39. Mariana
Mariana
T he first knock is soft, patient. I ignore it. The second knock is a little louder. Not urgent, just expectant. I sink deeper into the couch, pulling my blanket tighter around me. Maybe if I don’t move, she’ll think I’m asleep.
Silence, then…three soft taps, then another. I freeze.
Our childhood pattern. The same way Anna used to knock on my bedroom door when we were little, when she wanted me to come out but knew I’d be stubborn about it. I close my eyes. She’s not going to leave.
“Mariana.” Her voice is neither forceful nor exasperated, just firm and unwavering.
I stay still, my fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket, gripping it like an anchor. More silence. Then, one final knock.
“I brought you coffee.”
My throat tightens. I don’t need coffee—I already have a half-drunk, cold cup sitting on the table. But I know Anna…she’s waiting. Not pressuring, not forcing, just waiting.
I exhale slowly, forcing my body to move even though it feels like I’m carrying bricks on my back. My legs ache from staying curled up too long, my chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, but I still walk to the door and open it.
Anna stands on the other side, arms crossed, her dark eyes scanning my face like she’s taking inventory of the damage. Her expression softens, her brows lift, and her lips press together.
“You look like hell.”
I huff a humorless laugh. “Thanks.”
She holds up a to-go cup. “I brought you coffee.”
I glance at it, then at her. “I already have coffee.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, but you didn’t have this coffee. This one has extra sugar, just how you like it. And it comes with me forcing you to leave your house, which I know you haven’t done in days.”
I blink at her. “I?—”
“Nope.” She shakes her head, stepping past me and grabbing my coat from the hook by the door. “Get your shoes. We’re going out.”
“Anna, I don’t really…”
She turns, fixing me with a look so sharp it makes my throat close up.
Then, softer, her voice dipping, careful but knowing:
“Mari, I know you. You’re stressed. You’re barely eating, barely moving. And I know what that does to you. When was the last time you actually took care of yourself? Stress triggers flares, and you know it.”
I swallow hard, looking away. I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to think about my body, about the way I’ve been ignoring it, about how I’ve been feeling worse but blaming it all on grief.
“Come with me, Mari. Just for a little while.”
I hate how my chest aches at that, because she’s not mad, she’s not scolding me. She’s just asking me not to disappear.
The tightness in my throat gets worse. I look away, and stare at the coat in her hands.
Then, finally, I nod. “Okay.”
Anna drives with the windows cracked, letting the cool air slip in. The radio hums softly in the background, some song playing low enough that I don’t really hear it.
The streets of Lake City roll by in a blur—small businesses, coffee shops, the bookstore we used to go to when we were kids. She doesn’t tell me where we’re going or try to fill the silence with small talk, and I really appreciate it.
I keep my hands wrapped around the to-go cup, letting the warmth sink into my fingers, focusing on anything but the weight pressing against my chest.
Then…a very familiar beat starts playing. I freeze.
Oh. No.
Anna’s head whips toward me so fast I feel it before I even look.
The opening line comes through the speakers?—
“At first I was afraid… I was petrified…”
I groan. “Anna, no.”
She claps her hands once, throwing an arm across her chest in a dramatic flourish. Then, she starts singing. Loudly, off-key, and with enough energy to shake the entire car.
“Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side?—!”
“Anna, I swear—” I warn, but the corner of my mouth twitches, betraying me despite my best effort to stay serious.
“But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wroooong?—”
I press a hand to my face, but I’m already smiling.
“And I grew stroooong?—”
“Please, for the love of God?—”
“AND I LEARNED HOW TO GET ALONG!”
The volume cranks up to full blast. I shake my head, biting my lip to keep from laughing.
Anna smirks. “I see that smile, Mariana.”
I turn toward the window, fighting it. “No, you don’t.”
“Come on, Mari.” She nudges my arm. “This is our song.”
I roll my eyes. It was our song. We used to scream-sing it in Anna’s bedroom, standing on her bed like it was a concert stage, using hairbrushes as microphones.
I exhale, shaking my head. “Anna, I’m not…”
“Yes, you are.”
“Anna—”
She throws her head back, absolutely butchering the next line.
“DO YOU THINK I’D CRUMBLE? DID YOU THINK I’D LAY DOWN AND DIE?”
Maybe it’s the way she looks at me, like she’s seeing the girl I used to be, like she’s willing me to find her again, or maybe it’s just been so long since I’ve done something this stupid. Either way…I sigh, and I start singing. Badly. Loudly. With no care in the world.
By the time we hit the chorus, we’re both screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs, the wind carrying our voices out the open windows.
For weeks, maybe even months, I haven’t felt this light.
But now, a spark of hope flickers—maybe, just maybe, I can feel something other than loss.
When she finally parks, I recognize the place instantly—the outdoor market.
The same one my mom used to take us to when we were younger.
The one with fresh bread, homemade jewelry, and flowers in every color.
The one where my mom would always make us pick out a fruit we’d never tried before, even when we’d whine about it.
My stomach tightens.
“Anna…”
“It’s just a market, Mari,” she says softly, but we both know she picked it on purpose. She picked this place because it’s familiar, because it feels like my old life.
She steps out without giving me a chance to protest.
Without thinking, I follow.
The scent of warm bread and roasted coffee lingers in the air. People move between stands, chatting, laughing, and existing. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d been around this many people.
Anna buys a loaf of fresh pan sobao, breaking off a piece and handing it to me without a word; I take it. We walk, passing flower stands and handmade jewelry booths, the kind of things my mom used to love. Something tight pulls in my chest, but I don’t let it break me, not here.
"You used to love coming here," Anna says, glancing at me.
I nod. "Yeah."
"You’d always beg your mom for those ridiculous honey sticks."
I let out a small, unexpected laugh. "They weren’t ridiculous. They were good."
Anna grins. "Okay, but you never actually ate them. You just collected them in a drawer and forgot about them."
I roll my eyes, but I feel it, the lightness; it’s brief but real. We keep walking, and for a while, it feels like nothing’s changed, as if I’m still me. As if I’m not someone who let love slip through my fingers, someone who is still drowning in her own grief.
But then, we pass a vendor selling handmade candles, and one of them…vanilla and cinnamon. It smells like Sebastian’s apartment, I freeze.
Anna watches me carefully. "Mari-"
I shake my head, my throat too tight, my chest too full, too raw. I take a step back, desperate for air, even out here, I still can’t breathe.
I turn, walking away from the stand, gripping the paper bag with the bread so tightly my knuckles turn white. Anna catches up easily, she doesn’t ask what’s wrong, she already knows.
We sit on a bench near the edge of the market; I feel the warmth of the sun against my skin, but it doesn’t reach the part of me that’s still frozen.
Anna lets the silence stretch before finally speaking. "Are you happy, Mari?"
I flinch. The answer should be easy. Instead, it sticks to the roof of my mouth. "I’m fine," I say, but my voice cracks on the last word.
Anna doesn’t hesitate. "No, you’re not."
Tears burn behind my eyes, I force them down. "I can’t…" My voice shakes. I don’t even know how to finish that sentence.
Anna exhales. "You can pretend you don’t miss him," she says quietly. "But Mari… I’ve known you my whole life, and I’ve never seen you like this."
A tear escapes, but I wipe it away quickly—like it was never there. "I don’t know how to fix this," I whisper.
Anna nods. "Then start with admitting you want to."
I let out a shuddering breath, I don’t say anything else, and Anna just reaches for my hand. We sit in silence for a while, watching the world pass by, lost in our own thoughts.