My father flipped the channel back to Fox News after I'd intentionally switched the television to CNN. On mute, it had taken him five minutes to notice his missing cast of white people, and it pleased me, seeing the vein jut out of his forehead.

"Don't you have better things to do, Mona?" he complained.       

"You know you can turn it off, right? Tucker Carlson won't keel over."

Papá Noe crossed his arms, disapproving of my tone, but I couldn't care less. My family wanted so desperately to be white and wealthy—or in my father's case, maintain that status—that they would disregard everything the far-right did to vilify Latinos and Mexican immigrants. It was as embarrassing as it was backwards.

I couldn't sway their vote, but I could sure as hell mess with their media exposure.

Dad scowled at me and leaned forward in his chair, carefully guarding the remote in his lap. "Have you given any more thought to an internship? Like the position at my firm?"

My smile was flat. "Not a morsel."

He opened his mouth to admonish me for my attitude, but Jay cut in before he could say anything inflammatory. "She doesn't have time, what with her boyfriend and all."

I would have punched the idiot if he wasn't so fragile, so I smothered him with a couch pillow instead. "Ignore him. I don't have a boyfriend."

Lita frowned at me from the rocking chair. "Still no man, Ramona?"

Ugh. Not the matchmaking talk. Anything but that. "I haven't found one worth my time and attention."

She curled her lip. "All good men are back in Guatemala. I find one for you."

"You know, my heart does race for that glorious machismo."

Jay cackled beneath the pillow I'd rightfully shoved in his face, and I grinned. Family dinners were going to be insufferable without him here as a buffer. He was the last thing keeping me tethered to the Montgomery-Rivas family tree, like the fraying rope of a tire swing. As soon as he passed, I'd be rolling my way to freedom—or exploding with undisclosed, facetious responses. One or the other.

My mother walked into the living room then, her cellphone in hand, and the panicked bewilderment on her face poisoned my smile. "Jay...I was just on the phone with the hospital." Betrayal bubbled up her throat. "Why did they ask me about hospice?"

The room went quiet, save for my mostly deaf grandfather, who asked my father to repeat the question. I glanced at Jay with my heart in my esophagus, and I could see the dread in his eyes. He hid it well behind a look of casual dismissal, but I recognized anxiety when I saw it. "It's nothing. They're just promoting their programs, I'm sure—"

"I called because I haven't received any bills since January," my mother pressed. "They said you haven't seen the oncologist in months."

"Forget about it," Jay told her, a plea on his tongue as he made to vacate the interrogation room, but she moved to stand in front of the couch, blocking his exit.

"Explain."

"I told you, Camila, I don't need you to keep paying for my medical bills. It's just—"

"Why are you lying, Jay?"

He glared at her, and his frustration turned sharp, like a weapon he intended to wield. "You're my sister. Not my conservator. Let it go."

"Let it go?" she repeated, and I winced, identifying the shrill, maternal panic in her voice. There was no subduing this fire now; the curtains had just caught aflame. "This is your health we're discussing. I will not simply let it go!"

"Well, I don't want to talk about it!" He shot to his feet—faster than I'd seen him move in weeks—and pushed past her to the kitchen. "Fucking hell."

"Jailen Horado Rivas Rodríguez," she threatened, marching after him, "what's the meaning of this?"

"It's not your problem to deal with!"

"Like hell it isn't! Answer me, Jailen. Where are your bills? What happened to—"

"Camila!"

"Jay—"

"He stopped treatment!" I blurted, sick of the shouting, and my mother clamped her lips shut like I'd slapped her across the face. She stood there stewing in silence while the rest of the family stared at me in horror, and I threw an apologetic glance at my uncle. "I'm sorry."

He braced himself against the wall. "It's fine, Roe."

It wasn't, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

"You stop treatment?" Lita asked, and her eyes disappeared in the wrinkles of her bewildered frown. "No entiendo. ¿Qué significa eso?"

Mom shook her head back and forth, failing to process, failing to understand. "He stopped chemotherapy, Mamá. And only God knows why he decided to do that without consulting his family first." She spun to address her brother. "What do you intend to do, then? What's the plan?"

"There is no plan," Jay sighed, miserable and exhausted as he threw his hat back on his head. "I'm done with the appointments and the needles, and I'm done feeling like shit every single day of my life. I'm done."

She glared at him, her eyes welling with frustrated tears, with rage. Then she looked at me like I'd stabbed her in the chest. "You knew about this? How long?"

I couldn't speak around the knot in my throat. Too long.

"Stop. Don't take it out on Mona," Jay intervened. "I told her not to say anything."

She pointed her finger at him, crying freely. "Esta es una decisión egoísta. Esto romperá nuestra familia."

This is a selfish decision, she spat. This will break our family.

Fuming, the matriarch stormed out of the living room into one of the bedrooms and slammed the door behind her. Meanwhile, Lita began speaking with Papá in rapid-fire Spanish, and my father massaged the space between his brows, overwhelmed by our family's volatility.

