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I wonder for a moment what she would say if I told her everything that happened to me. If I confide in one person and share my pain with her. Would she care about it? Would she give me a hand to help me out of this big, dark, empty hole? Would she care about her granddaughter and grieve her with me?
“Hi, Ame. I would ask how you’re doing today, but . . .” her voice trails as she looks around the room. Pria gives me a sad smile. She probably thinks I’m a pathetic loser who can’t keep her shit together.
“There’s no way I could understand what you’re going through,” she begins while opening the curtains and shutters, letting the natural light brighten the room. “The doctor said you’re in remission. That means you have a second chance at life. It’s time to get off the couch and return to school. Resume your plans and reach for your dreams.”
A second chance at what, I want to ask. Dreams? Do I even have those? I can’t remember what I wanted before. Now . . . I don’t want to live.
Pria hands me a tissue and takes the cold mug from my hands. “Come to the kitchen with me, honey.”
I muster all my strength and stand up, following her to the kitchen, where she begins to tidy up the mess that’s been gathering for the past few days.
“Have you eaten anything today?” she asks.
I shake my head slightly. “No appetite, really. But I’ve been keeping up with those protein shakes,” I say, nodding toward the bottles on the counter.
“We’re concerned about you,” she says, focused on the trash on top of the counter.
“I’m recovering.” I sound defensive.
She pauses, her expression serious. “Jacob and I were talking about you last night. Sometimes, a fresh start is what’s needed, especially after everything you’ve been through with your family and your health. My husband and I will give you financial help so you can start a new life anywhere.”
I frown, unsure of how to answer. Money? I have that.
My mother’s inheritance is more than enough for my debt to Gabe and any future plans. There’s even an apartment in New York waiting for me. But leaving Gabe? We had promised each other forever.
Is forever even a thing that can happen between us?
Did he ever truly love me, or am I just clinging to a lie? The lie of forever.
Pria gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know you love Gabe. But are you sure it’s love and not just gratitude for all he’s done for you?”
“Gratitude?” The word tastes strange on my tongue, a mix of confusion and a dawning realization.
She nods. “Yeah. Gabe’s a great guy, just like his dad.” She presses her lips giving me a pitying look.
“I do love him,” I mumble.
“Of course you do. This is why I worry. We love you and you deserve so much better, Ame.” She smiles.
“Better than . . .?”
“This— Your situation reminds us of Norah. A woman who was in love with Jacob,” she explains. “She had cancer, like you. My husband couldn’t bring himself to admit he didn’t love her. He even tried to force himself to feel something, but it just broke both of them in the end. I would hate it if something like that happened to either one of you.”
Her words are a punch to my gut. “So, what you’re saying is . . . Gabe will never love me? That I should leave before we end up hurting each other?” I ask, trying to make sense of this weird conversation.
“I’m concerned about you,” she ignores my question. “Gabe’s already dealing with so much—Archer’s death. Also, losing Leslie, his first love, hit him hard. I doubt he’ll ever feel that way for anyone else. And you. . . you deserve someone who can give you their whole heart. I’m not telling you this to hurt you, but because I don’t want you to hurt. I care too much about you for that to happen.”
She sounds sincere, caring. Like a mother who’s trying her best to protect her child. In this case not only Gabe, but me.
I blink, trying to process her words. “So, you mean I can do better than Gabe?” I ask, a little confused since she’s, in fact, telling me that I can do better than her son.
Pria winces, realizing how her words sounded. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say my son is . . . not worthy of love, just that—” she stammers, biting her lip—“What I’m trying to say is, you both are amazing, but maybe not right for each other. You mean a lot to me, and I want what’s best for you, and I don’t think that’s Gabe.”
“Because he will always love Leslie, not me,” I confirm what she’s trying to tell me.
She nods. I could argue with her, tell her that maybe she’s wrong. But Gabe’s behavior and everything I’ve seen in the past few months proves her right. He didn’t even acknowledge the loss of our baby.
My heart, though . . . My heart doesn’t agree. I should give Gabe a chance to explain himself. He lost a friend, and hopefully we’ll be able to get through this together. Right?
