Chapter Thirty-Eight
Here, please have water.” Mateo’s voice is soft, slowly treading through the fog in my brain.
“I had water. Many times. Many, many times, since you keep bringing it to me every twenty minutes. Why are you speaking in English?” My mother’s tone is harsh compared to his.
“They always say when someone is unconscious, you should talk to them and in front of them. Imagine she wakes up and hears Spanish and is even more confused.”
“Good point,” she admits.
“Thanks. I’m not a complete idiot all the time, you know.”
“I know. But you do have a pretty high record.”
Laughter, from both of them. The shock of hearing my mom laughing, almost flirting , nearly has me jump out of the hospital bed.
“So do you.”
“Why did you keep those photos all this time, Mateo?” My mom’s voice changes to shaky, nervous even.
“The same reason you wrote me all those letters even though I never responded.”
“Did you read them? I can’t believe Julián had them. I hope to god he didn’t read them, how mortifying.”
“I read them and tossed them. Well, I thought I tossed them, but he kept them. But I read every word. I couldn’t bring myself to respond, to open that door, but I loved knowing what your life was like, even though I wasn’t a part of it. How Ry’s life was. I did miss you, Iz. I just—”
“That’s enough, Mateo. I can’t have this conversation right now. She can likely hear us.” She shuts him down as I begin to drift off again.
“It’s been days.” Mateo’s voice is persistent, desperate. “Come with me to the hotel and shower. You can take turns, one of you go now, and one after,” he pleads.
“No,” they both say at once.
“We aren’t leaving,” Julián tells his father, and I wonder why they’re speaking English. Everything’s blurry, but that doesn’t make sense to me.
“At least eat something, both of you,” he begs.
Flashes of Julián’s cheeks sunken in, purple circles around his beautiful eyes, haunt me, pushing me toward consciousness. “I’m not hungry,” they answer in unison.
I wonder if the two of them have bonded now, formed an alliance to drive Mateo absolutely mad as he tries to be the voice of reason. My Julián… has he been taking his medicine? Has he showered? Clearly not, given his father’s plea.
A machine beeps louder than usual, and I try to focus on Julián’s voice, Julián’s laughter, the tone he used when he told me he loved me for the first time. Another voice enters the room, speaking in English.
“Her vitals are great. The surgeon you brought from Madrid is exceptional. I might need to steal him for our hospital.” I know that voice—that’s Dr. Steele, the neurologist I’ve had since I was a child. Why and how is he here? Are we in Texas? Am I awake or is this all a dream?
“He’s an old friend,” Mateo says. “I’m just so grateful it may have worked.”
“She’s not awake yet. She might not know anything anymore; she’s probably terrified,” my emotion-ridden Julián says to the room. I reach for him, and I feel movement. Just before I decide if it was real or not, Julián’s hand clasps over mine.
“Ry, please stay, Ry.” He breathes a terrified breath to match the anxious look on his face as my eyes peel open.
He’s paper-white and in pure distress. His cheeks are sunken in, nearly black half-moons under his eyes. I consider teasing him, pretending to not remember anything, but I fear he may actually have a heart attack if I do, so instead I use all my strength to pry open my heavy mouth and try to speak.
Nothing comes. The orange glow of the sunrise shines through the hospital window, covering the entire room. It hurts my eyes, but I refuse to close them or look away. Another sunrise with Julián. I have so much to say, so much to be grateful for. He did exactly what I’d been afraid to do, exactly what I hoped, to keep me alive. I’m alive and remember everything. Every crooked smile, every kiss, every tear, everything my mother promised me while I was half-conscious. I think back, racking my memory, turning the pages like a cabinet full of folders—my fourth-grade math teacher’s name, the mascot of my high school, hospitals, the boat and lake with my mom. My mind is still here, seemingly every part of it.
The panic on Julián’s face increases by the second. I try again. I will not let him suffer; I can’t let him feel pain any longer. My throat is on fire. Will I be able to speak through the flames?
“Julián,” I manage, wondering if the words actually came out.
“Ry! Oriah.” He falls to his knees next to my bed, squeezing my hands.
“Are you okay? Do you know where you are? Who you are?”
I nod, and a thousand days of sighs pour from his body as he slumps over, the weight of the world seeming to melt off his shoulders. The sunrise out the window is deep red; the glow is so beautiful. Life is so beautiful.
“I promised to keep watching the sunrise with you,” I tell him, hot tears soaking my cheeks and his.