“Papi.” Her voice is a watery plea, still not fully comprehending what we have lost.
“You’re whoring around with that pendejo when you should be home caring for your family. You were never a good girl like your sister.”
Her dark eyes dart around, glittering with the emergence of tears and an inkling of fear.
“This is why she is dead! You bring stress and strain…the poor woman…mi amor.”
“What are you saying?”
Papi slips into Spanish, cursing and blaming her for everything, including our mother’s death. My heart clenches. It isn’t true.
Bianca loves Mamá. She’s no different—good or bad—than me. But my mouth doesn’t open. No words are said.
She attempts her defense, not reading the situation, and it only infuriates him more. It all happens so fast and I don’t see it coming.
He slaps her across the face and turns away from her in disgust. I’m not sure if it’s at himself or her. Shocked, my sister shrinks and run from the room.
My father has never laid a hand on either of us before.
I’m unfeeling and I’m not clear on how long I stay there. Eventually, I go upstairs, falling onto my bed.
Heartbreaking sobs from the bed across from mine eventually peter out as Bianca gives in to sleep.
At some point, Papi sticks his head into our bedroom and I can almost feel what I imagine is his anguished stare, burning into my body.
I want to both comfort and scold him but don’t. Instead, I pretend to be sleeping, and once he’s in bed, I slip from our house into the dead of night.
The shadows hug me, and the light drizzle blankets my numb body. Astonished, I find Jared sleeping when I crawl into the playhouse. My heart wants to sing and weep at the same time.
“Fuck, Eva.” He jolts upright at my touch, and his groggy voice brings instant tears.
His name comes out as a pained cry. “Jared.”
“What’s wrong?”
I lunge at him, sinking into him, and tentatively, his hand strokes my damp hair and I give in to my sorrow, muffling my cries in his hoodie.
“Eva, what happened?”
“Mamá…she’s dead.”
“What?” An arm tightens his hold around me.
Recounting the events is both distressing and cathartic, even only hours after her death. “It was a brain aneurysm. Mrs. Bernal says there is nothing you can do. No sign to tell you it’s coming and no way to prevent it. Maybe…”
“What?”
“Maybe if she’d been at the hospital. If we’d taken her to emergency care when she complained of a migraine, she could have been saved.”
“Don’t play what ifs. I’ve done that and it’s pointless.”
“You have?” I stare up at him. “Tell me.” I’ve spent months trying to get him to open up so I can know him. I want everything, all of him.
“You remember Molly?” I nod and he shifts us. “Her death was sudden too. Nothing would have prevented it.”
“Tell me all of it. Start from the beginning with your biological parents.” I breathe him in, a balm to lessen the debilitating loss if only for a moment.
There’s so much we need to talk about but not now. I sense his reluctance, and some other time, I would have let him off the hook, but I’m greedy. I need this.
He releases a burst of air from his lips. “It’s just not that easy.”
“Fine.” I try to push away, hurt. It makes little sense, not even to me, but I want to connect on a deeper level, or in a more meaningful way with Jared.
He grabs me tighter. “I was abandoned. Dumped at a fire station, less than a year old, with my name scrawled on a torn piece of paper and pinned to my soiled sleeper. Molly was the first foster home. I didn’t know about my past and thought she was my mother.”
I nod, swallowing past the growing lump in my throat.
“She told me when I was six, and my life blew up. Everything had been a lie.”
“No, don’t say that.” My fingers lightly trace his jaw and he shivers. “I don’t know Molly, but from everything you’ve told me, she loved you. You were her son.”
“Molly was my mom. We had one or two foster kids living with us at a time, but not once did I figure I was one of them. When she told me the truth about where I came from, I felt betrayed. I loved her, but I was angry. A kid who didn’t know shit.”
He closes his eyes, resting his head against the house. “I became obsessed with my biological mother—the one who dumped me outside a fire station—desperately wanting to find her. I convinced myself she’d made a mistake. Maybe she didn’t know I was alive or where I was. If only I could find her, then we’d be a family.”
I hold my breath. Did he find her? If so, what happened? Nothing good came of it if he’s still in the foster care system.
“What a fucking joke.” He shakes his head in repulsion. “She was a junkie. She was found dead, overdosed, the same night she left me, only a few blocks from the firehouse. The police said she lived on the streets and went by Esme.”
“Oh my.” My arms tighten around his middle, burying my head into his solid chest, and he rests his cheek on the top of my head.
Thoughts of my mother, Molly, and Esme crowd my mind. We’ve both suffered losses.
“When I was put into the system, I went through withdrawal. They figure she used while breastfeeding but not when pregnant. My signs weren’t as severe. Maybe she was a runaway or something. Got pregnant, who knows how, and ran…they never did find out for sure.”
Tears splash onto my hands curled around his sweatshirt. He bends his head to look at me, and his fingers wipe at my tears, arm squeezing me close.
“I’m here for you.”
“Oh, Jared.” My voice cracks, echoing in my chest. I want to make it all better for him, for me. I want my mother back. Molly back.
He buries his head in the crook of my neck, his warm breath on my collarbone as his body shakes against mine. His tears fall onto my skin.
Sadness steals me. A sadness so deep and raw it has me by the throat. I can’t breathe.
He sniffles and turns away to dry his eyes before peering down at me. Silently, his fingers glide against my cheek, rough tips sending shivers through me. There’s something incredible about his simple gesture, tucking stray strands of my long hair behind my ear. Electric.
“You should go home. We don’t want your father looking for you.”
Images of Bianca—his hand connecting with her soft cheek—rush at me and I shudder. I still can’t believe Papi hit her. That isn’t my father.
I should heed Jared’s advice, worry even that the same will happen to me, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Please don’t make me go home.” I’m at Jared’s side, where I want to be.
He lightly kisses the top of my head, and I tip my head back, looking into his eyes and our lips so close.
Accepting my unspoken invitation—or maybe he wants to kiss me as much as I want him to—his lips cover mine.
Closed mouth, tender, and over way too fast. And yet it’s enough for him to soothe my grieving, broken heart.
Part desolate, part captivated