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A brown-skinned woman sits across from a pale blonde on Jonah's television. They're in a room with a live studio audience, speaking Spanish because the host and demographic are Mexicans.

The brown woman's coils are undefined and drawn back in a red and black scrunchie. Her dark brown eyes hold warmth and joy as she alternates her laughter from the interviewer to the diverse crowd.

"Elisa, tienes una nueva canción con tu banda," the pale woman says, her voice slightly raspy. They're sitting across from each other on two blue sofas, with another blue couch between them that's facing the crowd.

"Sí." Elisa nods. She always focuses on the host, Jeanie Mendoza, when she speaks. It's as if she's deaf, lip-reading.

"¿Cómo lo llamas?" Elisa licks her two-toned lips and smiles.

"Um, lo llamamos Es amor o obsesión. Lo escribo despues nadando con mi prometido," she tells Jeanie in broken Spanish, and it gets a laugh out of a few people in the audience.

Because she's Black American, born and raised in the South, English is her first language. She grew up around many cultures but was predominately influenced by Mexican and Mexican-American culture. She admired the community, enjoyed the music, and often raved over the food.

She learned a few Spanish words and phrases from her dad, who worked with many Latinos in construction, but it wasn't until she entered adulthood that she developed an interest in singing. Especially, singing in Spanish.

"Lo escribi despues de nadar," Jeanie softly corrects her, and Elisa pulls her lips into a line while sinking back into the plush cushion. "Tu espanol es muy bueno comparado con cuando te conoci." She thanks her in Spanish, her eyebrows drawn in and her hands clasped on her lap. "Recuerdo que dijiste, 'Jeanie, no puedo hablar en español,' y yo dije, '¿Cómo? Cantaste en español todos los días, pero no puedes hablar en español?' Está bien, porque con más práctica sonará natural."

She's silent for a few beats before glancing at the crowd with her mouth slightly open. She gives a weak, "Gracias," which sends the room into light laughter.

They continue speaking, and with a smile so faint it could go unnoticed, Jonah steps away from the TV. He walks to the kitchen area and stops near his humming AirFryer.

Elisa León is treasured in many Hispanic and Latin households. She effortlessly fuses her '70s style with R&B, Pop, and Rock hits in perfect Spanish. At least, to Jonah, it's perfect.

Though he's a nerdy white guy from the Bayou, he idolizes her. Her style, voice, humor, and talent; how charitable and down-to-earth she is -- friendly and approachable.

He spent over sixty dollars on two tickets to her concert, but because it was in a different state, he had to reserve a room. He blew his entire check, but for a chance to meet Elisa, he doesn't care.

Knock, Knock, Knock!

He whips his head to the door, and his sandy-red ponytail flips onto his shoulder. Jonah walks to the hotel room door and runs his palms down the front of his cargo shorts before turning the knob.

His girlfriend, Aleida, is standing in the hall holding a bucket of ice with a blank expression. Her chestnut brown hair is cropped no lower than her earlobes, and her hair tie rests around her wrist.

"I had to wait for the old guy to fix the machine." She lugs the bucket past him, and he shuts the door behind them. She passes the TV on her way to the kitchen and sets it in the sink.

Jonah tucks his hands in his pockets, follows her, then leans against the wall that separates them from the dining area.

The room is fully furnished like a condo with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach. Greyish-blue walls throughout; wood flooring for the main rooms; carpet for the bedrooms and tiled bathrooms. They have an electric stove and a Samsung fridge, but he packed his AirFryer just in case. The room costs over five hundred per night.

"Are you okay," he asks with furrowed eyebrows after watching her open random drawers and cabinets as if she's looking for something.

She pouts her lip and shrugs nonchalantly, but doesn't look at him when she says, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You seem -- mad." She nods, and he pulls his lips aside with uncertainty. Aleida hardly spoke to him since they left Tampa, Florida.

They stopped for food and bathroom breaks, but she said more than three words only when she wanted money to buy something from the gas station. It bothered him, but he didn't bother her because he assumed she was dealing with something.

Aleida stands up straight, and, with her face aimed at the ceiling, she takes a deep breath.

