Chapter 17
Shay
When I arrived home, I felt as if I were floating on air. My heart was soaring from my interaction with Landon, but all of that came to a crashing halt when the reality of my life at home slammed back into me.
It was quiet, calm as a river moving downstream. I couldn’t think of the last time it felt that tranquil at my house, but it wasn’t a peaceful calmness. It was terrifying.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I walked into the living room.
Mima stood there with her coat on and three suitcases at her side. There were also a few boxes stacked up beside the suitcases.
Mom looked up from the dining room table and stood up. She walked toward me, and I noticed the puffiness of her eyes right away. “Shay . . . we’d thought you’d be back a little bit later, but—”
“What’s going on?” I repeated, cutting her off.
Mima smiled the saddest smile I’d ever seen. I hadn’t had a clue that Mima had the ability to give sad smiles. That was enough to break my heart.
“We’ve all decided it might be best if I move into my own place. I’m going to be staying in a small apartment down the way.”
What? No. “You can’t leave. This is your home. We are your home,” I choked out, feeling my body begin to tremble. Mima couldn’t leave us. She was the key to the strength of our household. She was the anchor that kept us grounded, and without her there . . .
We’ll collapse.
“Mima, no. Put your stuff away. This is silly,” I argued, moving over to her suitcases. “This is your home. You can’t go.”
“Shay—” Mom cut in, but I snapped at her.
“Is this because of Dad?” I barked, my chest feeling as if it were on fire.
“Is this because of him? If so, he should be the one to go. I smelled it, too, Mom. I smelled the alcohol on his breath. I bet you did too, didn’t you?
And did he ever explain how he could afford those earrings?
Mom, he lied. He lied to us, not Mima. He should be gone, not her,” I said, my voice shaky with anger.
How was this happening? How was my grandmother the one being pushed out when my father was the liar?
This isn’t right.
“Shay, please understand,” Mom said, her eyes watering over. “This wasn’t an easy decision.”
“It’s not a decision at all, because she’s not leaving. Tell her, Mima,” I begged, shifting my stare to my grandmother. Her eyes were watery too, which broke my heart even more. Mima was strong. She didn’t cry. She didn’t break. She was our strength.
She sniffled and stood straight. “It’s for the best, Shannon Sofia.”
Shannon Sofia.
She’d used my whole name, which meant her words were written in stone.
She was really going to do it. She was going to walk out the front door and leave because of my drunken father and his lies.
How was this right? How was this fair?
“She’s been there for us when he couldn’t be, Mom. How can you do this?”
Mom began crying and left the room as if it was too much for her to handle. If it was too much, why was she allowing it to happen?
“I’ll go with you, Mima,” I promised. She shouldn’t have to be alone. She shouldn’t have to walk out that front door on her own.
“No. You’ll stay here. It’s what’s right. You need to be here at home.”
“This isn’t a home without you. You are my home,” I whispered as the tears began falling down my cheeks.
I rushed over to her and wrapped my arms tightly around her body.
“Please, Mima. Please don’t leave me here with him.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch him pull her down and break her again. ”
She held me so tight.
So. Very. Tight.
“Sé valiente, mi amor,” she whispered. Be brave, my love. “Sé fuerte.” Be strong. “Sé amable.” Be kind. “Y quédate.” And stay. “Be here for your mother. She needs you, Shay. More than you’ll ever know, she needs you. Don’t make this harder for her.”
“I don’t understand. Why is she like this? Why is she so weak for him? I hate him. I hate him so much, but I hate her more for loving him. I hate them both for taking you away from me.”
“No, no, no,” she scolded, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t ever speak so ill of your mother. She has been through more wars than you’ll ever know. You have no clue the things she’s done to protect you, to be there for you.”
“The best thing she could do for me is to leave my father.”
“Oh, honey . . .” Her voice dropped and she shook her head. “I’m sorry this is so hard on you. It’s hard on me, too. It’s sitting heavy on my heart.”
It was becoming hard to breathe, and my heart was twisting into a knot more and more as reality set in.
She was going to go. She was going to leave me.
I pulled her in for another hug. “Mima . . .” I sobbed against her blouse.
She didn’t cry, though. Mima never fell apart; she simply held others together.
“Please let me go with you, Mima. Please. I can’t do this without you. ”
“You’re not without me, Shay. I won’t be far, but your mother? She can’t do this without you being here. That’s the truest truth. Be easy on her heart. Be easy on her soul—it’s broken and raw. You’re the only daylight she has right now. So please . . . stay.”
I cried into her arms for a while before she asked me to load up the car. Before she drove away, she pulled me into a hug once more and kissed my forehead.
Who knew forehead kisses could both heal and hurt?
I stayed on the sidewalk until her car rounded the corner.
Dad wasn’t even home. He was probably off in some bar, drinking, or out dealing with people he shouldn’t have been messing around with, with no concern about what his actions were doing to our family.
Each negative choice he made ripped the strands of our family unit, and yet he kept doing it—not thinking about us, not thinking of anything but himself.
I barged back toward the house, heartbroken and furious.
I had to get through to my mother. I needed her to wake up from this nightmare love story she’d been living in for far too long.
As I entered the house, ready to snap at her, I paused my steps as I headed in her direction.
She was in the bathroom with the door shut, and I listened as she sobbed uncontrollably.
Her breaths were weighted and tired. When I turned the doorknob and opened the door, I found her sitting on the side of the tub with her hands covering her face.
I was still angry, hurt, confused. I still planned to let her know how I felt. I still planned on voicing my thoughts and making it clear that her choices were affecting everything and everyone around us, not just herself . . . but I couldn’t in that moment.
She was already low, and I couldn’t push her any lower.
Sé valiente, sé fuerte, sé amable, y quédate.
I moved into the bathroom. I sat down on the edge of the bathtub with her. I wrapped my arms around her.
And I stayed.