Tri-Colored Pastries: The Official Story by Ashley Kervabon (best interesting books to read TXT) 📕

He told me everything was going to be fine. “I know a lot of people who’ve done it,” he said. The vagueness of his response should have made me run away but of course, I was in love so I had no other choice but to believe him. At the time I’m sure I even told him that I didn’t care about myself. I just cared about us being together and would do anything he wanted me to do as long as we stayed that way.
Now, I wish I had him in front of me so I could ask him who those other people were that he knew. I wish that I could ask them if they feel the same pain that I do. I wonder if they can bear to look at themselves in the mirror because I know I can’t.
How did I end up like this? Alone, full of guilt and regret. I should have known better. My mom always told me to stay away from American men. “They call you bonita, seduce you, leave you pregnant and disappear. Just like magicians,” she would say. I wish I could tell her how right she was.
I met Seth when she was in the hospital. He was a visiting doctor from New York and a very good one at that. Watching him work made him look so smart, sexy. Mom could tell I thought he was attractive but she never said anything. A few days before she died, she asked me if I would ever go back to America with him if something were to happen between us. She warned me that Americans like him would only try to take advantage of a young girl like me. I responded with “ Mom, first of all, I’m smarter than that. Besides, he’s a doctor. Doctors are good people. He’s a good guy.” After a few head nods and a giggle, she looked at me doubtfully and I promised her I would be fine. What a liar I turned out to be.
A week after the funeral, Seth called me to see how I was holding up. I told him that I was fine but he insisted on stopping by the house. He did, and along with his charming personality he brought a bottle of wine and little tri-colored pastries from the bakery next door. Seth stayed over that night. It’s safe to say that that night opened up an incredibly large can of worms.
I began to see him more and more frequently, three months into the relationship, he moved in with me .It was the best time of my life. I had felt so lonely and upset after Mom died and waking up next to him just made me feel better. Safer. I was happy and I kept thinking that nothing could be wrong with what I was doing because I was happy.
Then it happened. Little things just started happening with each one of them getting progressively worse. First I lost my job so I had to count on Seth completely for financial support which even then, made me a little uneasy. Then, he found out his time in Europe was over and he had to go back to Mount Sinai in New York. I knew he would ask me to move back with him but the truth was I did not want to. When the subject came up, he convinced me to pack up my bags and go with him. He was right…What did I have to lose?
The moment of truth came a few weeks before we moved. It was then that I found out that I was pregnant. It was then that I realized I had gotten myself into a big, big mess.
I was afraid to tell Seth. I didn’t know how he was going to react. I didn’t even know how
to react. I was too young to have a baby. I had just lost my job, I was planning to move to a different country! No where in my six month plan was to have a baby. But, being the Catholic-raised girl that I was, I saw no other choice but to keep it.
Today is Wednesday, they let me out in forty minutes. As I sit here in my big white room, counting down the seconds until I’m free, I think about everything I’ve been through in the past year. I really shouldn’t have eaten those tri-colored pastries, I keep thinking to myself. But fuck it, I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway. I’m leaving here, with nothing more and nothing less than what I came with. No money, no friends, no family, and a broken heart.
After I told Seth the news, he seemed so casual about it. We both knew where we stood on the subject but neither of us wanted to bring it up. Then there was that day at the train station. We each had a couple of drinks, and we started to loosen up a bit. By the end of the conversation, I felt pressured to make a decision. It could have been the alcohol, or maybe the fact that we were to move in less than two weeks that made me do it, but I went ahead and jumped on that train to Madrid without a doubt in my mind that it was the right choice.
After Madrid, we went back to my house in Barcelona, and were due to move to New York in a week. Then one night he just didn’t come home. He went out with the guys from the hospital so I assumed he went home with one of them. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t going to not let him have fun from time to time. When the next morning came around, I began to worry. Three days passed and still no sign of him. Week three came around and finally, I received a letter.
It read: “Dear Jig, I no longer feel that we can be together. I came back to New York as
planned and will continue to work here until further notice. I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry? I’M SORRY?! Until further notice?! Who did he think he was writing to?! There were too many emotions, thoughts running through my head. I couldn’t take it. I picked up a bottle of aspirin, poured half of them into my palm, shoved them in my mouth and chased it with half of a bottle of vodka. I laid down in my bed and began to dream.
There was a young girl and a mother. They were best friends. They did everything together. They went shopping, they went to see plays, and every Wednesday morning no matter how busy each one of them was, they would make time to go their favorite little bakery and get tri-colored pastries with each other. It almost seemed too good to be true. The young girl then grew up and her mom became very ill. Instead of going to college, the daughter stayed home to take care of her mother. Her mom’s last words were “Even though your father left me, I’m glad I had you. You were my only and best friend.”
I woke up in this white room which I am now exiting. My neighbor found me an hour after I had chugged the vodka and called the hospital. She told them I had tried to commit suicide. Being that Seth’s note was on the floor next to my body when she found me, I can’t really blame her. I mean, I wasn’t feeling too great at the time but I think it was just more of the shock that hit me. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I wasn’t.
It’s been six months. My house is quiet. The doctors at the hospital told me to keep this journal to track my feelings. They’re good people. The doctors, I mean. They’re doctors, they have to be good people right? Then again, Seth was a doctor. Seth left me. Just like in my dream, it could have been me and my little girl eating tri-colored pastries every Wednesday. But thanks to him it’s me and well…me. I dreamt about the life that I could have had with my daughter. I dreamt about the life that I did not give the chance to live. The life that I took away, and for that I will never be able to forgive myself.
I’m sure I will get used to the loneliness. The guilt is a little bit more difficult. I thought that I would at least have someone to walk me through it. But Seth is gone. Seth disappeared, just like a magician. Ironic, isn’t it? Well now I want to be gone too. Tonight I will take the remaining aspirin, chug what is left of the vodka on my dresser and begin to dream.

Publication Date: 04-01-2012

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