Veronica
Christmas came and went. I spent it with my parents; it was odd to say the least. Mostly because Yuri was in attendance, but I’m not sure if she came with Serena or Gabe.
What I do know is that my brother couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
In the spirit of the holiday and personal growth, I put all my feelings for Yuri aside.
If I’m getting anything from my situationship with Miles, it’s that relationships are complicated.
They are adults and need to figure out their shit.
I will be here for my brother whenever he needs me.
It’s a couple of days before the new year, and I plan on spending it at home.
I honestly don’t recognize myself. Miles spent the holiday with his aunt in Colombia and will be traveling for a couple of days, so I invited Bere, Lana, Ruby, and Abel over for Chinese takeout and drinks.
I’ve been cutting down on my drinking. It’s counterproductive if I’m working out.
But I still treat myself. I can’t stop drinking altogether. It helps me relax.
I promised Miles I’d stick to Kai driving me and would check in, not that I need to, since he watches my every move.
I thought about changing my apartment lock, since he has a key, but there’s no point, and I don’t want to fight him on it.
I asked Felix about Eric Harrison, and I know I need to take my safety seriously.
Because Dad’s traveling with Uncle Issac, I offered to stay with Mom. I find her lying down in the living room with popcorn and a glass of wine. I smile because it’s been so long since my mother has felt well enough to drink wine and eat her guilty pleasure, popcorn with chocolate drizzle.
“So, it’s going to be a wild night in?” I tease as I make my way to her.
She turns to me, her green eyes radiant like two emeralds. “The wildest night ever.”
I lie on the couch with my head in her lap while a dating show plays in the background.
She asks me about the project and how my volunteering is going.
She tells me about Dad’s cooking hobby turned passion.
He cooked her meals and left them ready for us for while he’s away and included my favorite desserts.
I’m debating whether or not to ask the questions I know she can answer. Or at least provide some insight.
“Mom.”
“Yes.” She hums as she runs her fingers through my hair. “What can you tell me about Cam’s mother, Marisol?” I can feel the moment her fingers stop moving.
“Why do you ask?”
I sit up and face her. “He doesn’t talk about her, but I saw her paintings.”
She doesn’t hide her surprise. “You saw her paintings? He showed them to you.”
I think back to how I discovered them. I don’t want to share those details with her. “Yes. Well…more like I stumbled on them.” I see the internal fight she’s having with herself.
“Have you tried to talk to him about it?”
“Not really, but something tells me that he’ll only share when he wants to.” I think about everything he knows about me. Not as Cam, but as Miles. I know nothing. We never truly talk. But isn’t it better that way? To keep the ocean between us?
“Come, let me show you something.” She stands, and I follow her up the staircase to my bedroom.
We face my bed, and above my headboard is a large painting of cattleya orchids in a variety of colors.
It’s breathtaking. I’ve lived under it for years without ever truly seeing it.
My mother’s eyes turn glassy. “When the Villanuevas moved to Veridian Bay, Marisol and I became fast friends. But after her father died, she moved back to Colombia with her husband and son. She painted this for me before she left. It was the last time I saw her.” She lets out a faint, brittle laugh.
“Do you remember those orchids I couldn't keep alive?”
I nod. “You used to get so frustrated when they’d wilt.”
“Those were a gift from her,” she whispered. “They were her favorite. Eventually, I stopped trying to save them and gave them to you.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth as I remember Mom walking in with that vibrant purple orchid, the same one Gabe had caught me reading to, as if the flower held the secrets of the person who grew it.
“Mom,” I say, twisting a long blonde lock of hair around my finger. “How did she die?”
She looks at me, her expression shuttering.
“That, my dear, is not my story to tell.” She turns to lead the way back downstairs, and I follow a few paces behind, watching the sway of her shoulders.
I see her step falter. Her hand shoots out, white-knuckled, as she grips the banister to steady herself.
I race down the stairs and put my arm around her. “Mom! Mom! Are you okay?”
She’s turned a ghostly shade of pale. “Yes, I’ve just been overexerting myself the last couple of days,” she whispers, but her voice is so low.
What do I do? I’m freaking out. I’ve never had to deal with one of her episodes by myself.
“Mom, what do I do?” I can feel the panic rising in my chest, a cold tide, but I force it back.
