Xavi took care of everything. From the moment I hung up with my mother and finally managed to choke the words out to him, it was like he became a different person; the responsible, mature version of the Xavi I've known.

He brought me back to the mansion in Beverly Hills instead of home because he didn't want me alone with my feelings, as if he already knows that I'm my own worst enemy. In no time at all, he had a flight set up on Rigo's private plane to get us to Minnesota for my dad's funeral. We left bright and early, and by half past nine, we're in a rental car and on our way to Lanesboro.

Kyle was right. I really did hit the lotto with him.

"Do you want anything to eat before we go to your mom's house?" Xavi asks as we near the neighborhood I grew up in.

I keep my gaze out my window, not really seeing anything. "No, I'm good."

"Are you sure?" he presses. "You haven't eaten since lunch yesterday."

"I'm sure."

His sigh fills the small space in the car. "If you change your mind, just tell me."

My neighborhood comes into view a few moments later, and the pit in my stomach deepens. This isn't how I hoped to come home. I wanted to get my life together, make my parents proud, and come home with the girl I love to celebrate our new beginning. I haven't done any of that, and now my dad is dead.

My dad is dead.

My dad is dead.

My dad is dead.

I think it over and over in an effort to make it feel real, but it doesn't.

We were never close, as he's always been a stoic man. His days were always wrapped up so tight in work that he never even had time to say "goodnight." He only stepped in when my mother reached her limit, dealing out punishments like a hand of poker before returning to the seclusion of his home office. I never heard the words "I love you" or felt the warmth of his hugs until the day he moved me into my LA apartment, allowing himself to express love for his daughter for the first time.

It felt hopeful, like I was on the right path and I'd have that happy family I always wanted. Only it wasn't the right path, and it won't be a happy family, because my dad is dead.

He'll always be dead now.

Xavi parks the car on the street in front of my childhood home, pausing with the engine still running while I continue gathering my thoughts. There's not much to gather, really. I still can't feel the reason I'm here.

"Ready?" Xavi asks softly.

"No," I reply in a barely-audible whisper.

I look down at my hands, knotted up and nervously tugging at my skin to feel grounded. In a quick movement, his hand appears in mine and gently brushes away my indecision with his thumb.

"You're not alone, Lola," he whispers.

I swallow hard, feeling the negative emotions finally begin to well up. "Let's just get this over with."

After another squeeze, his hand slips back out of mine and he gets out quickly, running around to yank the door open for me before I even have the chance to pull the handle. It's a nice gesture, but I can't feel thankful for it. I can't feel anything good right now. I want to run away and never see another living soul again.

The front door of the small house is open before we get to it. My mother's been expecting us. The blonde bob just past her chin and her deep blue eyes are the same as always. Her face however, is unrecognizable; a mask of agony tinged with just a bit of relief at the sight of me. It's alarming, and just like the sound of her cries, it sets my nerves on fire. I can't stand the sight of her suffering, it's wrong. Everything happening in my life right now is just so wrong.

"Oh, Lola," she cries as she throws her arms around me, squeezing me tight against her. The feeling is so foreign that it takes a moment for my arms to find their way around her too.

"Hi Mom," I whisper as her sobs shake through me.

She pulls away slowly, leaving her hands on my shoulders and looking at me with the kind of love I've wanted to see my entire life. It doesn't feel good though. Just like the I love you's, it's too late. The damage is done, and now I can't even accept the love I deserve.

"So this is your friend Xavi?" she asks, finally dropping her hands and looking at him with a warm smile.

He flashes a charming smile then purses his lips, taking her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller. I'm really sorry about your husband," he tells her earnestly.

Her lips tremble as more tears escape. "Thank you, Xavi. Please, come in," she sniffles, backing up to give us space.

The inside of the house looks exactly as I remember; aged floral wallpaper in the small kitchen that my mom has always refused to take down, dark wood floors, cabinets, and furniture throughout, and the kind of old brown comfy couch in the living room that you just can't find in stores anymore.

It's almost eerie, knowing that this house will never be my dad's home again. I can still see him coming out of his office down the hall with his empty mug in-hand, bags under his tired blue eyes from staring at his computer for so long, in search of a refill of his usual dark roast with just one sugar. He was a comforting presence, like a personal security guard just for our family. I always felt safer when he was home. He wasn't involved, but he was there, and now he's not. I don't know how this place can ever feel like home again.

My aunt Louise—my mother's sister—is here with her husband Mark, too. They've taken up residence in my old bedroom, and by the sound of my mother's explanation, they're here to stay now. I try not to feel bitter about my room being repurposed without my input, but it's hard to ignore the resentment burning a hole in my chest.

She needs people, Lola, I remind myself. All she has left is Liam.

Just as I think of him, my younger brother awkwardly exits his bedroom, his blue eyes watching me with the same unrecognizable relief that my mother showed. His blonde hair is longer than the buzz he had last time I saw him. Too long for our parents' tastes, that's for sure.

