who they were before you met them anyway.
I think of all the lifestyle changes we made— because Em said so— and I’m embarrassed it took me this long to see the truth: the only lifestyle you wanted to change was yours by replacing me with someone else.
Deep down, I think I’ve always known the type of person you are, but I refused to accept it. I was so desperate to be loved that I ignored the signs, made excuses for your hurtful behavior, and convinced myself that love was something to be endured rather than shared.
I realize now how much of myself I lost trying to be enough for you. Those evenings when I’d retreat to the bathroom, dry heaving in the toilet, purging up the so-called celebration dinner you bought for me after I joined the damn gym due to your incessant, underhanded comments.
And your condescending smile, so smug in the belief that your hints had finally worked, when in reality, I was just too tired of you using my weight as an excuse to make yourself feel better.
I hear the shower turn off, and it’s like a match is struck, igniting a sharp, sudden clarity within me. I wipe away the tears threatening to fall, snatch the taco bag from the counter, and hurl it into the trash. For the first time, I know exactly what I need to do.
Tacos be damned.
-k.a.
And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but are yourself lost or destroyed?
Luke 9:25, NLT
Authors Note:
The idea for this story came to me one afternoon while streaming the football playoffs on my boyfriend’s laptop. It started as a random thought I didn’t expect would go anywhere, but once I started writing, the story seemed to write itself (I know, a very cliché writer thing to say). I’ve never personally experienced what my main character is going through here, but it felt deeply personal somehow— like I wanted to be angry for her, heartbroken for her, and fight for her. Everything about writing this just felt right. It was fun, and that’s how I know it’s good — not necessarily “Readers Digest” good but still good nonetheless. I’m excited to dive deeper into my writing process and the thoughts that unfold between the lines later in future paid posts. I truly believe my words hold much more value than I often realize. Sharing my writing through paid posts isn’t just about earning money — it’s about building the confidence to stand behind my work. Even if I only had 1 paid subscriber, I’d be okay with that. Knowing that one person values my hard work enough to support me financially is humbling and the ultimate gift. And for them, it’s very well deserved. Of course, there’s more than one way to support a writer, and I see it from my readers all the time— the comments, the likes, and the words of encouragement off-screen. I hold it all so deeply in my heart and soul that all I can say is thank you. So, after this post, my fiction will be moving to paid posts, along with other content like my writing process and things alike— but don’t worry, there will be plenty free content too. I’m starting a new semester soon while working full-time, so there will be times when I won’t be publishing as much as I’d like. I’ve made peace with that and have embraced enough grace to get me through it when the time comes. I hope my readers will too.
Here’s to a wonderful 2025!
kiana
Quotes That Made Me Feel Something:
Wow…this was some of your best work Ki!! I felt a connection with that one guy who streams the games on his laptop:)
I want to hear what’s next!
Also, “cigarettes and deceit.” Loved that description!!