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“Valentina?” His voice is deep and cool, making my stomach drop.
We all turn to the door, and I freeze. My father walks in behind my mother.
“Hi,” I say. All the levity that had been in the room evaporates, and Mandy, Tlali, and Izel all suddenly look at their purses, the floor, or their shoes. Anywhere except at my parents or me.
“Um, we’ll get going,” Izel says. “Come on, guys.” She gestures for Tlali and Mandy to follow her. They both act like mutes, which is the first time Mandy has been at a loss for words. “Mr. and Mrs. Almonte, it’s really nice to meet you.” Izel is the only one with a functioning brain now, apparently. They all trickle out of the room, herded out by Izel, who closes the door.
I face my parents and attempt a smile, but I know it’s awkward. My mom brings her hand to her mouth to hide her gasp. Her hair is mussed, something I’ve never seen before, and her designer outfit is rumpled. They came straight from the airport, then. Her eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. She grasps my Dad’s arm for support like she can’t stay upright if she lets go.
On the other hand, Dad breaks away from her hold and steps forward toward the side of my bed. His gaze sweeps my body from feet to face, and he falls to his knees.
“Dad?” I’m momentarily concerned he has fallen, but he takes my hand in his.
“Honey. We were so worried.”
I don’t remember the last hug from my Dad, or the last gesture of kindness between us, so my hand in his is awkward—at least for me. For him, it looks like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
His harsh, black eyebrows are drawn in with concern, and I notice the stubble starting to shade the lower part of his face for the first time. He never goes unshaven. Or out of his suit and tie, for that matter. He wears a polo shirt and jeans that don’t look out of place here but would have him stick out like a sore thumb any other day back home.
He lets out a sob, and I don’t know what to do. I look at mom for help, but as usual, she is useless. She takes a seat and clutches her chest like she can’t breathe, as if she were the sick one and not me. I knew this would happen.
“Dad, it’ll be okay.”
He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and kisses the top of my hand. I blink at him, unsure what to say. He stands then and grabs a chair to sit next to me.
“Valentina Almonte, how dare you keep this from your mother and me?” I can tell he is aiming for scorning, but his voice cracks, giving him away.
“I’m sorry. I would have told you if the treatment failed. I swear.”
“And you would have robbed us of time together,” he says.
“Virgensita,” Mom says and looks to the ceiling. She makes a cross over her chest and starts muttering prayers toward the sky.
This is it. The dreaded moment. The moment of truth. I am sick, but I am still me, and my illness hasn’t erased all the harm done to our relationship before now.
“You’ve never cared about time together before now, Dad.” I don’t mean to sound as harsh as I do, but I know that’s how it’s received because Dad winces. He knows it’s the truth.
“I’m sorry,Mija. I’ve let work consume me, and I’ve overlooked so much. I’ll make it up to you. I swear. Tell me what I can do to make it up.”
“Why don’t you start by taking Mom to your hotel so she can freshen up and let her have her feelings there. We can talk tomorrow when you’re both rested and more calm.”
We both look at Mom, who is rocking back and forth in her chair with a rosary dangling from her clasped hands, tears dripping from her chin.
Dad shakes his head. “No. We want to see your doctor. I want to know everything. All Pilar said is that you have c-c-cancer. That you’ve had it for God knows how long, and she didn’t know how bad it was.”
“Look, I’m getting treated now. I got myself in a very aggressive clinical trial. You can relax and know I’m being taken care of. As for the doctor, you’ll want to talk to Dr. Ramirez or Dr. Medina. They’re the team leading the trial and most familiar with my case, but Dad, it’s late. They’ve gone home, and they’ll be here in the morning.”
Mom finally comes and crouches over me, placing a hand on each of my cheeks. I’m smothered, but I don’t protest. “Mijita, when you get through this, I’m going to give you the spanking of a lifetime,” she says. Her tears are dripping onto my face, but I don’t wince. Now, in a span of twenty-four hours, Pilar, Chema, Dad, and now Mom all shed tears for me.
I wonder what it’s like for them. Do they feel defeated, like this cancer will consume me? I’m still in fight mode, and I refuse to switch to flight until I know there is nothing else I can do. I’m not dead yet.
“Mom, stop. Please. I’m alive. Save your tears.”
“Until you’re dead? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
She always exaggerates. “Yeah, Mom. But it won’t be today or anytime soon.”
She smiles weakly and dries up her tears. I know she’s trying to keep them in, but she fails miserably.