He's seventeen years old, and while I'd hoped from the day he came home from the hospital that we'd be close, it just never panned out that way. Our parents' strict, loveless approach left little room for either of us to connect, and we spent each day struggling to feel some semblance of the normalcy our classmates had. I couldn't show him that I cared. Instead, I've watched his growth and achievements quietly, on the sidelines where my emotions are never a factor.

"Hey, Lo," he utters hoarsely. He sounds like he's been crying.

"Hey, Liam."

His eyes get lost behind me as I feel Xavi return from the bathroom, and they're full of questions. Before I have a chance to think of what to say, Xavi steps forward with his right hand outstretched.

"I'm Xavi, Lola's friend," he introduces himself.

Liam slowly takes his hand, eyeing him warily. "I'm Liam, her brother."

"I'm sorry about your dad."

Liam's eyes drop and he swallows hard. "Thank you."

I purse my lips for a moment, debating my next words.

"Are you okay, Liam?" I finally ask.

He looks up at me with a deep breath, straightening his shoulders just as our mother had taught us to do when we want to cry.

"I'm fine," he answers curtly, walking past us to the kitchen without another glance back.

Xavi takes my hand and squeezes it gently to comfort me again, leading me back to the living room where my mother awaits. My aunt Louise and her husband Mark are sitting beside her but they stand when they see us. Louise is six years younger than my mother but looks like she could be her twin, and Mark is a fairly undistinguished man with short brown hair and a bushy walrus mustache.

"I'm going to run to the store for some things," Louise announces, holding her arms out for a hug from me.

It's pretty uncomfortable to hug her too, but not as foreign. She's always been one to demand hugs when she visits. I got used to biting my tongue and just hugging her a long time ago.

My uncle Mark eyes Xavi with a curious grin. "Why don't we give the ladies some space to talk alone?" he suggests, gesturing to the front door.

Xavi glances down at me, and I nod. One more gentle squeeze, and he finally drops my hand. Together they head outside, presumably to Uncle Mark's car to take a drive. My mother's voice quickly redirects my attention.

"So, Lola," she begins, smiling through light sniffles as I sit beside her, "how have you been?"

"I've been fine," I lie.

There's no use in telling her the truth anyway. None of my emotions are ever valid to her, because nothing I've been through has been as hard as what she has gone through.

"And Xavi, is he that friend from work?" she asks, in reference to our few and far between check-in calls.

"No Mom, that's Kyle you're thinking of," I correct her gently. "Xavi is... just a friend I met in LA."

Nothing gets past her, and I can see in her eyes immediately that she noticed the pause, as well as all of the implications it held. A smile tugs at her lips and my stomach tightens in fear again.

"Just a friend, huh?" she pries.

"Mom, you know that I'm..." I trail off, hoping I don't have to say it to her again. She's unmoved, still smiling, so I continue, "I'm lesbian, Mom. I like women."

She shrugs, still smiling. "But he's here for you, Lola," she disagrees. "I don't see a woman comforting you through this the way he is."

"I don't have a girlfriend right now, Mom," I respond, swallowing hard as I feel my pulse rising and an unusual anger building.

"And you don't need one," she persists, still grinning. "What you need is a good man like Xavi."

"I can't force myself to like him just because he's a good man, Mom," I push back. My nostrils flare as my breaths deepen, and I'm starting to feel myself tremble.

"Of course you can!" she dismisses me, oblivious to my mounting rage. "It wasn't love at first sight with your dad and me either, Lola, but I could see that he was a good man. You don't want to let Xavi slip away from you."

"Xavi's already stuck with me whether he likes it or not!" I explode, seething to the point that my eyes can't focus. "I'm pregnant!"

The regret hits me immediately as I instinctively scoot away from her a smidgen, because I didn't want to tell her. I wasn't ready to tell her. I just got so angry...

I brace myself for the onslaught of criticisms for allowing myself to get in this situation without a proper, God-approved marriage, but it doesn't come. Her mouth hangs open for a moment and she blinks away her shock, before tears start streaming again and she pulls me into a tight hug. I don't reciprocate this time, feeling entirely too alien in my own body as the aftermath of my rage still courses through me.

"Oh, Lola!" she sobs into my ear. "This is truly a blessing!"

"A... blessing?" I repeat in disbelief.

"Yes!" she rejoices, pulling away so she can see my face. "Can't you see it, Lola? This is a message from God if I've ever seen one. This is your path. This is what He wants for you."

I stare at her without reacting for a moment, struggling to find something to say, but I just can't. My emotions are too overwhelmed to respond calmly, and I can't snap at her.

The front door opens then and Mark reenters with Xavi following behind. They're both grinning and laughing, continuing a conversation from outside that sounds like it was about James Bond and my uncle's car. Their conversation doesn't interest me, but I'm glad they're back. I can't take another minute alone with my mother.