"Honestly, I just." She stammers and pauses between each word like she's walking on eggshells. She licks her thin lips and turns her body to him. "I know you like this girl and her music," she says, and he mumbles Elisa. Aleida narrows her eyes at him. She'd be offended by his behavior if they knew her personally. Instead, she's chalking it up to celebrity worship. "Jonah, I know you like her music and all, but I don't. I don't get the hype with her either. She doesn't dance, can barely sing, and speaks Spanish like she learned it from Duolingo or something."

He watches her lift a finger to count every flaw, and his heart beats faster.

"She's American, why would you expect," he starts to defend his idol, but his girlfriend scrunches her face.

"Don't give me that," she says, interrupting him. "I'm American, and my Spanish is better than hers."

He doesn't know anything but English, so he takes her word for it.

"Why didn't you tell me you didn't want to come with me?" Her expression drops, and she tilts her head at him like his question has an obvious answer. "What? I spent so much money for us to see her, and you don't even like her."

"Jonah, for months I've told you I don't like her music, but all you do is argue with me or try to change my mind." He stares at her with his lips agape. He wants to deny it, but, in a way, it would only prove her point. She walks past him and annoyedly asks, "Why couldn't you get tickets to see Peso Pluma or, maybe, take me to a restaurant instead?"

He hates Peso Pluma's music. He's never been a fan of corridos tumbados or narcocorridos because of the storylines, and he winces every time she sings along to her playlist.

The two are like oil and water when it comes to music, but can easily bond over other things.

He turns around when she clicks her lips against her teeth. Aleida steps to the glass, octagonal coffee table and lifts the remote. Elisa's standing on a low platform with her mariachi band behind her, strumming their stringed instruments and blowing their horned ones. She's wearing a dark red crop top and lowrise bell bottoms.

Her voice, softer than a whisper, glides through notes that sweep around the room she's in. If not for the microphone in her hand, no one would hear her.

Jonah glances at the singer's two-toned lips like she did the host's, watching them pucker and widen as she serenades the audience.

Aleida mashes the power button, and the screen clicks off. She sets the remote on the TV stand and then turns to walk away. She pauses when she sees him standing there, his eyebrows dipped and his hands in his pockets.

He steps toward the hall, heading to the master bedroom. She clears her throat and straightens her posture when he shuts himself in the room, then she returns to the kitchen to finish making drinks.

***

The following night, Jonah stands in front of the bathroom mirror, roughly running his paddlebrush through his thick hair. He has a mess of freckles dotted across his face and body like stars and constellations, but only a few on his wide nose.

"Aleida?" He sets the brush on the marble sink and steps through the hall. She's lying in bed, scrolling through her cell phone. He furrows his eyebrows, noticing she hasn't changed out of her pajamas. "Why aren't you dressed? We gotta get there in fifteen minutes."

"I'm not going," she says, pausing after each word for emphasis. Aleida cuts her eyes at him and his face relaxes.

"Aleida, please," he says, dragging her name. He understands her dislike for Elisa, and if it were something she enjoyed, he'd feel the same way. The difference, though, is that he at least tries to make an effort for her. He's attended concerts, family gatherings, and carnival rides to please her, but never in their five-year relationship has she made the same effort.

She gives him a look, her brown eyes telling him not to push her. That, he won't.

With a sigh that lifts his chest and shoulders, he drops his head and steps away from the bedroom door. Her eyes land on his shoes before they're out of her line of sight, then she creases the skin above her nose bridge.

"Jonah," she calls for him before standing from the bed. Aleida finds him at the room door with his keys in hand and his back to her. He watches her over his shoulder as she stops near him. "Why're you all dressed up for a little concert?"

"Well, it's our anniversary. What seems like a little concert to you is actually something more important to me," he monotonously tells her, and her face relaxes. He's in a burgundy button-down shirt tucked in his black jeans, but she first noticed his black suede loafers with silver buckles.

'He's taking me to a restaurant,' she thinks, and a smile creeps onto her face.

"Let me get dressed, and I'll meet you in the car." Aleida sprints to their room before words can leave his open mouth. His eyes are a bit wider, stunned that she finally seems interested.

