image [https://i.imgur.com/OGfNBnv.png]
Somehow, Mother’s Day had rolled around without me even realizing it - if I hadn’t been trying to book my next visit with Dr. Oh, I wouldn’t have even noticed.
Aside from helping Cleo get things for Mercy, it wasn’t a holiday I paid much attention to; when it came to my own mother, an intense fight before Christmas meant I’d been dodging her attempts to reach out for the last six months. Though this was practically unheard of among Mexicans, our relationship had always seemed unusually tense.
It crossed my mind to pay her a visit, but just the idea of it filled me with dread. I didn’t drive out to see her often because she lived three hours west in Abilene, where she’d moved after I’d left Fort Worth and was shipped off overseas. Calling her was preferable, if just because they made the conversation easier to escape. The older I got, the more I understood why my father up and left her, even if it meant he left me behind, too.
On the drive over to Mercy’s house, it was more overcast than I expected it to be, the sky losing its vibrant blue in favor of a cool, pale gray. The air itself was humid and sticky, but even though it was in the eighties, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to shed the long sleeves just yet.
With a modest little bouquet in hand, I hopped up the steps of Mercy’s house, where Cleo and her grandma, Lupe, sat together on the porch. They both stopped eating their paletas as I approached, and even the fuzzy little orange circle on Cleo’s lap shifted to see what was going on.
“Well, well, well, if it ain’t the prettiest ladies in the neighborhood?” I smiled. “Those look good, chiquita. You got enough to share?”
“Yeah! We made these yesterday, and—” Cleo stopped, blinking as she pointed up at my face. “Wow, you look really rough today. Are you not sleeping again?”
Beside her, Lupe’s gaze followed where Cleo pointed, raising a curious eyebrow. I was so used to running on fumes that I hadn’t even noticed if my eyes were more darkly ringed than usual, but now I felt a little self conscious. Before I could correct her, Lupe intervened by smacking Cleo upside the head with her free hand. The force made Cleo drop her paleta to the ground, which was the swiftest delivery of karma I’d seen in a long time.
“¡Eres tan grosera!” Lupe frowned harshly. “¿Dónde están tus modales?”
“Discúlpame, Abuelita…” Cleo frowned, too, though she was more upset about the wasted paleta than about insulting me.
“We are sorry, sir,” Lupe’s English came out slowly and carefully. “Mi nieta… she doesn’t know anything… forgive her, por favor.”
I tried to restrain a snort of laughter so that Lupe wouldn’t find me disrespectful as well. Whenever I visited, I could never predict whether she’d recognize me or not, so I tried to treat her with the same respect I’d treat any elder I barely knew.
“Está bien, Señora,” I said, plucking a flower from the bundle and handing it to Lupe. “Hey, pecosita, is your mamí home today? I wanted to give her a little something for the occasion.”
“Uh-huh!” Cleo poured Simba off of her lap before picking up the tainted paleta to pluck debris off of it. “We’re gonna have a big party later today, so she’s making stuff for it right now. Are you gonna stay to see everybody?”
The last thing I felt like doing was spending time around Mercy’s extended family. They were warm and friendly, but it was clear that I was still an outsider looking in. I even got the impression from some of them that my presence was intrusive, haunting around like a useless ghost that simply wouldn’t leave. It was too complicated to explain to Cleo, so I always had an excuse on hand. “I don’t think so. I’ve got things to do.”
“Please?” Cleo pouted. “It’s been forever since you came over for more than a few minutes…”
Yeah, I wasn’t about to have this conversation right now. I gave her a gentle little pat on the head before I turned to enter the house, which was right when Joanna’s Malibu came rolling into the driveway, groaning and chugging the entire time. The second that she exited the car, Joanna tossed her freshly finished cigarette to the ground; the remaining smoke escaped out of her nose in a way that reminded me of a dragon, even when she wore her stupid little pizza joint uniform.
Of the two of them, Lupe was more pleased to see Joanna than Cleo was; in fact, oddly enough, Cleo took Joanna’s arrival as an opportunity to sneak into the house behind me. I knew that Joanna and Cleo were never close, but it was strange to see Cleo retreat so readily.
