June

I could still see the flashing lights of the ambulance when I closed my eyes. There had only been space for one other passenger, so mom went with, of course. I had watched until they disappeared out of sight. Then I called Nathan, as that seemed the only logical thing to do. His voice had brought on the tears — before, I'd been fine.

After, I'd walked back outside, taking place on the front steps. People asked me if I was okay, if I wanted to come with them. I didn't need to. I had him.

The car pulled up right in front of me, braking a little more abruptly than usual. He got out, hurriedly, and I threw myself in his arms. "It's okay, June," he said, holding me close, and I hated that I smelled Charlotte's perfume on him. "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna go to the hospital, alright?"

I could only nod, water streaming down my cheeks. He cupped my face, gently wiping them dry with his thumbs. Ocean blue eyes gazed into mine, and for a second, my panic subsided. "Is there anything you could think of that your mom and dad might need?" Thinking was difficult, at the moment. When I did it, I heard my dad grumbling about pain and my mom crying out as he collapsed — I didn't want to see it again. "Wallets, insurance cards, cell phones, anything?"

"I — yeah, probably smart. I don't think we have insurance, though."

"You do," he said, and even through my fear, I managed to be surprised.

While I packed dad some clean clothes, hands shaking, Nathan was downstairs, going through their stuff, trying to find ID's and cards and all that. Time seemed to regularly skip a few minutes, since suddenly, we were driving down the highway again, him throwing me concerned glances every now and then. He asked me which hospital they had taken him, but I wasn't sure anymore. I wasn't sure of anything anymore at the moment.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" He'd grabbed my hand for a moment, squeezing it before moving back to the wheel. It reminded me of the night we fled the high school together. It seemed years ago.

I didn't know if I wanted to. My mouth did, because it started talking without me realizing: "I'd cooked for them. They were both so tired... Dad complained of heartburn. I was concerned, that was how uncle Miguel's heart attack started. He told me not to worry." Worrying is my job, mija. "And then I was doing the dishes, and he — he collapsed."

Nathan nodded. "How long before the ambulance came?"

"I don't know. Ten minutes, maybe?"

"Good," he said, "good. Ten minutes, that's not so bad."

I hoped he was right. I caught a whiff of Charlotte again, and all at once, I wished she didn't exist. "I hope I didn't ruin your night. You were just the first person that came to mind."

He looked sideways, frowning like that was the most insensible thing I'd ever said. "Are you kidding me? You can always call me, June. Always. Especially if something like this happens."

Always. My heart fluttered at the word. Would my dad's heart ever be able to do that again? Was he still alive? When I thought of mom, of the way she would whisper in dad's ear, and the way he watched her like she was the only woman on earth, even if she was dressed in her work uniform, I couldn't help but think that, if dad didn't make it, I'd lose two parents. Or at least, what remained of them after almost a year of being away from family.

Family.

"I should — I should call my family, shouldn't I?" I said. "Tell them what's happening."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Here, take my phone."

Mindlessly, I selected Valentina's number, one of the few names in his contacts I actually recognized. It took her long to pick up. No wonder, it must've been the middle of the night in New York.

"Hello, who is this?" her groggy voice asked, and I could picture how she was rubbing her eyes, sitting up in bed in her pink t-shirt.

"It's me, June." That was all I managed to get out before a lump the size of my whole family tree blocked my throat.

"June? Honey, what's happening? Are you crying? June, where are you? Talk to me, honey."

I couldn't. Nathan enabled the hands-free mode and started reassuring her, recounting the story I'd just told him, assuring her he was not going to leave me alone, and that he'd call her frequently to give updates. Next, he called Sam, telling him the same thing.

"Okay, I'll bring the rest up to speed," he said. "If they even care. Don't leave her alone."

"I won't."

"Hey, Nathan. You were awesome tonight."

"Yeah, we'll discuss that some other time. You'll hear from us, alright?"

And gone was Sam's voice.

Then, we'd parked, and then, we were inside, marching through the brightly lit halls, smelling of rubber gloves and antiseptic, being directed from info desk to info desk, until someone was able to tell me my dad was currently in emergency surgery.

Surgery.

My dad wasn't an old man. Forty-nine. He wasn't the fittest of people, though his day job required lots of walking and lifting. He didn't smoke, but he did drink. "A glass of wine a day keeps the doctor away," was his signature joke. Now it seemed more like taunting fate than a harmless saying.

Mom was sitting in the waiting area, her fingers intertwined like she was praying, eyes round and big, staring right ahead. She seemed so small, crouched there on a chair in the corner, in her sweatpants and blouse. I wished I would've thought of bringing her a coat or a sweater.

