“Fuck you, Dev!”
She pressed the phone to her ear as she rounded the corner. Part of me wanted to run after her, beg her forgiveness, but the stubborn side of me just wanted to be alone, to crawl inside of my darkness and escape my reality.
And the darkness won.
Chapter 24
LYRA
I couldn’t let Dev see that he’d broken my heart in two. Instead, I stayed stoic. I stayed strong until I could get far enough that he couldn’t hear my sobs, he couldn’t see my tears. Once again, I felt replaceable. I felt like I would never be enough for a man who was pining after his ex and couldn’t be faithful.
My phone rang as I approached the corner.
“Tell the professor I say hi,” Dev called.
“Fuck you, Dev,” I said before answering the call. It was my mother…literally the last person in the world I wanted to speak to. I was so angry and upset with Dev that it never occurred to me that my mother was calling me at midnight. Normally seeing her number that late would have sent me into a panic. But I was too wrapped up in my fight with Dev to process it.
“Mama, this isn’t a good time,” I said, rounding the corner, getting as far away from Dev as I possibly could.
“Lyra, thank God you’re there. Abuela’s had a heart attack.”
“What?” My feet stopped working and my stomach dropped to my knees. “Is she okay? Is she alive?”
“Yes. But you have to come home, mija. It’s…it’s not looking good.”
A knot formed in my chest. “Mama, you’re scaring me.”
My mom cried into the phone. “Because I’m scared, mija. I think we’re going to lose her. Please. Please come home as soon as you can.”
“Of course,” I said, attempting to be strong for my mother. “I’ll get on the next flight out. I promise.”
“Text your father before takeoff. He’ll pick you up at the airport.”
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I hailed a cab and searched my phone for flights as I rode back to my apartment. There was no time to spend worrying about or even thinking about Dev. My focus was one hundred percent on my family. I could only hope I’d get to L.A. in time to see my abuela.
“Please, God, don’t take her,” I whispered to the heavens as I climbed out of the cab and walked into my building.
God didn’t answer my prayer.
By the time I reached the hospital, my abuela had a massive coronary that took her in an instant. There was nothing the doctors and nurses could do to bring her back. I stood in shock as my mom held on to me for dear life, sobbing into my shoulder. I clutched her back, holding her close as my own tears poured from my eyes. This was a pain I’d never experienced. It was all consuming; it was as if a part of me had died.
“I need to see her,” I said to my father moments later when my mother had taken a seat in a boxy wooden chair with shabby fabric. My father nodded, took my hand, and led me to her room. I stood in the doorway for a moment, unable to coerce my feet into walking into the room.
“It’s okay, mija. You need to say goodbye,” he urged me on.
I nodded as tears dripped from my eyes like a leaky faucet. It felt like I would never stop crying as I stood above her. Her skin was ashen, her eyes closed and surprisingly peaceful. I took her hand and sat in the chair beside the bed.
“It’s me, Abuela. It’s Lyra.”
She said nothing and I chided myself for being foolish enough to think she’d actually be able to respond. The sudden realization that I’d never hear her voice again hit me like a bullet train as I pressed her hand to my lips, kissing her cold knuckles, aching for the warmth and unconditional love that only Abuela could give.
“I hate that you were in pain. You must have been so scared.” I stroked the top of her hand with my fingertips as if I could heal her somehow, as if I could take that pain away.
“I’ll miss you so much. So much, Abuela. And I’ll take care of Mama. I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise.”
After spending a few more minutes sitting in silence, I studied her face, knowing it was the last time I’d ever have the luxury of seeing it. I studied the lines that creased her forehead, the way her skin sagged from her cheeks and the plump, perfect lips that I’d always admired and wished genetics had given me. I stood, kissed her on the cheek, and said my final goodbye.
It was time to honor my promise. It was time to take care of my mother.
Four days later, we were sitting at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, listening to the priest talk about my abuela. Calla lily arrangements surrounded the pulpit. My mother sat next to me in her black dress, squeezing my hand as we sat uncomfortably in the creaky wooden pew.
I hadn’t had much contact with my life back in Seattle. Vern had been more than accommodating. Spring break was approaching, and he’d told me to just take all the time I needed before the break and after if necessary. Maren told me she and Peter would be at the services. I hadn’t seen her yet, but knew I would eventually. My abuela knew a lot of people during her lifetime and was an active member of St. Mary’s, so I was proud to see that the church was filled with family members, friends, and fellow parishioners who were there to pay their respects.
Dev had started texting me the night I left the bar.
12:22am: Did you get home okay? I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone.
12:45am: Please Lyra, just let me know you got home safe. I’ll be waiting.
9:16am: I’m an asshole. I don’t remember everything I said last night, but I know I fucked up. Please forgive me.
10:04am: I’m outside your building. Please buzz me up.
10:30am: Okay, I get it. I’m going home. Really hoping to hear from you.
After that, the texting stopped for a day, but each morning I woke up to the same message.
I can’t stop thinking about you and wishing I’d done everything differently.
I’d ignored every text. Every last one. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about Dev. In fact, I worried that I cared too much. But I had to focus on my family. I had to give Abuela the attention and respect that she deserved during her passing. While on the phone with Maren, she’d asked me why I hadn’t told Dev about Abuela’s heart attack and I didn’t have an answer.
“I don’t know,” I had said. “I just… I can’t deal with it. With any of it. I need to get through this first before I can see straight. I need to climb out of my grief, I think, and then I can start to consider letting him in.”
Maren understood and didn’t push; she just reassured me that I would have her support and that she’d see me at the church.
So, here we were. After a seventy-five minute service and mass, it was time to walk behind Abuela’s casket. My father, my uncles, and my male cousins were the pallbearers, so my mother and I walked behind them along with my aunts and female cousins.
When we got halfway down the aisle, I spotted Maren and Peter. Maren had tears streaming down her cheeks and she blew me a kiss. Peter gave me a closed mouth, supportive smile. I nodded at both of them, mentally thanking them for their support, for their friendship.
When we reached the final pews of the church, my breath caught as I saw his face. Dev. Alone, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie, standing with his hands folded in front of him, his eyes focused on me, his eyes apologetic and vulnerable.