I waved to greet her, but as usual, Joanna gave me a glance rather than any real acknowledgment of my presence. As she came up to give Lupe a hug, her eyes flickered between my face and the flowers.
“Cute,” she remarked flatly, gesturing to the bouquet. “Luke already beat you to the punch on that, though. Sorry.”
It took all my willpower not to scowl. “Well, I’ve always considered Mercy the kind of woman who deserves a few rounds of flowers, so…”
Instead of wasting her valuable time talking to me, Joanna rolled her eyes and nudged past to get through the front door. Immediately, I couldn’t help but be taken aback by how she smelled - and not in a good way. It wasn’t the smell of cigarettes and pizza grease as I’d expected, it was something else. Something… musky.
“Woah, Jojo—” I sniffed the air, curling my lip. “That’s, uh, an interesting new perfume you have…”
“What?” Joanna whipped her head around. “The fuck are you talking about?”
I cocked my head to the side. “Your… perfume? Actually, it kind of smells like—”
“Stop smelling me, you fucking creep,” she spat harshly. “Jesus, do you always have to be fucking weird?”
Always had to be zero to sixty with Joanna, didn’t it? It was amazing that she and Mercy shared any genetics given that they were such opposites in behavior. I wasn’t in the mood to keep sticking my hand in the hornet’s nest, so I simply let her go inside without argument, slipping in behind her with plenty of room between us.
Mercy’s house was just as disastrous as it always was, but now I could see little signs of Luke’ presence here and there, like an iPhone charging dock at the front door and a raincoat hanging from the wall. I tried not to let it bother me, but it gave me an eerie feeling of being replaced, which was compounded by another little bouquet sitting right on the coffee table.
In the kitchen I found Mercy, who was bouncing rapidly between making a mess and then cleaning it up. Every time she cooked, it was like a tornado had whipped through the room, leaving pots and pans in its wake. It was no wonder that she opted for takeout as often as she did.
“Benz!” I said, presenting the bouquet from behind my back. “Feliz día de las madres, linda.”
At the sound of my voice, Mercy turned, beaming sweetly. Even in the dingy little apron she had tied tightly around her waist, her cluster of curls pinned back messily, she was always just nice to look at. It crossed my mind whether or not Luke had ever seen her like this; she was very particular about who could see her bare-faced and ‘sloppy’, as she would put it. Secretly, I hoped he hadn’t.
As I handed the bouquet to her, she looked as if she were being presented with an award. “Oh, look at these!” She grinned. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Manu…”
“I figured that little mocosa of yours didn’t remember to do something for you, so consider it a gift from both of us,” I said. “Mm… that stuff smells great. What are you making?”
Glancing back to the stove, Mercy motioned for me to join her, scooping a helping of stew into the ladle. “I’m trying a new recipe I found online.” She lifted the ladle up higher. “Tell me what you think!”
When I drank from the ladle, I reeled back, mouth burning. I had to cough a few times to stabilize myself because it was so hot, it was like I’d deep throated a cattle iron. Mercy couldn’t even stop herself from laughing at me, which would’ve been insulting from anyone else. “Hot enough for you?” She asked, clearly a little smug.
I wheezed in pain. “It’s— it’s good…”
Proudly, Mercy took the ladle back and stirred the pot. Then, she grabbed a plastic cup from the cabinet and filled it with tap water, handing it off to me.
“You know… feels like I haven’t gotten to see you in a while,” I said in between quick little sips. “What with everything going on.”
“Trust me, my time is a hot commodity right now,” Mercy sighed. “I got Cleo pestering me to look at her little projects, Joey’s always complaining that we never go out and do anything fun anymore— at least Mamá’s so forgetful now that she can’t tell how often I’m gone, which… ugh, okay, not thinking about that right now.”
Collecting a handful of spices in her palm, Mercy tossed them into the stew and gave it a smooth stir. I had no interest in trying it again; my tongue was still scalded.
“But it’s good to see you, Manny,” she continued. “It always is.”
Inside, I felt a fluttering, a lightness. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, so - like Mercy - I chose not to think about it, either.
“Cleo told me you’re gonna have a party here this afternoon,” I said. “I hope it won’t be too big, it looks like it’s gonna rain outside.”
