Chapter 20 Now
Now
I’ve never asked Lucas what exactly happened to his dad, because I thought one day he’d just bring it up. He never has. The only father figure in his life that matters is his grandpa, because he’s been the only one he’s ever known.
One of the nights I got sexiled from my freshman dorm room, I made my way up to Lucas’s and let myself in.
He was on FaceTime with his grandpa playing Yahtzee.
I felt bad for intruding, but he insisted I stay and then invited his grandma and me to join in on the game.
After the call, Lucas gave me the rundown on his family.
He told me that his mom got pregnant when she was a junior in college.
She finished out the semester and then moved back home to have Lucas.
Once he was born, she started taking classes at a local college, which she graduated from two years later.
He had a frame on his desk with a picture of him and his mom from that very day—she’s wearing a maroon gown and holding baby Lucas, who’s wearing her cap.
According to him, Julia wanted to do everything she could to give him the same life she lived.
She didn’t want him to feel the void of only having one parent, and even though she never married, I get the feeling he never has.
While she was working on climbing the corporate ladder at her marketing job, Lucas spent most afternoons and evenings with his abuelos.
Elena would walk him to the bus stop every morning, carpool him to sports, and help him with his homework, while Daniel coached his recreational soccer teams all the way into his sixties.
He’s always seemed so youthful, energetic, and healthy, which makes the sudden cardiac arrest even more shocking.
It wasn’t long ago that I was sitting at this kitchen table eating tamales for the first time and laughing at Daniel’s jokes, even though I was often on the other end of them.
Now, I’m sifting through photos, picking the best pictures to display at his wake, realizing how quickly things can change, how quickly people can leave.
Julia appears in the kitchen doorway. “After you’re done with that, want to help me make a few bouquets to put on tables around the house? Lucas ran to the store, and my mom hasn’t come out of her room yet, so I’m down a few hands.”
“Of course. How is she?” I ask, only realizing after that it was probably the wrong question. Her husband collapsed right in front of her, and she gave him CPR and tried to save his life, only to be told he was dead on arrival.
How do you think she’s doing, Ainsley?
“She’s holding up. Surprisingly better than Lucas,” she sighs. “I worry about him sometimes.”
“Why’s that?” I ask as I close the back of a picture frame and stand it upright before moving on to the next.
Julia leans against the wall just outside the kitchen, her arms crossed, a thoughtful look on her face.
“He’s trying so hard to be strong for everyone else.
The perfect son, grandson, person. He never rocks the boat, never says the wrong thing or the real thing.
And sometimes I think it’s wearing him down.
” She pauses, choosing her words carefully.
“Even before losing his abuelo, he was different. I think the breakup really shook him more than he let on. Not because he misses her but because he spent so long convincing himself it was working. And when it ended, he had to face the fact that he was wrong.”
The words settle low in my stomach, heavy in a way I can’t shake, because isn’t that exactly what I was doing too? Holding on, convincing myself and pretending it was fine, right up until it wasn’t?
Julia presses her lips together. “He gave a lot of himself in that relationship. More than he should’ve. And I don’t think he ever got much back. I hated watching that.”
“Did you ever tell him that?”
“I tried. But Lucas doesn’t like conflict. He’ll stay in something too long just to avoid hurting someone. Even if it means hurting himself.”
I finish arranging the last picture and turn to face her. “Do you think he regrets it? Letting it go?”
She thinks for a second. “No. I think he regrets not leaving sooner. But more than that, I think he’s still figuring out who he is when he’s not trying to be everything for someone else.”
Her words remind me of the familiar ache of trying too hard, of loving someone by shrinking yourself.
“I know that feeling,” I say softly.
She gives me a knowing look. “You and Lucas, you’ve always understood each other.”
I open my mouth to deflect, but she keeps going.
“I’m not saying that anything is happening.
I just mean it’s rare to have that kind of friendship.
One that holds through so many versions of yourselves.
I think that’s why people sometimes get the wrong idea.
” She hesitates, then exhales. “But sometimes I think—” She shakes her head.
“You know what? Never mind. Just watch out for him, okay?”
“Of course.” I nod.
* * *
The reception is a quiet murmur of sad conversations.
Everywhere I turn, I hear some version of “I’m sorry for your loss” or “He’ll be missed.
