Tabú

When Luca realized that I hadn't asked for money for five days now, he thought I'd finally stopped being a greedy slumdog and handed me a black card as if giving alms. "I can foot your mother's medical bills, but only as long as you stop trying to siphon money off the family. I'm doing all this because I want you to become an outstanding Donna, y'know." He had no idea that my mother was already dead, or that I'd signed the divorce papers—I certainly didn't need the money now. As I left, I found myself still wearing the soda can pull tab that he gave me on a whim for my wedding ring. I sighed—no one would believe that the noble Donna of the Gambino family needed approval just to get money for socks. All because he believed Lina, his secretary, who told him that I had married him for his money. When my mother's heart started failing five years ago, Lina refused to approve my request to foot the bill and even framed me for lying. Luca had no idea that I was only bearing with this abuse because my mother was being nursed in his private hospital. Now that my mother was gone, I decided to be myself again and leave him forever.

My father raised me on one principle: fair exchange. If I wanted anything, I had to earn it myself. Fifty cents for washing the dishes. A dollar for mopping the floor. Five dollars for a perfect score on a test. To buy the pair of white sneakers I had been dreaming of, I spent three months collecting recyclables. In that house, I lived like a pieceworker, paid by the task. It was not until my senior year of high school that everything began to crack. I collapsed during morning study, my body worn down by years of malnutrition. The doctor said I needed better nutrition. My father stood by my hospital bed and started doing the math. "Three hundred for the hospital stay. Two hundred for medication. Chester, this all goes on your tab for the future." I turned my head and saw a boy in a school uniform in the next bed. His father was feeding him spoonfuls of chicken soup, his eyes red with worry. In that moment, the world I had known for 18 years fell apart. It turned out not every child had to earn their parents' love. After I was discharged, I went home and saw the pair of designer sneakers on my brother's feet; it was worth thousands. That was when I finally woke up. I tore up the family photo and, without hesitation, applied to the college farthest from home. Ten years later, my father called me in tears. My brother had taken all his retirement savings, sold the house, and run off with his girlfriend. He was left with nothing. No home. No one. I smiled and tossed him a rag. "Want a place to stay? Sure. It's 50 cents per window. Earn your own rent."

Joyce Stone, the beautiful and rich campus belle, often puts the tab on my account whenever she uses her card on any transactions. When she helps a low-income student with their financial problems, the money I save up from thrifting and working part-time jobs for the month is instantly depleted. When she treats the whole class to lunch, the prize money I won from my physics competition is drained right away. I try to argue with Joyce, only to hear the whole class calling me jealous of her beauty and kindness. Only my boyfriend, Lucas Zimmer, still trusts me. We work together to come up with all sorts of solutions to stop Joyce from using my money. But no matter what I do, my money keeps getting funneled from my account. Before the final exams, Joyce suddenly suggests that we all attend an auction and buy whatever we want there. The million-dollar funds that I've gathered from selling my house in order to treat my mom's illness vanishes from my account immediately. Mom ends up dying from her illness. Since I no longer have money in my account, my life force is the one getting depleted when Joyce keeps spending with her card. In the end, I've died as well. Before I close my eyes, I notice a video of Lucas and Joyce kissing on my phone. He looks at Joyce lovingly before saying, "Melanie gets jealous far too easily. If I don't pretend to trust her, I'm worried that she might go berserk and hurt you." When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Joyce is about to use her card to pay for everyone's expenses. Before she can open her mouth, I dig out my bank card right away. "Let me treat all of you to whatever you want today."

A los siete años, papá llevó a casa a una mujer hermosa y fue ella quien me regaló una caja de mangos. Ese mismo día, mamá me vio comerlos con tanto gusto. Firmó los papeles del divorcio sin decir nada y, poco después, se lanzó del edificio. Desde entonces, el mango se convirtió en la pesadilla que me acompañaría toda la vida. Por eso, el día de mi boda le dije a mi esposo, Héctor Preciado, que si algún día quería divorciarse, solo tenía que regalarme un mango. Él me abrazó sin responder y, desde ese momento, el mango también se volvió su tabú. Cinco años después de casarnos, en Nochebuena, su amiga de la infancia dejó un mango sobre su escritorio. Ese día, Héctor anunció que cortaba toda relación con Violeta Sánchez y la despidió de la empresa. Y ahí sí creí, sin dudarlo, que él era el hombre indicado para mí. Hasta que, seis meses después, regresé del extranjero tras cerrar un trato de cien millones de dólares. En la cena de celebración, Héctor me pasó una bebida. Y, cuando ya me había tomado la mitad del vaso, Violeta, la mujer a la que había despedido de la empresa, apareció detrás de mí con una sonrisa provocadora y preguntó en tono despreocupado: —¿Está bueno el jugo de mango? Me giré para mirar a Héctor con incredulidad. Él apenas contenía la risa. —No te enojes —dijo—. Violeta insistió en que te hiciera esta broma. —No te di un mango, solo jugo de mango. Luego añadió, como si nada: —Pero, creo que Violeta tiene razón: que no comas mango es una manía tuya. —Mira lo feliz que estabas tomándolo hace un momento. Mi expresión se endureció. Levanté la mano, le arrojé el resto del jugo en el rostro y me di media vuelta para irme. Porque hay cosas con las que no se bromea. El mango no lo es. Y mi decisión de divorciarme, tampoco.