“Oh, we’ll be able to fit everyone indoors if we need to.” Mercy switched from the soup to chopping up a mess of vegetables. “I wanted to invite everyone over for Mamá, you know? I can tell she gets lonely, and I want her to be the star of the show today. You think you’ll stick around for it?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I got, uh, other plans for today.”
“Really?” Mercy raised an eyebrow, skeptical, before lighting up.“Oh! Does this mean you’ve finally–”
“No,” I interrupted. “I’m still pissed at her, actually. Haven’t answered a call from her in months.”
“Oh, lord, please don’t let me be the reason you stop talking to her!” She had a pleading look to her eyes. “I’m not worth the trouble.”
“Of course you are!” I said firmly. “Look, she can say whatever she wants about me, but I draw the line at you and Cleo.”
“But she’s your mother. You only ever get one of those.” She paused her chopping for a moment to think. “Unless you’re raised by lesbians, but still, only one of them birthed you. Well… I guess not, if you were adopted, then… oh, you get my point. Just talk to your mother. Please.”
My cheeks burned hotly at the lecture. “Why should I? She thinks I waste my time being here, she thinks—”
“That I’m holding you back, I know.” Mercy sighed. “In case you didn’t know, I’m well practiced in disappointing the mothers of men. But I do not want to be responsible for this falling out between you two! I can’t handle that kind of thing on my conscience.”
“You aren’t responsible for it, she is. I put up with her talking all this shit for years, and I can’t take it anymore. Even if I cut you out, I’d still never be good enough for her.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Honestly, I’m tired of being reminded of how shitty I am as a son every time I call. I’ll never be enough. Why should I even bother?”
As I spoke, it was hard not to sound a little choked up. Mercy paused her food prep to gaze at me sympathetically, but it came across more as pity; now I wished I hadn’t said anything, embarrassed to be seen in such a pathetic state. In shame, I looked away from her.
“She just wants you to be happy.” She slid the chopped vegetables off the blade of her knife and into a giant mixing bowl. “If she thinks I’m getting in the way of you settling down, you have to look at it from her perspective: to her, being a perma-bachelor is a fate worse than death. You know how those old school types are! They think being married to crummy people is better than being alone ‘cause of how they were raised.”
“It’s not just that!” I crossed my arms against my chest. “She doesn’t think I make enough money, she hates that I live in Dallas, she doesn’t think I speak enough Spanish— oh, but then when I do, she says I sound too white! And that’s fine, it’s whatever, I’m used to hearing all of that, but… I can’t take her saying I’m better off without you. It’s the last straw.”
After a loud slam of her knife through a pepper, Mercy paused. There was genuine hurt behind her eyes, like she’d truly taken to heart my mother’s disapproval of her. A thrumming kicked up from the crown of my skull and led down past my shoulder blades, and I wasn’t sure who I hated more in that moment: my mother, for making Mercy feel like a burden to me, or myself, for even telling Mercy in the first place. I cast my eyes down to the floor.
“Don’t give me shit about how she’s my mother,” I said. “That’s the only reason I haven’t given up on her completely. And even then…”
I didn’t bother finishing my sentence because, honestly, what else was there for me to say? It wasn’t something we’d ever see eye to eye on. Before dementia had wormed its way through Lupe’s brain, she and Mercy were inseparable. There was no way Mercy could understand a world where your mother hurt you instead of healed you. I was grateful that she never would, even if it put a rift between us.
Turning away from the cutting board, Mercy wiped her hands off on her apron before she gingerly placed them along my bicep. The humming throughout my spine traveled down my limbs, intensifying along my knuckles and fingertips. As she stroked my arm reassuringly, it only made things worse, like her touch was all it took to summon a swarm beneath my skin.
“She’s all you’ve got left, Manny,” Mercy said softly. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”
I glanced from her hand to her face. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”
“Of course, but—”
Before Mercy could finish her sentence, Cleo came into the kitchen, slinking around like she was trying to avoid something. When she saw the two of us, Cleo threw caution to the wind, skipping over to throw her arms around me with a big, shiny grin. “You’re still here!” She beamed. “I thought you’d probably left already!”
