Page 11 of Hate That Blooms
After a while, we move on to the slides and the jungle gym, exploring every corner of the park. Mireya’s laughter and giggles fill my heart with warmth, reminding me of the love and strength that exist within our family.
My phone pings in my pocket, and I assume mom is just checking in, so I pull it out.
Is my Reina a mama?
Oh god! He thinks Mireya is mine. This guy really is stalking me, is he here now?
She’s my little sister and she’s three. I would have been fifteen when I had her if she were mine.
You act like that never happens. Twelve- and thirteen-year-olds have babies all the time.
Whatever.
You do a good job.
Did my stalker just compliment me for being an older sister? I scan the park, there are a few people out walking dogs but nobody that sticks out.
At being a sister? I kind of have to. She needs the stability.
Sister, parent, whatever you want to call it. It suits you.
Thanks? I guess. It sounds like the stalker has a bit of baby fever.
Don’t get me fucked up, Reina. The only babies you’ll be having are mine, and I don’t plan on that happening for a while. Unless you’d like me to speed up that timeline.
Okay, this guy is delusional. Me having his babies. I think not.
Keep dreaming, stalker.
Eventually, it’s time to head back home. Mireya falls asleep in my arms, her tiny hands wrapped around my neck. I carry her inside and tuck her into bed, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. I take the opportunity to put the rest of the groceries away while she naps and then figure out a plan for dinner.
* * *
I sit by my mom’s side, watching her sleep, and I can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. I’m only eighteen, and I’m being thrust into the role of a caregiver and parent. Mom is miserable, and I feel like I’m drowning under the weight of everything. What is she going to do when I go off to college? Mireya needs someone to be with her when she isn’t in school, and our mom can’t do that if she is sleeping or working.
I’ve tried to talk to Cora and Nat about it, and they say that I need to think about myself and my future. They just don’t understand. I can’t just leave my sister to fall through the cracks. Even if I have to call my dad and beg him to help, I will. If it gets that bad, I’m determined to make it work, however I can.
I quietly close the door, leaving my mom to rest, and make my way back to my room. Standing in front of the mirror once again, I remove the makeup that concealed the hickey, symbolizing the secrets I carry and the complexities of my life.
I pick up my phone and send my stalker a text. Am I a fucking idiot for engaging in conversation with him?
Yes, I am.
A lonely, desperate idiot who just wants someone to listen. So I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
Can I tell you a secret?
Seconds pass and his text bubble pops up.
You can tell me anything.
I feel like I’m drowning. Like I’m in the ocean and fighting the current. I feel like giving up and letting it just take me down. But I can’t because my sister needs me. My mom needs me. My dad cheated on my mom and left us for the other woman. I hate him so much for it.
…
Those three dots sit there for what seems like an eternity.
You’re not allowed to give up. When you feel like giving up, you message me. I’ll talk you through it.
