Chapter 43
Forty-Three
ISABEL
I didn’t want to see Dra. Gotiangco. The last thing I want is to have to recount every traumatic thing that’s happened to me this summer, but I was due for another appointment, and if I missed out, that would just raise even more questions for next time.
The moment her face flashes on screen, I burst out crying.
What I like about Dra. Gotiangco is how different she is from all the other doctors I’ve met.
The older ones maintain a neutrality with their emotions that made me feel like I was crying to a wall, but Dra.
Gotiangco is empathetic. She doesn’t hold back on her reactions; she frowns and asks me what’s wrong.
It takes me ages to get the words out. I’m snot-nosed and red-faced, judging from the little box of me on the video call.
I confess to her like I’m in church. As if laying out the truth might absolve me of my sins.
Dra. Gotiangco listens intently. A part of me wants her to validate me, to tell me I did nothing wrong, but a larger part of me thinks that I deserve it, and she has every right to tell me so.
Dra. Gotiangco sighs. “You’ve gone through a lot,” she says, “in such a short span of time. Let’s take a few moments to pause and gather our breaths.”
She guides me through a breathing exercise. It stabilizes me enough to dry my tears.
“This isn’t something we can unpack in one session,” Dra. Gotiangco says, “so we might have to meet more frequently, if that’s okay with you.”
I nod. What choice do I have? Let Alvaro pay for it.
“But I’ll tell you this, okay, Isabel? We’re not always going to be graceful in how we handle our emotions, how we talk to other people, or how we deal with things.
But what matters is that we try to cause as little harm as possible, that we’re open and honest, and that we can admit when we’re wrong and put in the effort to make amends.
We have to give space for others, to trust that they’re doing the same.
“We’re not always going to have grace to extend to others, but God always has grace to give to us.”
She glances at the time. We’re several minutes over an hour. “I’ll have my assistant book you for an appointment this time next week, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
“You hang in there, hija.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“You call in case of an emergency, okay?” In case you feel like killing yourself again.
I press my lips together in a thin line. “Yes, Doc.”
“You’re taking your meds?”
“Yes, Doc.”
“Okay. Good. And your journal?”
I shake my head. I’m too afraid of taking pen to paper after everything.
Dra. Gotiangco nods understandingly. “That’s okay. Take your time. But come back to it eventually, okay? Meet yourself on the page.”
“Okay, Doc.”
We exchange goodbyes and the call ends.
“Let’s go out,” Rocío says where she stands in the doorway. “I want to buy new notebooks.”
* * *
Rocío always knows how to make me feel better.
After several hours at the mall, we return to her house with brand-new journals each.
We stopped by a calligraphy store in San Juan, where Rocío talked me into getting matching fountain pens with her and an array of colored inks.
It was definitely a much-needed retail therapy session.
We sit in our pajamas on their plush white couch, watching Clueless on their giant flat-screen television. We have a bowl of half cheese and half sour cream and onion flavored Potato Corner fries between us, and ice-cold soda on the coffee table.
I’ve mostly calmed down, but I’m not over how low they’d stoop just to send a message that I’m excluded. Not that I’m entitled to anything. It’s just—I hadn’t realized people like this exist. You think you know bad, and then they show you worse.
Rocío must notice me zoning out, because she puts a cheese powder-free hand on mine and asks, “What’s on your mind?”
I shift in my seat. How do I say this? “I don’t understand why she hates me.
It’s like, from day one she decided I was her worst enemy.
I mean, I know about Kieran, and I feel like shit every day knowing my own intentions about going there, but before any of that—what have I done, really? For her to hate me this much?”
Rocío unfurls her legs from under her. She takes the fries and sets them on the coffee table.
“I’m going to hold your hand when I say this,” she starts, “but sometimes, most times, bullies don’t make sense.
It’s not on you to figure them out. It’s not on you to change yourself to make them treat you better.
God knows the truth. He can see what’s in your heart. ”
I sink back into the couch, my head lolling back against the cushion. “But she’s not wrong about me, though, is she? I did want to turn her friends against her. I’m just as bad as her.”
“Then do better. Own up to your faults. Apologize for the things you did wrong, but no further. That’s the best you can do. That’s all you can do. The rest is up to God.”
My eyes water. If I cry any more this week, they’ll have to plug me up to an IV for severe dehydration. “I feel like I’ve failed God somehow,” I cry. “I went in there with selfish intentions. This is all my fault.”
Rocío shakes her head. “Don’t say that. Don’t go there. Your relationship with Natalia is a two-way street.”
“But I should have been more loving.”
“Yes! Of course! But especially to yourself, Isabel. Especially to yourself.” She offers me a small, encouraging smile. “What you did, facing up to her, that wasn’t easy. You need to give yourself more grace. Sure, you stumbled, but in the end, didn’t you try to do better, be better than before?”
I think of all my attempts to foster a better friendship with Natalia.
How it would seem like we were getting somewhere, and then she’d go cold on me again, just like that.
It was a rollercoaster, an endless yo-yoing of my emotions.
Every time I felt like we were making headway, something or someone would derail us.
“It isn’t right to put yourself in situations that harm you or make you resentful. We go where we are wanted, remember?” Rocío swipes at my tears.
I sniffle and nod. “I just feel terrible.”
“Of course you do. And it’s okay to feel terrible. They were horrible to you. And you’re reckoning with the ways in which you acted horribly, too. I don’t think it’s equal, but you’ll call me biased, so—”
“You are biased.”
“If they wanted me to be fair to them, they should have been nicer to you.” She reclaims her seat next to me and pulls me into a hug.
How lucky am I to have her? In the midst of all her trouble with Joaqs and his family, here she is, taking care of me.
I need to be a better friend to her. I need to stop taking from everyone and never giving in return.
“You’ll get through this, Sabs. I know you will.
And I know God will guide you, sustain you.
You’ll do the right thing. Whenever you’re ready. ”
The thought of seeing Natalia again sends a shiver down my spine. “I really don’t like her,” I admit.
Rocío snorts. “Believe me. Neither do I.”
The front door clicks. Kieran steps into view, looking rumpled and tired.
“Hey,” he breathes out. He drops down next to me and kisses my temple. “How are you feeling?”
“Where’d you go?” I ask. I have an idea, of course, but I hope I’m wrong.
“Gave Natalia a piece of my mind,” he says. “Went nowhere, of course.”
“Of course,” Rocío echoes. She lifts the bowl of fries and offers it to Kieran. “Fries?”
He digs in. “Thank you.”
Kieran delves into what he uncovered during his sorta-kinda screaming match with Natalia.
How Alvaro had always compared her to me.
How she felt that I was inescapable. Instead of feeling touched, I’m incensed.
All of this hurt, all of this trauma, all because Alvaro Aranaz couldn’t keep it in his pants. Or shut up about it.
Natalia and I could’ve been friends.
Okay, no, that’s a reach. But at the very least, we would have left each other alone.
“Christ,” Rocío says. “Your dad is an asshole.”
“He’s not my dad.”
“But he’s certainly an asshole,” Kieran says. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
As I sit there, wedged between my best friend and my boyfriend, I get the feeling that Rocío is right.
My whole world might have crashed and burned, but now my eyes are wide open.
I know the truth. If this is the foundation I’m rebuilding on, then I have no complaints.
Good things will follow. I already have everything I need, right here.