For a split second, I saw a flash of something in Mercy’s expression. It seemed almost… sentimental, or maybe it was something conflicted. Whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it came. She turned away to lift the curtains above the kitchen sink, peering out the window at the darkening sky. Meanwhile, Cleo squeezed me like she was hoping I’d pop.
“Oh, oh, do you have time to look at my paper?” Cleo asked. “I don’t need help with it, I’m just really proud of it! It’s about a book, so I know you won’t really get it, but—”
“I’m sorry, pecosita, I was actually just about to head out,” I said sadly. “I’ve got so much sh… st… stuff to get done. I’ve already hung around here longer than I should’ve.”
Cleo’s smile slipped off her face instantly. “Oh. Okay.”
Seeing her so unhappy made my heart ache. On any other day, I would’ve stuck around, but I just didn’t have it in me right now. I didn’t want to leave Cleo with a frown, so I straightened my back and struck a pose. “Don’t pout, chiquita. You know that I’ll be back,” I said, in my best impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger. “’Cause I’m—”
“No, no, no,” Cleo shook her head. “Don’t say it—”
With my hands on my hips, I prepared to shout. “The T—”
“The Tíonator, I know!” She interrupted, covering her forehead with her hands in embarrassment. “Ugh! You’re so stupid! Mamá, make him stop!”
“Come with me if you want to live!” I scooped Cleo into a headlock as she squirmed to resist, but she was ultimately powerless.
“Let me go!” She cried. “You’ll ruin my hair!”
Pulling out some Tupperware from the cabinet, Mercy laughed. “Hey, Tíonator, if you’re not going to stay, let me at least send you off with some food. I mean, if cyborgs even need to eat.”
“Hell yeah!” With a smile, I released Cleo, who neatened herself up quickly as she glared at me from the corner of her eye. “I ain’t ever gonna pass up free food from you, Benz.”
Nodding knowingly, Mercy scooped a couple of cups into a little plastic container and snapped the lid shut, the stew still hot enough to cloud the plastic with steam.
When she placed the container into my hands, it just about stopped me in my tracks, because she gazed at me with such warmth I could’ve sworn that she was giving me a part of her heart instead.
･ ･ ･
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
I’d gotten back into my truck just in the nick of time: the second I was on the road, the storm that threatened to appear made its grand entrance. Soon, the streets were wet and shimmering, and I couldn’t even play the radio with how loudly the rain battered my truck.
Over and over, I rolled Mercy’s words around in my mind.
She’s all you’ve got left.
It stung, but only because it was true: unlike Mercy, I didn’t have a family tree that sprawled like a maze. Fertility was a generational struggle on my mother’s side, and the small family we did have lived all the way in El Paso, so I’d barely seen them in the last few years. On my father’s side, I hadn’t really been in contact with them after he disappeared, like they were afraid that whatever was wrong with him, they’d contract it from me, too.
And with that, I was all alone, and she really was all I had. I suppose I did owe it to her to try again.
As I dialed my mother’s number, that creeping dread from earlier settled fully into my chest, each passing ring making me hope it’d go straight to voicemail. On the last ring, all hope was lost.
“¿Bueno?” My mother sounded a little sleepy, like I’d woken her up from a nap.
“Hola, Madre.” I forced a smile even though she couldn’t see it. “I was, uh, just calling to wish you a happy Mother’s Day, see how you been doing.”
“Ah, el hijo pródigo…” She shut off a radio that’d been playing in the background. “It’s been so long since you’ve called…”
“I know, I’m sorry— I’ve just been really busy at work.” I rolled to a stoplight, staring up at it as if I could turn it green myself. “Listen, I don’t actually have a lot of time to talk, but—”
“What, so you call me up but can’t even make time for me to talk? Even when it’s been so long?” She asked sharply. “I’m getting up in the years, Manolito - what if, one day, you call and I don’t answer? You’d regret not making time for me then, wouldn’t you? Of course you would…”
“Ay, don’t talk like that.” I clutched the steering wheel without even thinking. “Didn’t you used to say your Tía Dolores lived to a hundred? You got good genes, then.”
“What good is a long life when you’re all alone like I am?” She sighed deeply. “But listen to me, I go on and on. It’s so good to hear from you, mijo. How have you been?”
“Fine,” I replied. “Just… fine, really.”