I walked over to Jay, fighting the urge to run after my mom and beg her to reexamine her brother's rationale, this time stripped of personal injury. But Jay and I knew this day would come, and we'd known it would get ugly. We'd known the family wouldn't understand, nor care to try. All I could do now was deescalate the situation...or save him from it entirely.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get you out of here." I snatched my keys off the dining room table and tossed him his jacket. "We can go people-watch at the marina. Or catch a movie downtown. Or—"

"Just take me home, Mona," he rasped, his jaw muscle throbbing with the emotions he refused to address, and I swallowed against the pain.

"Okay. Whatever you want, Jay."

I climbed the stairs of Theo's apartment complex and slowly approached the door with the Satanic Temple pentagram. The once-alarming symbol had now become a beacon of comfort, warmth, and divine pleasure in my life, and I would have smiled at the irony if I didn't feel so shitty.

I opened the door without knocking—per Theo's request after I'd been stuck outside in the cold during an intense, music-infused study sesh. But I immediately felt like a trespasser when I heard him arguing with someone in the next room.

"My sex life is none of your business, Charlie."

"Um, you made it my business, remember?"

"You made me make it your business."

"...Are you twelve?" There was a rustling of fabric—a puffy winter jacket being pulled on, then a sigh. "Am I the only grown-up in this mess?"

"Clearly not. Grown-ups know when to butt out of relationships."

"So it is a relationship, then."

"Charlie, I swear to god—"

I cleared my throat, announcing my presence, and Theo's voice fizzled out as he stepped around the side of the kitchen. He and his sister stood across from each other, equally annoyed with one another, but their expressions softened when they gazed upon my frazzled state and puffy eyes.

"Moe, hey," Theo said, taking a few steps toward me to gently touch my forearm. Tonight, he wore gray sweats and a long-sleeved shirt that hugged his biceps. I loved seeing him in casual clothes, so comfortable, so unbothered. He looked nothing like the cold, angry barista with jagged angles and charcoal eyeliner, and the contrast gave my heart a kick. "Are you okay? You look like shit."

"Theo," Charlie admonished, but I found his candid, abrasive greeting rather comforting.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," I offered. "I can come back later if you guys want to finish your conversation."

Theo waved the thought away. "It can wait. What's going on with you?"

My eyes stung—from sobbing on the way over or from another impending breakdown, I wasn't sure. "It's Jay. The truth came out about him quitting chemo, and it was totally my fault...and I just...I don't know how to help him right now." I bit my lip to stop it from trembling. "I know he feels alone and sad and probably a little scared, but he doesn't know how to express it, and he'd rather die than ask for help. I don't know what he needs. I just...don't know what to do."

"Hey...c'mere." Theo pulled me in for a hug, and I melted into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his warm, sturdy frame. "It's gonna be okay."

"He's dying, Theo," I choked out, spilling fresh tears. "He's dying, and I can't do anything about it."

He held me to his chest and rubbed soothing circles between my shoulder blades, feeding me his strength and affection. I felt Charlie's eyes on us, but I didn't care what she thought about this interaction, if it supported her and Baker's claims. All I knew was that Theo offered the compassion and life experience I sought, and I needed him in this moment.

I needed him more than I was willing to admit.

"I know how fucking helpless you feel, Moe. But you've done so much for him, for so long. You've just...reached your ceiling." Theo squeezed me tight. "All you can do now is let him have control over his life in a world that's robbed him of it. Let him live his last lap however he wants. And do what you can to support that."

My voice was small when I told him, "I'm not sure he wants me there after I spilled his secret."

"...We both know that's not true."

I curled my fingers into his shirt.

Theo was right. Jay might have needed space today—who wouldn't when your family reacts that way? But I knew he loved me, and he appreciated my being there for him, even if he never explicitly said so. He could push me away all he wanted, but I wouldn't let him spend the rest of his life in the dark of his apartment thinking he was, indeed, selfish.

"It's spring break next week, isn't it?" Theo asked as my tears began to dry, resting his cheek on the top of my head.

I frowned at the random question. "Yeah. Why?"

"You have any plans?"

I peeled back to look at him, and the mirth in his expression made me stash my sadness aside. "No. I was just hoping to spend some time with you, to be honest. If you were still around, I mean."

Charlie rolled her eyes and slipped away to find something to eat in the kitchen, and I pretended not to hear her murmuring 'idiots' under her breath.

"Well...I've got an idea," he said. "And it involves you, your uncle, and a sexy 1975 XJ-S with a V12 engine. If that tickles your fancy."

It took a moment to translate his gibberish, but then I smiled up at him and his dazzling hazel eyes.

"Perhaps," I lied. I'd enjoy a road trip to the fucking armpit of Nevada if it meant spending quality time with him and Jay. "What's the destination?"

He grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You tell me."