Brooke’s jaw tightens. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. And I think you know it.”
Silence swells again. Valeria wipes at her face, her hands trembling, but she doesn’t look away.
“I need you to leave,” she says softly. “Please.”
Brooke doesn’t move. Herface hardened.
“You don’t mean that,” she says. “You’re just upset.”
Valeria shakes her head again, harder this time, like she’s trying to shake loose the fog that’s lived there for months. “No. This is the clearest I’ve ever been.”
For a moment, Valeria thinks Brooke might say something soft, maybe an apology. She waits, heart pounding, braced for impact, hoping her resolve will hold through one of Brooke’s apologies.
Instead, Brooke grabs her jacket from the chair it’s slung over. “You’re making a mistake, and you’ll regret this.”
“Maybe.” Valeria wishes she didn’t mean it, but doubt has been with her this entire time. Whispering just that.
Brooke lingers at the door, hand on the knob. “We’re done, you realize that, right? I leave, and there’s no coming back.”
Valeria nods because she’s shaking too much to do anything else. Without another word, the door closes behind Brooke with a dull, final sound.
Valeria rises, instinct urging her to follow Brooke. But her legs refuse to move. As tears blur her vision, she sinks slowly back onto the couch, pressing her forehead to her hands, breathing through the pain that crashes over her, and all she can think is how she wants to be consumed by nothingness.
Before it drags her in, Valeria drives straight to Alejandra and Clara’s house. It’s the closest to hers, and right now, even a few minutes alone feels unbearable. She needs someone there when it breaks her, when the gravity of this breakup settles. They’ve had so many, but Valeria knows this is the one, the one she never thought would come.
She pulls up to their house, not five minutes later, and she realizes she doesn’t know if they’rehome, but it’s too late now. She walks up the stairs and knocks on the door. She waits for a few seconds, but there’s nothing. She knocks again, but only silence follows. Just as she’s about to turn around, someone opens the door.
“Valeria?” a warm voice says.
“Lala,” she whispers, the name barely making it past the tightness in her throat. She steps into her arms before she can say anything.
“Oh,” Lala—Alejandra’s grandmother—breathes, startled, her arms hesitating for half a second before they wrap around Valeria. Holding her tightly, grounding her in a way Valeria didn’t think anyone but her mom could.
“It’s nice to see you too,mamita,” she whispers into Valeria’s hair, her voice warm, and it only makes the ache in her chest sharpen.
“Val?” Alejandra says as she turns the corner in her favorite sweats and oversized fluffy sweater. Concern creeps into her voice as she looks at Valeria, basically glued to Lala.
“Are you okay?” Clara adds, head tilting slightly as she studies Valeria.
“I ... I don’t know,” she says, wiping her face.
Alejandra’s expression shifts immediately—less worried, morealert—and Clara walks straight into the kitchen.
“Oh,” Alejandra says quietly, stepping closer. “Yeah. Okay. Come sit.”
Lala gently loosens her hold on Valeria but keeps a hand on her back, guiding her toward the couch.
“Here,” Clara says the moment Valeria sits. “Drink that,” she adds as she hands Valeria a shot glass with a clear liquid sloshing inside.
She doesn’t hesitate and throws it back. The tequila hits the back of her tongue sharp and clean, and burns all theway down her throat, settling in her chest like a tiny fire. Valeria coughs once, eyes watering more than before.
“Jesus,” she mutters, pressing the heel of her hand to her sternum.
“Yeah, it’s the good stuff,” Clara says, already pouring another one. “Figured you needed something with a kick.” She smiles.
Alejandra looks at her, smiles, and shakes her head, then turns back to Valeria and lays a hand on her lap.