“Anything new? You’re still working at the fire station?” She made a sniffling noise like she was blowing her nose. “Have you been seeing anyone lately?”
I shook my head. “No. I haven’t really had the time.”
“Mm… it’s been a while since you’ve had someone in your life, hasn’t it? You need to stop putting it off. ” She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Find yourself a nice girl before it’s too late. Someone strong, who can handle your… tendencies.”
I winced. “I know.”
“All of the ladies at church, they keep asking me: when is that son of yours getting married? When is he going to settle down, have a family, give you grandchildren? And I tell them you’re simply waiting for the right girl, and they look at me with such pity. I’m sure they must talk about me behind my back, and I couldn’t blame them…”
The longer my mother went on, the easier it was to tune her out. Over the line, I heard the skittering of paws and several excited woofs, which meant she was getting ready to feed her dogs. Sometimes I was convinced that the dogs had a better relationship with her than I did, which would’ve been funny if it weren’t depressing.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I tried to interrupt her as politely as I could. “Hey, I hate to cut this short, but I really have to go—”
“Interrupting me? Just to say you’re hanging up already?” It wasn’t a question as much as it was an accusation. “You don’t even have five minutes to spare for me, is that what you mean? Who made you so important all of a sudden?”
“No, no, no— I’m sorry, I just— I don’t really have a lot to tell you about in the first place.” I settled my hand on my forehead, smoothing out the frustrated pinch in the center of it. “And what I do have… well, I don’t want to make you worry more than you already do.”
“Oh, mi cariño, I’ll always worry for you,” she said softly. “I was worried for you the moment I heard your voice. You sound just terrible. Nothing has changed, has it? With your fits?”
At the stop light, I rolled the truck to a stop, but in my mind, I was a million miles away. The headlights and street lamps made the puddles shine all throughout the streets, and my windshield wipers squealed in their struggle to keep up with the rain.
“You know, I wish you would give the church another try. It might even help you find a wife,” she continued. “Really, you do all of this dangerous work, and you say it’s what you want, but is it? It doesn’t seem to fill that hole in your heart that I know He could. You act like you know better than me now, but you’ll see in due time.”
As my mother spoke, I glanced up at the rearview mirror. Cleo was right; my eyes were dark. Every time I blinked, it burned. At the intersection, I took a moment simply to shut my eyes completely, and when I opened them, my face ached from how much tension every muscle in it held.
Inhale, exhale, I told myself.
Inhale…
“A man without family, a man without God…”
Exhale.
“I worry so much for you, mijo.” Her tone was less concerned and more dissatisfied. “I worry every day.”
I couldn’t explain it, but after that, something inside of me snapped. I swiveled the wheel during my turn so sharply, my tires screeched against the wet road.
“How come you never worry about how shitty you make me feel all the time?” I asked. “Or do you think I deserve it, ‘cause I’m not the son you think I should be?”
“Excuse me?” She snarled. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying you don’t care about me as a person!” I shouted. “You only care about me as— I don’t know, a reflection of you, or something like that! You only care about what I make you look like to other people, and I’m tired of it!”
Talking back to her was like spitting in the General’s face, and a nauseating spike of adrenaline coursed through my system. Immediately, my mother exploded.
“How dare you!” She screamed so loudly, the mic cut off, fragmenting the rapid Spanish cursing that followed. “Manuel, do you know who you’re speaking to like this?!”
“You started it!” I shouted over her. “Every single time we talk, all you do is tell me I’m a worthless fuck-up! Stop it, okay? I can’t take it anymore! If you’re wondering why I don’t call anymore, that’s why!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She shot back. “When did I say this? When? Name a single time that I ever said this!”
I laughed in disbelief. “What, you want a notarized copy of every time you’ve made it clear that I’m not good enough for you? Do you want me to take it from the top, or should I just go with your Greatest Hits?”
“All I’ve ever done is give you my unconditional love— and all you’ve ever done is throw it back in my face!” Her words were like bitter little knives. “What did I do to deserve this from my only son?”
“Oh, please, you think I can’t see through the passive aggressive bullshit you’re spewing all the time?” I spat. “You’re pissed that I’m not this— this perfect son who’s a faithful little church-goer with ten kids that can come back from war zones without a single fucking problem! I’m never going to be this, so when are you going to let it go?”