She changes into a silk black dress that falls to her calves and dark platform sandals. With her hair brushed and tied into a messy high bun, she leaves the hotel room and finds him standing at the idle car that's waiting in front of the doors.

He looks her up and down with a smile that grows brighter and wider the longer he admires her.

She returns the gesture with a weak one, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder.

He steps aside while opening her door and shuts her in the car. They travel to the venue, five minutes away, and her heart swells when she sees a string of cars circling the large parking lot like vultures.

The packed lot tells her that wherever she is, is popular.

He finds one of the numbered reserved spaces and takes out his phone. Because he purchased VIP tickets, he was given a parking space closer to the door, but he has to input his license plate number upon arrival.

Her stomach twists and turns like she's a kid waiting to open her presents on Christmas. The building is tall and wide with floor-to-ceiling windows, blue lights, and a fountain in the front. The fountain has red and blue LED lights that make the water appear a different color and reflect onto those who pass by.

By how fancy the place looks, she can't imagine how good the food will taste. Sauteed shrimp, garlic-butter mashed potatoes, brown gravy, and a medium-rare steak paired with a cocktail. She can already taste and smell it, making her nostrils flare and her mouth water.

"Alright, we can go in now," he says, and her heart skips a beat. Jonah pockets his phone as she removes her seatbelt. He does the same and reaches for his door, but stops when she swings hers open. He hesitantly steps out of the vehicle and shuts his door after she does the same, and they walk side-by-side toward the building.

They cross a red carpet and enter through the double doors, instantly greeted with cool air and a lively ambiance.

Some people are wearing shirts with Elisa's face under her name in cursive. Others are in dressy clothes or everyday wear.

She slides her palm against his and interlocks their fingers, watching people walk in multiple directions.

They cross the checkerboard floor and reach a uniformed man behind a glass-enclosed booth.

While Jonah speaks to the man, she looks around for tables or waitstaff; sniffs for food of any kind; and listens out for cutlery. Nothing. All her senses tell her is that she wasted a good outfit just to smell cheap cologne wafting off her boyfriend.

"Jonah Douglas and Aleida González," Jonah tells the man when prompted. They're given a slip of paper and directed to head east, further into the building.

He thanks the man and walks with her toward a curved arch. It has a thin curtain over it and a bouncer standing beside it.

"Is that where we go to eat?" He makes a confused expression at her, but hers shows concern. He doesn't realize it, but she's hoping for a positive answer, and if not, she plans to hide out in the women's bathroom.

"What're you talking about?" She hitches a breath like he dumped her, and her eyes roam onto the couples and teenagers finding their way past the bouncer once he checks their passes.

"I have to use the restroom," she forces the words out as a lump forms in her throat. He opens his mouth to remind her that they need to hurry to their seats, but she turns and walks back to the entryway.

Aleida understands that he's enamored with Elisa -- she's been at the center of many arguments -- but to her, it's like his short-lived interest in skiing or trains when they first started dating.

She went to every Anime convention, stayed up for hours with him while he pieced together his model train, and took him to the hospital when he injured himself skiing.

She doesn't have it in her to put energy into another fleeting interest, especially one she loathes.

Jonah glances at the tall, stocky bouncer, then watches his girlfriend step into the ladies' room.

He wants to head inside and sit down, but he knows it'll be dark and she might not be able to see him.

His eyes widen for a second like a lightbulb went off in his head, and then he pats his pockets. In one is a small box, and in the other is his phone.

'I'll just text her when I see her step in.' He shows his pass to the bouncer, then follows the crowd into the concert hall. There are velvet seats up high in hundreds and more on the bottom floor. They're all surrounding the stage with idle equipment and instruments, like at an opera.

There are spotlights in every corner -- all aimed where Elisa will soon be -- and tiny lights embedded in the seats on the sides, at the bottom. He checks his pass to remind himself which seat would be theirs, then looks around.

Almost all of the seats are taken, and more people are filling the rest as they file into the room.