"Mom!" I called out. She startled, then gazed up at me like she couldn't see me.

"June..." she said. "Mija, you're not supposed to be here. We're not supposed to be here..."

"I know, mom, I know..." I sat down next to her, wanted to hug her —

She cried out, pushing me away. "No — No, don't touch me. I don't want to be here. I can't be here..."

"Mom, it's okay, it's just me..."

She shook her head. "No, no, no, no... You can't... You can't — get away from me!"

Another push, and I crashed into the ground. Nathan called my name, helping me to get up. My shoulder throbbed painfully, and I couldn't see very clearly. There was a buzzing, a buzzing caused by seeing my mom like this, vulnerable and plagued. Two nurses rushed to us to ask if we were okay — I said I was fine, that she was just in shock. Wasn't there anything they could do for her? No. Next of kin wasn't their problem; they had enough patients to worry about.

"Come on, June, let's go sit here, so we can keep an eye on her..." His voice was soothing, and I complied, suddenly so tired I could've dropped to the floor and slept for hours.

I wished I could comfort my mom. I knew she hated hospitals; my birth had been traumatic, to both my dad and her. If abuela were here, she could've calmed her down. Me? I was useless. A useless daughter.

Nathan and I filled in forms together, me dictating, him writing. My whole body was so tense it almost hurt, my left hand a tight fist, nails digging sharply into my own skin. Even in this state, I was astonished by the fact we were insured, and that we had the most extended package available. Was this where all the money went to? Was this where they both worked this damn hard for? To pay for the day when it'd all become too much?

"You knew," I said to Nathan, my voice hoarse. Several people looked up to glance at me suspiciously; some whispered to the ones that had come with them. Fuck them. Fuck them all. I couldn't care about them right now. Not when my dad might be dying. "You knew they were insured. How?"

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Your dad came to me for advice," he said, seemingly not wanting to meet my eyes, but forcing himself to stare directly into them. "He wanted to know if they could sue the hospital you were born in, after all this time. They're... they're still paying off the bills from back then."

Fifteen years and five months, and even now, they were paying for me not being able to get out.

"He must've been desperate..." I whispered, starting to shake. "Dad might not have gone to college, but he is no fool. No records, no proof or indication that it was the hospital's mistake... After all this time..."

Nathan nodded. "That's what I told him."

Everything was shaking now, my whole body, from head to toe, and I didn't know how to stop it.

It was my fault. My fault that they were working themselves to death, maybe even literally.

It was the first time in my life I felt a surge of hatred for the USA, and its godforsaken health system, if you could even call it a health system to begin with.

Nathan grabbed my arms, quite forcefully, making me turn towards him. His eyes were full of concern, and I almost couldn't take it. "June," he said. "It's not your fault, alright? You need to understand that. It's not your fault. If you need to, blame capitalism, or racism, or plain human greed — but not yourself." His grip fastened. It helped me to tremble a little less. "I only told you because you deserve to know the truth. Because I can't lie to you."

"I know," I wanted to say. No words came out, only a weird cry, and he pulled me towards him, wrapping his arms around me tightly, almost suffocating me. When did he find out using strength relaxed me? I didn't care at the moment, and I didn't care he wasn't mine and that I was a little sister to him, I just wanted him to hold me close, as that seemed to be the only way to relieve my hurt.

I cried into his shirt until I couldn't even do that anymore. My breathing had become steady, and there was no need to think. He was stroking my hair tenderly, and in a flash, I was reminded of a long time ago, when I'd fallen and hit my head, and he'd dabbed iodine on my wound. If only this would've been as easy to treat.

Then, the fatigue was gone as well, and I simply lay there, head on his chest, fist clutching his wet shirt, mind as blank as a sheet of paper, only concentrating on his fingers in my curls.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

Every so often, the door to the OR would open, and I would scare heavily, one time even accidentally scratching myself. He'd shush me, guiding me back down, calming me with words that didn't mean anything and meant everything at the same time. Mom remained crouched; I couldn't see her face anymore. I doubted she had fallen asleep. She hated these walls, and a small part of me wondered if that wasn't all she hated.

If it was also me.

Sometimes Nathan called people. Abuela talked to me and Valentina and David and Sam and uncle Antonio too. Charlotte's voice was there as well, at some point.

Finally, after I concluded the clock on the wall had to be broken, a doctor came out. "Mrs. Guevara," she said to my mom. "Your husband is out of surgery, and I'm glad to be able to tell you the procedure went well."