“So I should just give up on you, then? Have no expectations for you at all? Is that what you’re saying?” She hissed. “After everything I went through to have you, you’re telling me this is the best you’re ever going to be? That you were just a waste of my time?”
“I’m just asking you to be fucking nice for once!” I slammed my hands against the steering wheel. “When was the last time you were proud of me? Have you ever been? Will you ever be?”
The silence on her end indicated that I’d tapped into a level of fury that rendered her speechless. If I were standing right beside her now, she’d be rearing up for some corporal punishment, but over the phone, she was powerless. Her primary weapons - shame and guilt - were clearly not working, so there were no other tactics left to deploy.
“You shouldn’t have called,” my mother said quietly. “You’re clearly in the middle of another one of your fits. My Manolito would know to never speak to me this way.”
In my head was that violent, painful thrumming, like something was threatening to break free of my skull. On the last turn of my drive, I was ready to rip the steering wheel from the console and bash it into my face just to make everything stop.
“I thought I’d raised you better than this.” She spoke without an ounce of emotion. “It’s such a shame you’ve turned out just like him.”
“Don’t say that.” I sounded so fucking weak, it disgusted me. “Madre, no digas eso. Por favor.”
“Rezaré por tí, mijo,” she replied. “Te amo. Be good.”
Just as I opened my mouth, the call disconnected. Once I realized she’d hung up on me, I let out a rattled breath.
By now, I was in the parking lot of my apartment complex, simply listening to the rain hit the roof of my car. I straightened up only to stare blankly out at the bushes that lined the concrete half-wall bordering the parking spaces. Now that the dust had settled, I couldn’t shake the sickness the call had left me with, nor the heartache that followed it.
Every time we fought, no matter how ugly it would get, I knew I’d come back to her eventually. I just couldn’t stand to leave her by herself without any other lifelines, but my loyalty was never met with anything but contempt. What was I doing it all for? Why did I even try?
As I climbed out of my truck with the Tupperware in hand, I paused for a moment outside to lean against the car window as the rain came down. I wasn’t sure how long I was out there, but it was long enough for the rain to soak through every layer of clothes. I knew that taking this off would be like peeling off my own skin, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care.
By the time I’d made it to my front door, each step took monumental effort like I was wearing cement shoes. Even turning the key in the knob was more challenging than it should’ve been, and I was grateful there was nobody there to see me like this.
Upon unlocking my apartment, Raja appeared immediately from around the corner, skin shiny with sweat and his hair twisted up into a knot on the back of his head.
“Manny! There you are. Did you get that beef like I—” Raja interrupted himself, thrusting his hand forward. “Ah, fuck, you’re all wet! Stop where you are, I just finished mopping!”
My leftover nerves meant that when he raised his voice, I jumped, which was when I noticed how brightly the floors were gleaming. I don’t think I ever mopped outside of times where I’d spilled something sticky, so it was a little jarring to see how nice they could get with some TLC. In fact, they were so nice that I thought maybe I’d get my deposit back after all.
Still, I wasn’t about to strip naked at the front door, so I was just going to have to make a mess. Once I wiggled my muddy boots off, I joined Raja in the kitchen, leaving little puddles wherever I went.
“What is wrong with you?” Raja’s eyebrows formed a line across his forehead as he glared at me. “And where’s that beef? Didn’t you say you were gonna go to the carniceria?”
“Some other stuff came up, sorry,” I said apathetically, looking around the rest of the apartment. “Shit, Raj, this place looks great— didn’t think dragging your ass off the streets was basically signing up for a housewife, but I’m not complaining.”
“Housewife?” As he crossed his arms, he scoffed. “Well, if you expect me to start vacuuming in heels and pearls, you’re gonna have to pony up a lot of money.”
“Ah, so you’re willing to do it for money?” I walked past him to put the plastic container of stew away in the fridge, glancing at the pile of mail on the counter along the way. “That means it’s up for negotiation.”
Raja stared at me flatly. “That’s not what I said.”
“Mmhm…” Taking one of the envelopes in hand, I got my pocket knife out of my jeans to tear it open. “If you want my opinion, you’re too tall for heels, but you have a skinny enough neck to make a pearl necklace work.”