” The somber gathering contrasts with the bright mild day outside.
Early December in the Carolinas can surprise you like that—with sunlight so warm it feels like spring is just around the corner, even when the calendar says winter has only begun.
The Rivera house is packed, filled with people sharing memories of Daniel—stories that prove he was the kind of person who left a mark on everyone he knew.
I move from room to room, refilling drinks and picking up empty plates.
It’s the least I can do. As I set down a fresh tray of veggies, I catch Lucas watching me from across the living room.
He’s surrounded by relatives, standing stiffly with his hands in his pockets, nodding along to a story someone’s telling him.
But his gaze is stuck on me. Soft and sad.
His lips curl into the faintest smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
I can feel the thank-you before he even mouths it, like he wants to be sure I know.
I nod back, a silent of course, but his eyes linger on me a second longer than they need to.
I feel the awareness tickle up my spine.
I steal a breath, settling my nerves from…
what? Lucas’s gaze? The spark of anticipation I feel? And take a step forward.
Before I can make my way over to him, his shoulders tense, and he excuses himself from the group before slipping out the back door.
I stop, wondering if I should shift course, head back into the kitchen, and help clean plates.
But fuck it—Julia said Lucas needs me, so that’s where I need to be.
I cross the room and follow him out the door.
Lucas is perched on an old swing set that looks like it’s about to collapse. He’s rocking gently, hands loose on the rusted chains.
“Hey,” I say softly, sitting down in the swing beside him.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” he says. “Helping out, I mean. You’ve been running yourself ragged all day.”
I shrug. “It’s nothing.”
I don’t say it out loud, but I’m thinking it: This is what you do for the people you love. Even when they don’t ask. Especially then.
We sit in silence, the kind that seems to fill up space. The creak of the rusted metal grinding against rotting wood and the distant murmur of the reception are the only other sounds between us. I’m content with letting him be, to just be here beside him without pressing him to talk.
But then Lucas speaks. “Losing him…it’s made me see things differently, you know?” He exhales slowly. “Off the record?”
That makes me turn. He hasn’t used our secret language in what feels like forever.
“Always,” I say.
“I keep hearing his laugh,” he says quietly. “The way he’d clap during my soccer games even when we were losing ten-nil. The way he’d whistle this stupid song every morning while making coffee. Now it’s just quiet.
“I don’t think I ever told him thank you. Not really. Abuelo raised me. He was the one who showed up. Every single time. And now I’m standing here wishing I’d spent less time trying to fix things with people who never really showed up for me.”
He doesn’t say her name. He doesn’t need to.
I glance over, surprised he’s going here. Lucas rarely talks like this—raw and unfiltered. I can feel how much it costs him to say it out loud.
“I think I stayed with Margo because I kept telling myself it would eventually feel right. That I just had to work a little harder, be a little more patient. But looking back now…” He shakes his head.
“I was building a life around someone who never actually met me halfway. And I just let it happen.”
“You didn’t know,” I say softly.
“I didn’t want to know.” He exhales, then looks over at me. “I think I was more afraid of being alone than I was of being unhappy.”
That line hits a little too close, because I get it. I’ve lived it too.
“You’re not alone now though,” I say quietly.
His eyes meet mine. “I just don’t want to spend any more time waiting for something to be enough,” he says. “Abuelo didn’t. He lived fully, and he loved people who loved him back. He and Abuela had that. Real partnership. No second-guessing.”
I let his confession hang between us as I think about my own parents—their meet-cute in the cereal aisle that turned into decades of showing up for each other.
About Elizabeth and how she once told me that what made Ben different was simple: He never made her question if she was chosen.
Isn’t that what we’re all looking for? Someone who shows up, the way his grandparents did for each other.
The way my parents still do. The way I try to show up for him.
I have to steady myself before I answer. “He would be proud of you.”
Lucas holds my gaze a little longer than usual, and for once, he doesn’t look away first.
Then the back door creaks open. A cousin steps out, lighting a cigarette and nodding in our direction before turning away. The moment deflates, but the air between us still feels heavy, like we both just heard something we weren’t quite ready to admit.
Lucas stands first, then offers me his hand. I take it, and he pulls me gently to my feet. His fingers stay wrapped around mine for a second longer than they need to.
It’s just a moment, but I feel it, and I wonder if he does too.