Jonah and Aleida are near the front, three rows behind. He breaks away from the crowd and sits between two couples. He takes out his phone and sends her their seat numbers, then pockets it along with their pass.

Minutes later, almost every seat is taken except for ten, and one of them is next to him.

"Todo de ustedes me halaga," Elisa says through a toothy grin. The audience erupts in applause and cheer, fueling her with love and admiration.

She steps to her microphone on its stand while her men find their instruments. A few are brown-skinned like her, but most are lighter.

They're in matching black traje de charros with stitched ornaments on the length of their arms as well as their torsos.

She's in a long skirt and blouse with a similar design to her men, her hair in a half-up braided afro.

She speaks to the crowd in slow, then rapid Spanish before looking back at her band. Jonah watches one man's fingers strum the guitarron, one mash the buttons on a trumpet, and another stroking a güiro.

Elisa takes the microphone off its stand and sings a song with a similar tune to Cielito Lindo, the same song she serenaded the crowd with on Jeanie Mendoza's show.

"Debería haberlo visto venir." She sings straight at the crowd with her lips grazing the microphone. She gives her attention to the left side, clutching her chest like her heart is torn. "El romance no valía la pena el luto." Elisa walks to the right side of the stage, gesturing that hand toward an older man sitting alone. "Me mentiste y te perdoné." She lays her palm on her chest and looks out at the people above. "Ahora que te has ido, cual es el punto?"

The music swells with the trumpet as the loudest instrument followed by the harp and guitarron.

She cries out the melancholic part that her song and Cielito Lindo share, her voice quivering and dipping like she's truly heartbroken.

Jonah watches the light following her movement as she walks across the stage with the cordless mic. Two braids hold a row of ordered black and white beads that swing like earrings beside her face with each step she takes.

He takes his eyes off the performance to look across his shoulder. The auditorium is dark enough to see indecipherable movements, but he holds hope that his girlfriend will arrive.

He faces forward, bringing his lip between his teeth. He wants to check on her but doesn't want to miss the show.

Jonah slips his phone out of his pocket and when the screen flashes on, the man to his right glares at him. He apologizes in a low voice, then fully dims the screen.

He lifts the scroll out of settings but doesn't see any new notifications, so he checks his messaging app.

Aleida left him on read a minute after he sent the text which was three minutes prior.

He sends her three question marks and stares at the screen, hoping and waiting for a reply that for the duration of the song, he never gets.

Instead, she leaves him on read again and his eyes drift onto Elisa. She's pouring her heart and soul into every note, every word, and every gesture each song needs to convey their meanings across language barriers.

Normally, he'd be at the edge of his seat with a large smile and wide eyes, but all he can do is slump and stare with dipped eyebrows and a slacked jaw.

Aleida's resistance and ultimate disappointment replay in his mind. He didn't think much of it when her smile turned to what resembled her being on the verge of tears, but sitting next to her empty seat, it's all he can think of.

Elisa continues four more songs before she ends the show with a message to her audience. She thanks them for attending, asks them to meet her near the lobby, and requests that they make it home safely, then kisses her palm and sends it out to the crowd.

He doesn't understand a word of what she says but notices her exiting the stage with her band as the crowd stands from their seats. He follows the attendees into the lobby but continues past the many choosing to stay behind.

Jonah finds Aleida sitting by the bathroom, scrolling on her phone, and he stops in front of the ticket booth.

Someone screams out for Elisa and Jonah looks over his shoulder again. His gloom shifts to elation when he sees his idol hugging fans like they're family.

She takes pictures with them and signs autographs while talking to the rest.

Jonah steps toward them, stuffing his phone in his pocket. He gently pushes through and stands behind a little boy bouncing on his heels, watching her sign the notebook he uses for his science class.

He's eager to hug her and brag to his classmates on Monday about meeting her.

Someone asks Elisa where her spouse is, and she chuckles while handing the boy his pen and journal.

"He's probably streaming right now," Elisa tells the man, then signs another photo. "He usually doesn't like to be on the road. I don't blame him, it gets tiring and nothing beats home-cooked meals."

"I still don't understand why you're with someone like him," someone else says. She pauses for a second, her jaw clenching as she holds herself together.