“Jesus Christ.” He rolled his eyes, though the ghost of a smile still haunted his mouth. “Has anyone ever told you how fucking annoying you are?”
“That’s what I got you around for, amigo,” I smirked. “Need you to keep me humble.”
Once I’d determined all of the mail was junk, I tossed it into the trash without another thought. When I looked up, Raja was watching me, his gaze oddly fixed. Since I was still feeling self conscious over Cleo’s comments, I glared at him. “What?”
“Huh? Oh!” Raja’s eyes darted away to the floor like he was embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”
“No, what is it?” I pressed. “What, do I look funny today or something?”
“I said it was nothing. Shit, would you chill out?” He frowned defensively. “What’s your damage?”
My instinct was to snap at Raja so he’d leave me alone, but I thought back to Dr. Oh and how she encouraged me to open up instead of letting things fester inside. Aside from Mercy, Raja was probably one of the best people to start with, because if I couldn’t be honest with him, could I be honest with anyone?
“Sorry,” I said quietly. “I just got off a really shitty phone call and… it just feels like one more thing on top of the shit sundae my life’s been lately.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Raja’s expression softened. “Anything I can do to make you feel better?”
I wandered away from the kitchen to the living room, sitting down on the couch. The storm brewing outside had darkened the sky so much, I could see my reflection in the windows, and I really did look as tired as I felt.
“Just listen,” I replied, motioning for Raja to sit beside me. “If that’s not too much to ask.”
Whatever frustration that had been on Raja’s face gave way to something much more tender. He sat at the other end of the couch and leaned into the pillows, watching me like he was ready to hang on to my every word.
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure where to start. Talking about the investigation struck me as a sure-fire way to sound batshit crazy, and mentioning anything related to Mercy always put Raja in a weird mood. I could’ve talked about my mother, but that wound still felt too fresh, so there was only one topic I could really get into - and it was arguably the one thing that stressed me out the most.
“So,” I began hesitantly, “There’s, uh, something I haven’t really talked about with you and… I kind of owe it to you, I think. Just so you don’t blame yourself for my… my fits, or whatever you’d call them.”
Raja released his hair from the bun, shaking his head to let it fall freely. “Let me guess: you’re living a double life, vigilante-style?”
“Hardy har har. Wish it was that cool, but no.” I rubbed the back of my neck, and as I traced my fingers along my hairline, I sensed a phantom tingling that led all the way down my spine. “Uh, you remember that call at the camp? When we saw each other?”
At this, he cringed, as if he didn’t want to remember it. “Yeah? What about it?”
“Well, a couple weeks after that, I was, um…” I paused to breathe deeply. “I was hospitalized.”
“Holy shit.” He sat forward. “For what? Like, a car wreck or something? Wait, it’s not something like cancer, right?”
“Wh— no. If it was cancer, you’d have known that by now, don’t you think?” I raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, it was…”
In the months that had passed, I’d buried the chemical fire deeply into the back of my mind. Recalling it made the flood gates in my mind open wide, taking me right back to the scene; even just the brief, fractured memory of Garrett’s face felt so real, it made me nauseous.
“Did you hear about that fire at the uh, chemical warehouse?” I asked, mouth dry. “There was an explosion of some kind.”
“Shit, are you talking about the Kingslake Labs fire?” Raja’s mouth fell open. “Oh, shit… they’re always doing some weird shit, aren’t they?”
Apparently, I lived under a rock compared to everyone else around me. “Uh, I don’t really know anything about them, to be honest with you.”
“I used to share a tent with a guy who’d been a janitor there.” He nodded knowingly. “He told me they were working on all sorts of crazy stuff, and ‘cause he was a janitor, he got to hear about it since everyone acted like he wasn’t there. That place is a hundred lawsuits waiting to happen.”
I stared at him skeptically. “Okay, but you’ve also talked about sharing a tent with a girl who claimed to be a long-lost English princess, so I don’t know if your ‘sources’ are trustworthy.”
“She was fresh out of a psych ward, so that’s different.” Raja frowned. “Okay, but like, what about it? The fire, I mean.”
“Right, right.” Leaning forward, I balanced my elbows on my knees, lacing my fingers together. “Well… my station was one of the ones called to the scene, so… I was there for it.”
