I turned my face toward the window, head tilted back, trying to hold back the tears.
"Serina, you remember the size of his underwear. You remember that he hates cilantro. Every time there's a group dinner, you fuss over him like a servant, scalding his bowls and silverware again and again with boiling water."
My eyes burned, and this time my tears fell.
"But you somehow managed to forget that I'm allergic to mangoes. On my birthday, you ordered his favorite mango cake. I nearly died in the hospital because of it."
"It was me who drank myself into a stomach hemorrhage for your startup. It was me who mortgaged my parents' entire savings—to pull you out of the fire. And where the hell was your so-called ‘best friend’ then? Did he ever lift a finger for you?"
"So now that you’ve made it big, Miss Rodrigo, he shows up—parading as your so-called male best friend. And you—" my chest heaved, "—you enjoy it, don't you?"
The words drained out of me like poison finally expelled. I closed my eyes.
"Serina, let's get divorced."
Silence. The only sound in the car was my muffled sobs.
I turned my head.
She was leaning quietly against the window, softly snoring in her drunken sleep.
...