She knows that being a celebrity doesn't grant her the privacy she could only wish for -- her fans discovered her real name in only a month of her being in the public eye -- but she's fought tooth and nail to keep her relationship private.

"Well, sometimes things aren't meant to be understood," Jonah tells them. Elisa looks at the redhead and bites her lips to avoid smiling. She finishes the autograph and hands it back with the pen.

Eventually, almost everyone leaves. Some are satisfied but others aren't, though they know not to cause a scene.

"Thanks for sticking up for me," she says when they're alone, her hands on her hips. Her forehead is shiny like oil was dripping from her scalp and she wipes it off.

"It's no big deal. I know how people can be sometimes. Especially when they think you owe them after they did something for you." His voice is shaking and cracking. He even pauses behind some words to feebly gather himself.

Elisa extends her arms with that infectious smile, and his heart skips a beat. He runs into her embrace, making her stumble before he wraps his large arms around her small frame. He towers over her by a foot, but her scent carries toward him.

All the coconut Vaseline, cotton candy perfume, and Strawberry Vaseline lip balm from her skin sticks to him. Even her Cantu and Blue Magic products engrave themselves in his nostrils.

The two pull away and talk like old friends, discussing their hobbies, upbringing, and childhood pets.

The laughter and camaraderie don't sit well with Aleida. She's standing by the double doors with her arms folded, watching her boyfriend up close and personal with the singer she hates.

"Jonah!" Aleida projects her voice, rushing him to end the meet-and-greet so they can return to the hotel. He and Elisa turn their heads to her, his smile melting from the heat behind her eyes.

When he turns back to the singer and continues their discussion, Aleida blinks back and scoffs. She nods with pursed lips, then sifts through her bag for her phone.

Elisa watches her storm out of the building and then asks him who she is.

He explains everything, including her dislike for the singer and her preference for other performers.

"What's wrong with Duolingo," she asks with a genuine smile, and they laugh. "Seriously though, why bring her to my show if you know she's not interested?"

"I brought her because I wanted to attend and seeing that I've gone to many of her favorite places, I feel like the least she can do is try to do the same." Elisa nods but remains neutral. She doesn't want to get involved because it'd be hypocritical to want privacy in her own relationship yet insert herself in others' drama.

He even shares that Aleida hid in the bathroom, and that makes the singer snicker.

"I've never heard of that one before. I can't wait to tell Gio I'm apparently so boring someone hid in the bathroom." She laughs, but he only gives a wry smile. Gio is the güiro player. "I'm sorry, Jonah. Look, I don't wanna get in your business and tell you what to do, but I'll say this: Never run behind someone for something that they know you'd gladly do for them." His eyes glaze onto her mahogany cowboy boots. "That's what my mom always says."

She bids him goodnight, then leaves him with his thoughts. He wants to share his interests with Aleida like she does for him, but she doesn't even pretend to care.

He'd never break up with her over something so trivial, but it does make him wonder if that'd be the best course of action.

Jonah dips his hand in his pocket and retrieves the black box. He looks it over, running his thumb over the piece of a sticker he tore off to conceal the price.

"I'm gonna take an Über to this restaurant up the street." Aleida stops beside him and stares at the object in his grasp. "What's that?" He flips it open and her heart drops into her stomach when she sees the large, egg-shaped diamond. "Oh, my God."

She drones again and again, reaching for the ring nestled in the groove of a velvet cushion. He shuts the box, and she jerks her hand to her chest like his action could've hurt her.

They lock eyes, her eyebrows lowered and furrowed. He says, "You're never happy unless it's something that benefits you."

Aleida's mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.

He remembers the conventions, being taken to the hospital after a skiing accident, and staying up with her to build his train set.

In every scenario, she didn't want to do it for him. She went to the convention but complained about everything, agreed to the skiing trip yet snapped selfies mostly, and nagged him about the train set.

"I had plans to take you somewhere nice tomorrow for dinner," he says, and her eyes light up until he shakes his head. "But after tonight, I just -- I'd rather go home. So, tomorrow, we'll head back to Florida and part ways; I'm done. We're done."