Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
Mara
I wake up exhausted with an ache behind my ribs that feels like a bruise that can’t be reached or healed. My eyes feel gritty. That’s usually what happens when you spend half of the night crying.
Crying until . . . I couldn’t stay awake or gave up, or . . . I couldn’t handle the truth. A truth that is still unbelievable. Lina was my ‘birth mother.’
My favorite aunt was not just another person in the family, but the one who birthed me. The woman who also abandoned me without a goodbye because I needed money for my treatments. How can you be mad at this kind of sacrifice? That’d make me a selfish bitch, which I’m not.
She was my mother, and she sacrificed a lot.
I’m not sure what to do or think. I feel the edges of myself start to come loose. So I do what I’ve always done: I focus on structure. Routine. Function.
First I’ll shower, then have breakfast. Which at ten—when Mila is in the middle of a lesson—will look weird.
Alec is in the kitchen pretending not to be paying attention to Mr. Science.
The moment he sees me, he starts the kettle and drags out a mug.
He kisses my cheek and it’s endearing how much he’s trying to be careful with me and act like everything is normal at the same time.
I want to beg for more but I don’t because there’s not an “us” established between us. The last thing I want is to send mixed signals to Mila. Once he prepares my breakfast, we head outside to the balcony.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like my entire life was a lie,” I confess.
“It’s natural,” he says.
Not sure if this is natural, but I don’t want to discuss or confront what I figured out last night—or the conversation with my mother, so I say, “It’s over.
I’ll call the lawyer later today or maybe tomorrow to see next steps.
This is what they wanted me to find out, right?
I get why she left me everything she owned.
No need to stick around for a year. I could see if my agent has a gig or two. ”
He takes my hand and kisses it. “We could start by calling the lawyer. Yes.”
“You don’t like my plan, do you?” I narrow my gaze. “You wanted me gone.”
“No, I . . .” he sighs. “Listen, if you want to leave tomorrow, I’ll get us a jet and take you wherever you need to.”
His offer is so sweet.
“You like your house,” I remind him.
“It’s just a penthouse.” He smiles timidly. “You’re a lot more important than the house.”
I open my mouth then close it and choose to eat my breakfast before I say something stupid.
I’m not in a good place to make any decisions, including my whereabouts.
Mila is enjoying this new . . . whatever it is.
I wouldn’t want to take it away from her just because my aunt and my mother decided to fuck up my life.
The rest of the day is more normal. Sure, I have all these crazy thoughts spiraling on the back of my head but none of them matter.
I get Mila ready for karate, pack her snacks, check athat her braids are tied into a bun, make sure she has those stupid frog sticker she insists brings her luck.
I do everything right. I smile at the receptionist at the academy of martial arts.
I kiss the top of Mila’s head before she runs inside.
And then, I turn toward the street and decide to run.
Run fast and as far as I can. It’s not like anyone will catch me.
Except of course from Alec who has been silently following me around and is now running with me.
When I stop, he’s right next to me. “We might have to take a cab to go back,” he states.
I laugh, hysterically.
“You really don’t follow the rules of grief.”
I look at him. “Are there any rules?”
“There are seven steps,” he states as a matter of fact, just like he does everything else. “Which is totally fine. I just need you to breathe.”
I let out a sound that is not a laugh and not a sob—something in between.
“I’m breathing.”
“No,” he says softly. “I think you’re just barely surviving.”
I press my forehead to his chest and breathe. His arms come around me in a way that almost feels like he’s saying, I got you. It’s totally fine.
“I don’t know what to do with any of this.”
“You don’t have to decide anything today.”
“I don’t even know who she was,” I whisper. “I thought I did. I thought she was this—this whirlwind aunt who made soup from scratch and hated microwaves and loved to dance when she visited. But she . . . she was hiding everything. A whole life. A whole child.”
Me.
Alec doesn’t say anything, just lets me lean on him.
“I feel stupid,” I choke out. “Like I missed something obvious. Like everyone else must have known. Right? Someone must have known.”
“People keep secrets for all kinds of reasons,” he says quietly. “Sometimes to protect themselves. Sometimes to protect someone else.”
“I didn’t need protection,” I state. “Maybe they could’ve—”
“Shoulda-coulda-woulda isn’t something to speculate.” He kisses my forehead. “We could go with the lawyer, figure out next steps. Then make decisions about how you want to deal with this.”
“I . . .” I clamp my mouth because maybe that’s stupid.
“You can tell me whatever you want.”
“What if we find out where they bury Thomas?” I suggest.
He closes his eyes briefly. Then, looks at me and there’s something he doesn’t want to tell me.
“What is it?”
“Remember when Edgar ran a background check of your aunt?” he asks cautiously.
“When he showed up and knew more about me than myself?” I scrunch my nose because I didn’t like it at that time. I was so overwhelmed with everything else that I didn’t tell Eddie to go fuck himself for not minding his own business. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I called him earlier to see what he could find out—”
“He knows?” I ask, not sure if I’m excited or upset. Everything is too ambiguous.
Alec nods. “Yeah. He told me that Thomas was a prisoner of war for a while but they found him eventually.”
“My biological father is alive?” My head is about to explode, because the letters . . . he stopped responding, didn’t he? “I . . . does he know about me?”
Alec shrugs. “Probably not. I don’t know if Lina ever knew that he was alive or that—”
“Of course, it was a secret,” I cut him off, then press my head with both hands because this is too overwhelming. “I don’t understand her choices.”
“You don’t have to,” he says. “You just have to feel what you feel.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “I don’t want to feel anything. I hate this. I hate feeling like I’m floating outside my own life.”
“You’re not floating,” he says. “You’re coming back down. Slowly. It’s supposed to feel strange.”
Our gazes meet, and all I feel is calm. It’s kind of crazy to remember that this man is supposed to be fueled by anger and the need for destruction. He’s not. He’s probably the gentlest soul I’ve ever came across. Yesterday he let me fall apart in his arms—for the second time.
So much for taking care of my emotionally devoided neighbor. Aunt Lina didn’t know him well, obviously or . . . she would’ve probably told him to stay away from me instead. I’m the one who’s never in one place.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” I tell him.
“I’m not babysitting.”
I swallow. “Then what are you doing?”
“Hanging out while making sure that you know I’m here for whatever,” he says. “I’m staying.”
That word grips everything within me. They startle and feel calming and make me want to ask something like, ‘why would you want to do that?’ Usually no one stays. Not in my story. Now I have more solid proof of that and I hate having all these abandonment issues.
“Come on,” he finally murmurs. “You’re shaking. Let’s get you to a warm place and maybe today I’ll cook something for you and Mila.”
I nod because I’m too tired to argue, and I only say softly, “Thank you.”
He just looks at me for a long, careful moment and murmurs, “I’m here.”