Anna exhales, sitting back. “Holy shit. That’s why you’ve been so hesitant. You didn’t just fall for him…you weren’t supposed to fall for him.”
Tears sting my eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mean for it to. But he was just…there. For everything. For me. For Maya. And he didn’t treat it like an act. Not even for a second.”
Mari’s expression softens. “Because it wasn’t. Not for him.”
I look down, heart thudding. “I think I’m in love with him.”
Anna lets out a choked laugh. “Ya think?”
“I’m serious,” I say, voice cracking. “And that’s what’s breaking me. Because I know how it feels to be left. I know how it feels to be the only standing in the wreckage. And If I left him in and it falls apart…Maya’s heart breaks with mine. I’m not just scared for me. I’m scared for her.”
Mari nods, brushing a tear from her own cheek. “That’sfair, Lyse. It is. But you’re not that twenty-four-year-old anymore, trying to survive on your own. You’ve built a life. You’ve built a village. And Mateo is part of that village. He chose you long before he ever said it out loud.”
Anna places her hand over mine. “So you get to be scared. But don’t let that fear keep you from something real. Don’t teach Maya that love is something you run from just because it might hurt.”
“She’s already lost one parent,” I whisper. “I just want to protect her.”
“You are,” Mari says. “Every time you show her what love looks like, you are.”
By the time I pull up to Hilda’s house, my eyes feel dry and tight from holding in everything I didn’t say. I take a deep breath, paste on a soft smile, and walk up the steps. Hilda opens the door before I even knock, Maya already bundled up in her puffy pink coat, hat slightly crooked.
“She’s all yours,” Hilda says with a warm smile. “And full of cookies.”
Maya twirls dramatically on the porch. “I had three!”
I laugh. “I’m shocked you didn’t negotiate for five.”
“I tried,” she says with a grin, wrapping her arms around my waist.
I thank Hilda and promise to bring her some pastelillos from The Rolling Pin later in the week before helping Maya in the car. She climbs into her booster seat, humming to herself until she notices the two large boxes beside her, one covered in a blue snowflake patterned wrapping paper, the other a plain white storage bin.
“What are these for, Mami?” she asks, poking the edge of the wrapping papercuriously.
“They’re for the school,” I say, buckling her in.
“But it’s Sunday,” she points out, confusion furrowing her little brows.
I start the engine and glance at her in the rearview mirror. “I know. But I want to redecorate the classroom before my kids come back from winter break. I thought I’d get a head start.”
She tilts her head. “Why? Did they not like the decorations before?”
I smile. “It’s not that. I just want them to come back to something fresh. Something fun. New year, new energy.”
Maya seems to think about that for a second, then nods solemnly. “That makes sense. Can I help?”
“Of course, you can.”
She looks out the window for a beat, then her voice softens. “Are we going to see Mateo today?”
The question lands like a soft knock on my chest. I keep my eyes on the road. “Not today, mamita.”
“Oh,” she says quietly. “Okay.”
The silence stretches for a few seconds.
Then she asks, “But maybe soon?”
I swallow. “Maybe,” I whisper.