There isn’t anyone in the house but us. I have to press the panic button, but I have to get her comfortable first.
Okay, Veronica, you can do this, I chant to myself. “Mom, let’s get you comfortable. I need to call the doctor. Mom? Mom?”
She’s mumbling now, the words incoherent and slurred. Something is very wrong. I manage to haul her toward the couch, thanking whatever higher power granted me this new strength. Lowering her onto the cushions, I realize she’s no longer responsive.
“Mom, please wake up!” I begin to cry, the tears blurring my vision. Veronica, you can do this.
I slam my hand onto the panic button. Security is on its way.
I scramble for my phone and call her doctor—no answer.
I hear the heavy thud of boots as security runs inside the house.
I don't wait for them to ask; I start shouting orders. “Call the ambulance! We need to get her to a hospital! Call my father!” I grab my mother’s hand and squeeze.
“Mom, please be okay. Please.” I’m sobbing now, but I don’t let go.
I try her doctor again—still no answer. I dial the only other doctor I know.
Ten minutes later, I’m in the back of a wailing ambulance.
I don’t leave her side for a second. The paramedics work with practice, blurred motions, checking her vitals, and pressing an oxygen mask over her face.
I realize my phone is still clutched in my hand.
I look down at the screen. There is a string of missed calls.
My family. We skid to a halt at the hospital entrance, where Tomas is already waiting.
“Veronica, I went through her chart,” he says, his voice a calm anchor in the chaos. “I’ll take care of her. You need to sit in the waiting room.”
“Okay. I’ll call my family. Tomas, please…please take care of her.”
He nods solemnly and follows the gurney as they wheel my mother away. I stand alone in the hallway, watching the double doors swing shut. Back-to-back missed calls from my father light up the screen.
I hit the dial button. I update Dad. He’s already on the plane, but it will be hours before he touches down.
Ian is racing back from Santa Barbara, and Gabe is en route from wherever he was.
For now, it’s just me in the waiting room.
Alone with my thoughts. I don’t know how much time passes.
I hear footsteps and look up to see Tomas enter the waiting room.
I straighten my posture, trying to look strong, though I feel like I'm on the verge of breaking down.
“How are you holding up, Veronica?”
“I’m as good as I can be," I tell him, my voice steadier than I expected. "My family is on their way.” I make sure he knows so he can be prepared to update them when they arrive. He walks me to the private hospital room where my mother was moved. She’s lying in the hospital bed—unconscious.
She looks so fragile. The rhythmic beep of the monitors is the only sound breaking the silence.
“You acted quickly," he says, checking the IV drip. "She’s lucky you were there.”
“Lucky I was there?” I repeat, the weight of the what-ifs hitting me all at once.
He gives me a reassuring look. “Yes. She could have fallen and hurt herself.” He takes a breath, and I see his expression shifting into professional focus.
“The medication she is on isn't the issue. It’s the dosage she was prescribed that’s the problem.
It needs to be adjusted. In cases like this, they sometimes do.
I’m going to review her case with my colleagues, but she should be good to go home in a couple of days.
” He reaches out, taking my hand and giving it a supportive squeeze.
“Tomas,” I call out as he turns to leave. “Thank you so much for everything.”
“You’re welcome. Also…” He pauses at the door, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Can you please call Miles? He’s blowing up my phone.”
Shit.
I look at mine and see that it died, so I ask for a charger. When it turns back on, there are dozens of missed calls and messages from Miles.
The ocean between us that I was thinking about earlier feels very small right now. I take a deep breath and hit his name.
Lapdog: What happened?
Lapdog: Answer the phone. I see you’re at the hospital.
Lapdog: Is your mother okay?
Lapdog: Answer your phone.
Lapdog: I’m hacking into the hospital’s security.
Lapdog: I’m boarding my plane.
His plane? He has a plane? I call him because I don’t have the energy to type a message or messages. The phone doesn’t even ring.
He answers immediately. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
“Hi.” I breathe, the sound of his voice grounding me. “Um, you don’t have to leave work because of me.”
“I know I don’t have to do anything,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “But I want to. Now, how’s your mom?”
My heart warms at the solid, steady pull in his voice. “She’s stable. Tomas is taking care of her.”