She doesn't bring it up again for the rest of the day, but she watches us with excitement near-constantly. I can't take it for long, and we retreat to the hotel as soon as check-in starts.

"Only one room?" I ask incredulously as he unlocks our door.

"No worries, Lolita. There are two beds," he reassures me as he steps in, flicking on the light and holding the door for me. "I want to keep an eye on you."

"That's not creepy or anything," I scoff sarcastically.

He sighs, looking at me with a pursed-lip smile. "Would you just let me take care of you? We're having a baby, in case you forgot already."

"I didn't," I spit curtly, irritated by the reminder of earlier. "I even told my mom."

"You what?" he exclaims in shock, not mad but processing. "Really? What did she say?"

I take a deep breath and force a smile. "She called it a blessing."

His eyebrows raise and he smirks. "I can see that pissed you off, but I'm gonna have to agree with her," he snickers.

"She only called it a blessing because that would mean I—" I choke off as I realize I just almost outed myself. Xavi still doesn't know I'm lesbian, and now isn't the time to tell him.

He watches me expectantly. "Because that would mean...?"

"It doesn't matter," I say as I set my suitcase on my bed. I unzip it and start rummaging for clothes for a shower.

"It does matter, if it's bothering you," he insists softly.

I purse my lips and shake my head once, not looking at him. "It's not bothering me."

"It looks like it is," he disagrees.

"Well then maybe you need these more than I do," I fire back, ripping my glasses off and flinging them at him.

He catches them easily against his chest, watching me with the kind of concern that I know I don't deserve, and it just makes me bitter. I swipe up the clothes I've picked out and storm off to the bathroom without another glance back.

After a long, hot shower, I retreat to my bed without looking at or speaking to Xavi. He doesn't bother me for a few hours, but he wakes me at around seven o'clock to insist on dinner.

He's resolute this time, having already ordered just about everything available from room service for me to try. I can't stomach much, but I pick at a plate of steak nachos begrudgingly. One hour later, I set the food aside and crawl back under my comforter, where I stay for the rest of the night.

I sleep past noon, the exhaustion and stress of everything finally catching up with me. Xavi has food for me again, and after another quick shower to wash away the sleepiness, I grab a plate of pancakes and devour them in under five minutes. Apparently the hunger caught up with me, too.

My dad's wake is at two o'clock in the afternoon, and I can feel everyone's eyes on Xavi and me all throughout. The nagging worry that my mother told them about my pregnancy makes me want to curl up and die immediately.

It's exactly the kind of thing she would do. Not a single thing I went through as a child was a secret, the entire family knew it all within twenty-four hours, every time. Every argument, every bad grade, every punishment, and even the night I came out to my parents—reduced to casual telephone gossip by my mother's incessant blabbermouth.

"Lola!" my uncle Clement calls out happily as he approaches with open arms after the service. He's my dad's younger brother by five years, and infinitely more charismatic.

I awkwardly hug him back, giving him a pursed-lip smile. "Hi, Uncle Clement."

"You must be Xavi," he says, extending his hand to my right.

"I am, and it's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Xavi says with his most charming smile as he shakes Clement's hand.

Clement nods in approval as he looks between us. "My, Lola, your mother was right. You picked a good one."

Like a spark to hydrogen, his comment confirms my nagging fear and the remnant rage in my chest explodes. My heart is pounding all over again and it's getting hard to focus.

"What do you mean by that, Uncle Clement?" I ask him in as controlled a voice as I can manage right now.

He appears confused and chuckles. "You two are having a baby, aren't ya?"

I'm not even embarrassed about it. There's no room to be. I'm just so fucking angry at my mom!

"We are," I confirm, still doing my best to control my reaction.

"Yeah, it's just too bad you're not getting married, huh? I know your dad would have really liked that," he pushes, attempting to mask his condescension as paternal concern.

"We are getting married, Uncle Clement," I correct him firmly in a split-decision to prove my mother wrong, taking Xavi's hand in mine and interlacing our fingers as before.

Xavi meets my eyes for a split second in confusion, but plays along. "Yeah... we just wanted to tell everyone at a different time," he explains to my uncle quickly. "Today is supposed to be about Mr. Miller, not us."

Clement is stunned momentarily but slowly recovers with a grin, laughing in disbelief. "He's a stand-up guy, too," he muses aloud. "Your dad is proud of you, Lola, I know it."

He pulls me into another hug, and then Xavi now that they're "family," before moving on to other family members and leaving us alone.

Xavi's eyes are still burning with questions, but there's something else glistening hopefully in his gaze now: love. Much to my surprise, it doesn't scare me. For some reason that's buried far too deep in my rage-addled brain for me to comprehend right now, I'm feeling hopeful, too.