At this, Raja’s face paled, all humor drained away. He stopped sitting casually and sat upright, his hands curling inward anxiously as he waited for me to speak.
“There was a problem with my mask— which was my own damn fault, I didn’t look at it closely enough ‘cause I’m an idiot.” I laughed uneasily. “But it meant that… I, uh, inhaled whatever was coming out of the fire. And I got really sick.”
Just remembering the smell of the smoke was enough to make me scowl in disgust; what was strange, though, was that nobody else remembered the smell of it like I did.
“Sick enough to get you hospitalized?” Raja’s eyes were wide and nervous. “Woah.”
I nodded. “Thankfully, I wasn’t there for long, but since then, I’ve… well, I’ve been okay, like I can still work, but… you know.”
Something’s changed, I finished mentally. Rather than verbalize it, I looked to Raja, hoping that he would understand without me going into detail.
“That’s awful, man.” Raja looked to his hands, where he was peeling hangnails from the sides of his fingers. “I— I can’t even imagine.”
“Yeah.” I flattened my mouth. “And I’ve just been feeling, um, kind of weird lately, so it’s been on my mind a lot. I don’t feel very good most days, which puts me in a bad mood, but… I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I get it. Sorry for looking at you funny.” He glanced back up at me. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Even though I wanted it desperately, Raja’s sympathy left me embarrassed at my own fragility. I’d fought so hard to push the incident into the back of my mind, to prove that I was tough enough to walk it off, but it kept coming back to the surface whenever there was an opportunity.
There was still so much I had suppressed, like how I’d thought of Raja in those hazy, split-seconds of consciousness I had in the ambulance ride, or how the very first thing I wanted to do once I’d gotten out was find him. I’d come so close to dying without ever seeing him again, and now that he was sitting in front of me, it became that much more devastating a concept. With that thought in mind, I couldn’t stand looking at him, turning away to face the TV.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Raja reach for me, but the feeling of his touch never came. Instead, he brought his hand back to himself, as if he’d thought better of it. It’s for the best, I thought, in spite of my own disappointment.
Swiftly, I stood up from the couch and stretched backwards, groaning when my spine released a series of pops and cracks. “Anyway, so who knows what the fuck is wrong with me?” I shrugged, fighting back the knot in my stomach. “Probably gonna grow another arm any minute now.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll still like you even if you become a jacked up little mutant.” Raja smiled reassuringly. “Middle-aged mutant ninja turtle, Mannyangelo.”
I let out a snort. “I think I’m more likely to get a new disease named after me than become a mutant, but thanks.”
“Diseases get named after the people that discover them, not the people who suffer from them. Sucks, right? You’ll have to find a different claim to fame.” He motioned towards my body. “Hey, you’re in decent shape— there’s always those um, what are they? Those firefighter calendars, right?”
“Oh God, no. Been there, done that.” I shook my head in shame. “Shit, if anyone ever takes another picture of me again, it’ll be too soon.”
Raja didn’t have a snappy comeback, at least not immediately. He gave me a look I couldn’t quite figure out, like he was resisting the urge to say something. My cheeks reddened, already embarrassed at whatever joke he was right about to make.
“Don’t you even start,” I said flatly to cut him off. “It was for charity, alright?”
“Yeah?” Raja swallowed. “Uh— I mean— yeah? Now who’s willing to do weird shit for money?”
“Man, fuck you, those proceeds went to places like shelters!” I laughed, pointing to my stomach. “If you think about it, there’s a chance that these abs helped feed you at some point. Give ‘em some credit!”
Raja’s eyes trailed up and down, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn his eyelashes fluttered as his big, goofy trademark smile stretched across his face. “Um, well… if there’s, uh, anything I can do to pay you back…” He smiled, looking down at his hands sheepishly.
“Yeah…” I began to unzip the wet jacket I’d still been wearing. “I think there is.”
Raja blinked rapidly, like he wasn’t sure of where this was going. Once I’d finally peeled the jacket off my arms, I bundled it up and threw it at his head. Clearly, I’d caught him off guard, because he had no time to dodge it before it hit him square in the face. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.
“You can start by making me dinner!”