This was it; she’d given me the green light. She wanted to hear me out, to know what was on my mind.
Then why am I nervous?
I figured the best way to get through it was to just start talking. To pick something, anything, and go from there.
But it was hard to think with her eyes on me.
I blew out a breath.
“I lived in Santa Fe my entire life, nineteen years of it anyway. Just Ma and me. I worked here”—I gave the familiar arena a sweeping glance—“to help her pay the bills, and everything was fine. We didn’t have a lot, but we weren’t struggling to get by.”
She scooted over closer until our legs brushed, and it took everything in me not to wrap my arm around her and drag her against me. I was trying to be patient, to not throw myself at her every chance I got. I wanted to spend time with her, to learn the things that made her tick, rather than just shoving my tonguedown her throat. I wanted to understand her and strengthen the connection between us.
“What happened?” she asked gently.
At her question, darkness bled into the edges of my mind, leeching into my thoughts. It brought with it all the pain, hurt, and bad decisions I’d made in the past. All the things that led to me leaving Santa Fe.
“One evening, she decided to go to the market. There was something she wanted to make for dinner, but we didn’t have all the ingredients. She asked me to go with her, but I’d just gotten home from a long shift, and I really didn’t want to.” I managed to keep my voice level as the memory replayed in my head like it was yesterday. “She asked again right before she walked out the door, if I’d go with her, and I told her no. I wanted to shower and take a nap.”
I hesitated, knowing what came next, knowing there was no way to avoid it. Even though it happened over three years ago, the grief was fresh as ever.
“She never made it home,” I said. “A stray bullet took her from me.”
“Oh, Daze…” I saw Arina’s jaw drop in my peripheral, but I didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, I stared out across the arena, afraid I’d lose my nerve if I saw pity in her eyes.
I didn’t want pity.
“After she died, I was… lost.” That was the best way to describe it. She was the only family I had in the states; all of her living relatives were back in Mexico. My father left when I was a toddler, and I never saw him after that. Without my mother, I had no sense of direction, no purpose. I just went through the motions, numb to everything. “My grandparents told me to come stay with them in Guanajuato. I had a passport; it would have been easy to get away for a few months. I told them I’d think about it, because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go.”
Originally, I’d planned to think about it for a few days. But the days turned into weeks, those weeks into months. I lost countless nights of sleep contemplating, and I video chatted with my grandmother every other day about it. She was supportive and understanding of my hesitancy, even though I knew she wanted me there.
“I didn’t go.” I swallowed hard, my eyes dropping to my lap where my hands were folded. “I was too afraid to leave Santa Fe, afraid that somehow it would mean I was abandoning my mother’s memory. I know it’s silly but…”
“It’s not silly.” Arina’s voice was soft, and she placed a comforting hand on my thigh. “I felt the same way when my mother died, like I needed to be somewhere connected to her somehow. That’s why I was trying to get to Houston.”
I dragged my eyes up to meet hers and found her biting her bottom lip. She looked worried, concerned,sad.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized quickly, worried I upset her with my story. “I can stop talking about it, I just?—”
“No,” she cut me off sternly. “Keep going. What happened next? Did you ever get to see your grandparents?”
The question was a punch to the chest, and my gaze dropped again.
“Umm, no… I didn’t. Not in person, anyway. They both died before I got the chance.”
Arina squeezed my thigh gently, and I slipped my hand into hers. “That must have been so difficult to deal with. I’m sorry.”
There it was: the pity I’d wanted to avoid. I didn’t want her to be sad for me. Losing loved ones was a part of life. A tough part that everyone experienced at one point or another. It sucked, but as much as it hurt, I knew they were all somewhere better.
I didn’t believe in Heaven—I’d tossed that idea out a long time ago—but I knew whatever existed beyond our mere existence had to be… better.
“Thanks,” was all I could say. “And I’m sorry about your mother. It’s not easy losing a mom.”
This time, when I looked up, she was blinking away tears. “No, it’s not. She was the only one really in my corner. I didn’t realize just hownotin my corner my dad was until she died.”
Seeing her hurt broke me and knowing that my story had forced her to face her own grief was like a slap to the face. I didn’t know what to say. WhatcouldI say?
I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “How long ago did she pass?”
