My husband cheated me pregnant… so I invited his lover to my baby shower and sat her next to my mother-in-law.
When I found the messages, I didn’t scream.
That’s what surprised me most about myself.
I always thought that if I ever discovered an infidelity, I was going to throw dishes,
break shirts,
Take bags out of the window like in the evening novels.
I thought I was gonna cry lying on the bathroom floor,
with the mascara up to the neck,
Wondering what she had that I didn’t have.
But not.
I cried exactly seven minutes.
Then I was hungry.
And then he gave me courage.
A lot of courage.
I was seven months pregnant,
swollen feet like soaked buns,
acidity even to think of green sauce
and a baby who kicked my ribs as if I was training for the Mexican team.
My husband, Adrian, on the other hand, was very scented lately.
Too much.
She was looking for a bath.
He wore ironed shirts.
I smiled at the cell phone as a lesser teenager.
And the worst:
He started saying “rest, my love” every time he came out.
One knows.
I don’t know how to explain it,
but one knows.
The body warns you before the tests.
The stomach is tightened,
the head begins to add details,
the heart is alert.
That night, Adrian fell asleep in the chair with his cell phone in his hand.
I went for a blanket to cover it,
because you fool yes,
But bad wife I never went.
When I raised his arm,
the screen caught on.
And there it was.
“I can’t stand seeing you with her anymore.”
The message was from someone saved as “Carlos workshop.”
Carlos workshop sending hearts at one in the morning.
Aha.
I stood still.
The baby moved inside me.
As if I had also read.
I took the cell phone slowly,
with a calm that scared me,
and opened the conversation.
“You are the love of my life, Adrian.”
“Soon I’m going to fix everything, my queen.”
“What about the baby?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be with you. I just need time.”
I felt something hot up from my chest to my face.
It was not sadness.
It was humiliation.
It was rage.
It was that kind of pain that doesn’t make you fall,
It straightens you.
I kept reading.
Her name was Renata.
I worked with him at the same insurance agency, in Polanco.
They were six months old.
Things were said that he didn’t even accidentally tell me anymore.
They had gone to Valle de Bravo “for work”.
They had kissed in his office.
She sent him pictures in glued dresses.
He replied that she was beautiful.
I looked at my huge belly,
my pajamas with cream stains,
My swollen ankles.
And for a second I felt ugly.
Old.
Clumsy.
Then my baby kicked hard.
As if to say:
“Don’t save me, Mom.”
Then I came up with it.
It was not an idea.
It was a revelation.
In two weeks it was going to be my baby shower.
My mom and aunts had been organizing it for a month in a small event room in Coyoacán.
There were going to be balloons,
candy table,
ridiculous games,
basket tacos,
Three milk cake
and all those things that make the ladies happy.
Adrian’s family was going to be.
His friends, too.
Some people from their work.
And Renata was going to be, too.
Because I was going to invite her.
The next day I pretended to be normal.
“Did you sleep well?” Adrian asked, kissing me on the forehead.
“As a baby,” I replied.
I almost laughed.
He didn’t even imagine that I had taken catches,
I had sent them to my mail,
I had printed them in the corner stationery
and had them stored inside a pink folder with bear decals.
A pregnant woman with printer and courage is more dangerous than any private detective.
That afternoon I called my cousin Mariana.
Mariana is a labor attorney,
divorced twice
and with an almost divine ability to destroy male egos without disheveling.
“Cousin,” I said, “I need you to help me with something delicate.
“Did you get ahead of your baby yet?”
“No. My husband’s mistress was overtaken.
There was a silence.
Then I heard that Mariana closed a door.
“Speak.
I told him everything.
Everything.
The messages,
the false name,
Bravo Valley,
the office,
the promise to “fix everything.”
Mariana didn’t interrupt me.
I was just breathing heavy.
When I finished, he said,
Do you want a clean divorce or show with mariachi?
I want a baby shower.
I love it. Go on.
I’m going to invite her.
“The mistress?”
“Yes.
“Cousin, I love you.
But I need to know who it is in the company.
It took Mariana less than an hour.
He sent me a message:
“Renata Salcedo. Account executive. He reports directly to Lourdes Menchaca. And guess who was my partner in college.”
I smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours.
We called Lourdes that same night.
I thought a regional director,
of those that come out on LinkedIn in expensive and expensive costume of not having time for nonsense,
I was gonna tell us that those were personal matters.
But Lourdes listened in silence and then asked:
Does the relationship happen inside the office?
