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“Then why weren’t you? Mom and Dad visited. You could have gone with them.”
Pilar’s face hardens.
“Oh, that’s right,” I say. “Felipe wouldn’t let you go see your sister while she was sick. Is this the man you want to defend?”
“Valentina!”
“What if I had died?”
“You didn’t.”
“What if I had, though? You wouldn’t have seen me for the last time. All because you’re a prisoner here. When are you going to see that?”
“I’m not a prisoner.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Shopping with a security detail does not exactly scream freedom, but whatever. I’m tired of having this conversation. Just think about that for one second. If I had died, how would you feel toward Felipe right now? Don’t tell me. Just think on it.”
A long moment of silence stretches between us, and Pilar takes a few bites from the tray in the center of the room.
“How are Chema and Nicolas?” She finally asks, changing the subject.
“Good. I think Chema has finally given in and let Nico start coordinating their outfits in the morning. It’s like they are blending into the same person.”
“Gross,” Pilar says.
I roll my eyes, but am smiling. “Tell me about it. I’m the one who has to see it.”
We both laugh, and our pattern repeats itself. We have the same fight, we don’t resolve anything, and instead of acknowledging that, we change the topic to something we can both laugh about. It’s not healthy, but nothing in our family ever is.
“Tell them hi for me,” she says.
“I will.”
I stay at Pilar’s for three hours, and Felipe never comes back from his ‘meeting,’ though I’m doubtful that’s where he went.
The similarities between Felipe Conde and my father are astounding. I have no doubt that’s why Dad selected him as the winner from everyone who was courting Pilar at the time. I don’t use the term ‘courting’ lightly. It’s what my parents called it.
“I have to get going,” I finally tell Pilar.
She finds a spot in one of the many guest rooms for Mandy’s painting. I never imagined she would take the gift as she did. At least in the guest room, she won’t have to look at it every day, reminding her she was not in Kansas City with me through one of the roughest times in my life.
Pilar knows everything—I’ve always told her everything.
Except about Rory.
I’m not sure why. I carefully left him out of any conversations we had about my time away and about my treatment. Dr. Ramirez, Dr. Medina, Mandy, and even Tlali and Izel featured prominently in all the stories I told her when I got back, but I was always careful to leave Rory out of those conversations.
I keep him all to myself.
Most nights, I close my eyes and envision him lying on the bed next to me. He’s facing the other direction as I trace patterns over the freckle constellations scattered across the creamy skin of his back. The memory of him is so fresh in my mind, I can almost feel him under my fingertips when I think of him.
I spend my days back home suppressing my thoughts about Rory, hoping I can meet someone who’ll help me forget.
Un clavo saca otro clavo.
