I don’t need tohavea big brain like Blondie’s. I just need Blondie herself.
That spark I’ve been waiting for ignites, and a vague concept of an idea starts to form. Well, fuck. This was a super traumatic way to go about it, but it looks like I found my inspiration after all.
Way to deliver, abuela.
I thank her for her brutal honesty, and after a quick goodbye, a goodnight, and a, “Yes, abuela, I will bring Lexi to visit again soon,” I hang up the call and get ready to brainstorm. And as thatember of hope building inside me explodes into a vibrant flame, I start to believe that, maybe, I really can succeed where my abuelo didn’t. Maybe his role wasn’t to finish what he started, but to lay the foundation. To build something strong enough for me to take further—to push beyond survival, and use Hallazgo as the tool to create something that will actually bring real change to the world the way he always wanted.
Maybe that’smylegacy.
I understand it now—the reason for all the stories, the convictions I was raised on…
My father might have inherited the company, but I inherited my abuelo’s dream.
Exponential growth is the rate at which my problems are multiplying.
I never knew grudges could feel physically heavy, like a weight literally pressing down on my heart, but now that the weight has been lifted, I can’t help marveling at the difference. At how light I am by comparison now that I’ve finally been relieved of that burden.
It seems strange to say I’ve never forgiven someone before. But forgiving someone for something small and forgiving them for deeply hurting you are two different things. And the fact is that Damian did deeply hurt me, and though I wasn’t sure if I could ever truly forgive him for it, I do. And that forgiveness—knowing I’m even capable of it—fills me with a drugging euphoria. It’s crazy how easy it was in that moment, to let what we were doing wash away all the bad between us, but it did. It washed away my anger and resentment as if Damian’s dick really is magical, just like Ronnie said.
And I’ve been walking around high on that weightlessness since. That is, until this morning, when I realized my mom had her biweekly chemo session, and reality brought me crashing back down to earth. Although Mom is in the second year of her treatment, it’s still very much ongoing, and it’s uncertain when she’ll be safely out of the woods. Days like today—when I have to sit there and watch how frail she looks wrapped in a blanket, the infusion steadily dripping through the IV line attached to the port in her arm—only remind me of that. But I put on a brave face because that’s what Mom needs from me right now. She needs me to make her think I have hope, even if some days—like today—it’s so damn hard to feel it.
Between the two of us, Gina is the far better motivational cheerleader, and though we usually take it in turns to go with Mom to the hospital (and today would have been her day), I wanted to give her this much-needed chance to relax. She’s been drowning in overtime ever since the insurance gods decided to smite us—just in case anything happens that requires draining our bank accounts, impacting our ability to pay the mortgage and bills—and I know she’s tired and uncomfortably close to burning out. I don’t have classes on Friday, anyway, so I volunteered as tribute to take Mom for her infusion.
Four hours later, we’re in the car heading home, and thankfully, since today was a monoclonal antibody day, she doesn’t seem as unwell or exhausted as she usually does after her standard rounds of chemo. She’s even talking about what we should have for dinner, which is amazing considering her treatments have a tendency to make her feel too sick to eat after. We’re debating the pros and cons of Italian versus Chinese food when I turn onto our street, my personal feelings on chow mein abandoned mid-thought when I spot the silver Audi parked outside our house.
“Whose car is that?” I ask, glancing at Mom.
She shakes her head. “I’m not sure. Must be someone visiting one of the neighbors. Or maybe Gina has a guest over?”
The latter seems unlikely. Gina’s usually so busy that when she does get some time to herself, she chooses to spend it vegging out on the sofa rewatching episodes ofNew Girl—a rare indulgence, but one she relishes when she can. And the only people she allows to intrude on her personal time are me and Mom. So, unless Edward Cullen himself is in there spilling all his vampire secrets, I highly doubt she has anyone over.
I pull up to the curb in front of the car in question and swing open the driver’s door, peering down the length of the mostly empty road for a beat before rushing around to the passenger’s side to help Mom. She stumbles a little, catching her toe on the tarmac, and I shoot out a hand to catch her, forgetting all about the Audi.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, guiding her along the short path to the porch.
She huffs a humorless laugh. “Same as usual. You don’t have to baby me, Lex. I’ll be fine.” Despite what she says, she doesn’t resist my offer of support, and I notice her grasp on me tightens a little as we make our way up the peeling wood steps.
Laughter reaches my ears when I push open the door, and I’m about to call out, “We’re home!” when I step far enough into the hallway to have the living room in my eyeline. Gina is sitting on the mustard-yellow sofa, exactly where I expected to find her, and on the armchair across from her is?—
“Damian?” His name shoots out of me in a panicked shriek.
What thefuckis he doing here?
His head snaps in my direction at the sound of my voice, and my mouth goes dry when I glance over my shoulder at Mom, who shuffles forward to see what all the commotion is about. When I look back at Damian, he jumps up from the armchair, a smile edging his lips.
“Hi.”
My stomach twists as my fingers twitch with the sudden urge to touch my glasses. If he sees my mom, he’ll know. He’ll know I lied about why I need the money. He’ll know I’m one crack away from breaking.
“I…” I swallow hard. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
An honest-to-god blush creeps onto his cheeks as he rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “Well, I…” He clears his throat, then offers me a timid smile, which is equal parts endearing and totally unlike him. “I wanted to see you, but you weren’t home. So, when Gina said I could hang around until you got back, I figured”—he shrugs—“I would.”
I blink stupidly, trying to process this information. “And…how long has that been?”
“Oh, uh…” He checks his watch, and his cheeks inflate like two small balloons before he blows out a whooshing breath. “Two hours?”
“Two hours?” I echo, nearly shouting the words.