“Yes.
Are there messages during business hours?
“Yes.
Did you use work trips to meet?
“Also.
Lourdes sighed.
Send me everything. And tell me the date, time and place of the baby shower.
“You’re going?”
“Sure. I love cupcakes and internal regulations.
I hung up shaking.
Not in fear.
Of adrenaline.
The following days were a play.
Adrian stroked my belly and said,
“Our princess is going to be very loved.
And I thought:
“You better, because you’re going to see her by Zoom if you keep going like this.”
I was wondering about the centerpieces,
for the guests,
to the cake.
He was doing the excited.
He even told his mom that he wanted to give a few words at the party.
That’s nice.
Me too.
I invited Renata on Instagram from an account I hardly used.
I wrote to him as if nothing:
“Hi, Renata. I’m Camila, Adrian’s wife. Since you’re a co-worker, I’d love you to join us for the baby shower. Adrian always speaks highly of the team.”
It took three hours to respond.
“Hi, Camila. Sure, gladly. Thank you for inviting me.”
He put a blue heart on it.
The brazenness of some women should pay taxes.
The day has come.
The living room was beautiful.
Lilac and white balloons,
a huge sign that said “Welcome, Lucia,”
flowers in glass jars,
a table full of cupcakes,
conchitas,
Strawberries with chocolate
and marzipans.
My mom had made mosaic jelly.
My mother-in-law, Doña Teresa, arrived dressed as if she were the famous pregnant woman of the family.
“Mijita, you look very tired,” she said, she barely saw me.
“I’m carrying a baby and a surprise,” I replied.
He didn’t understand.
Adrian came nervous.
I’ve noticed it since he came in.
I looked out at the door every two minutes.
He adjusted the watch.
He was drinking water.
He asked me three times if I felt good.
“Perfect,” I said. Today it will be unforgettable.
At five and twenty came Renata.
And, my God, it came as if it were a red carpet.
Pink dress stick,
nude heels,
hair with perfect waves,
expensive perfume,
“I don’t break families, I just reorganize them.”
He was bringing a gift bag wrapped with golden bow.
I saw her from the entrance.
Adrian went white.
PART 2
Not pale.
White of dead.
I saw him swallowing saliva while Renata crossed the living room with that golden bag in his hand, smiling like he hadn’t spent six months getting into my marriage. My mother-in-law, Doña Teresa, looked up and down with curiosity.
“And this little girl who she is?” she asked.
“Adrián’s working partner,” I said, with my sweetest smile. I kept him place next to you.
Adrian coughed.
“Camila, love, I think Renata can sit down with those in the office.
“Oh, don’t be rude,” I replied. Your mom always says she likes to meet the important people in your life.
Renata blinked.
Doña Teresa straightened herself in the chair, happy to feel important.
“Sure, mijita, sit here with me. I’m Adrian’s mom.
Renata hesitated for a second.
That second was delicious.
But he sat down.
The living room was full of noise: aunts laughing, children running between balloons, spoons crashing into unicel dishes, my mom fighting with the coffee maker because the Jamaican water was already running out. Outside, in Coyoacán, the organillero was heard passing through the street and some salesman shouting tamales as if it were Monday morning.
Adrian came to me from behind.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
My baby shower.
Don’t play, Camila.
I turned slowly.
I never play with family things, Adrian.
He stayed icy.
My cousin Mariana looked at me from the gift table. He was wearing a green dress, red lips and a beige folder tucked under his arm. He raised barely an eyebrow.
It was the signal.
At six the first game started.
My Aunt Lulu screamed with microphone in hand:
Let’s see who knows the future dads better!
The ladies cheered.
Adrian tried to smile.
Renata didn’t know where to put her hands.
I sat in a chair decorated with lilac slats, the huge belly under the white dress, and I felt Lucia move inside me. My daughter was awake. Perfect. That he heard early that his mother did not let herself step.
“First question,” said my aunt, “What was Camila’s first strong craving?”
“Mango with chamoy,” my mom replied.
“No,” said Adrian, quickly. Chilaquiles.
I smiled.
It was mango with chamoy. You were in Valle de Bravo that day, remember?
The living room was a little quieter.
Renata looked down.
Doña Teresa looked at her son.
“Bravo Valley?”
“I work, Mom,” he said.
“How weird,” I intervened. Because that end you told me you were in Puebla.
My Aunt Lulu made a nervous laugh in front of the microphone.
“Well, well, next question.
