Chapter 25

To hear your voice again
And call you
But I know you won't be there anymore

~Nathaniel's Lyric Journal

I WAS SUPPOSE TO GO TO JAVIER'S PLACE WHEN I GOT A TEXT FROM DAD TO COME HOME IMMEDIATELY.

"I got your text. What happened?" I asked out loud as I entered the apartment.

Despite only entering in a few moments ago, the atmosphere was tense. My dad was sitting on the living room couch, his fingers laced in his hand, his elbows were on his knees as he was hunched over. Next to him, Camila was on the couch, her arms wrapped around herself and red-eyed.

Carlos was not here. Probably on his way home.

Dad got up slowly, his eyes heavy just as the sigh he emitted. "Your Abuelo passed away," Dad announced, taking another deep breath before looking away.

I looked at Camila, who was constantly wiping her eyes.  My shoulders slumped and my body felt like it was going to fall any second. I swallowed painfully, my eyes getting moist. This was not a surprise as he was getting more frail and sick to the point he couldn't come to New York anymore, but it still hurt nevertheless. 

Abuelo and I were close when he was able to come visit and was always there for me growing up. Dad's father died before I was born so Abuelo was the only grandfather I had around. 

"How is Mom?" I managed to ask hoarsely. 

Dad shook his head.

"Not well. She's in her room if you want to see her," Dad said, gesturing to their bedroom down the hall.

Following his direction, I dropped my bookbag at the beginning of the hallway. Walking down the hallway, I looked at the closed bedroom door. I knocked at the door loudly.

I pressed my ear by the door, but I heard no response. I opened the door to see a dimly lit room. The curtains were shut, darkening the entire room. I saw a figure on the bed, curled in a fetal position. Her breathing was heavy. She turned under the sheet, pulling the sheet down to look at my direction. Her eyes peered to see me. Her posture straightened. 

"Hi mijo," she greeted hoarsely.

I took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She pulled herself, and leaned over to turn on the lamp. "I'm okay."

Her hair was loosely tied, pieces were slipping out. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her usually tan skin appeared more pale than normal. Her lips were trembling as she was speaking, her voice cracking at the end.

I placed a hand over her own.

"Do you need me to book you a plane ticket to Alabama?" I asked her. I sat on the edge of the bed, wanting to do something more and hating that I couldn't. 

She aggressively shook her head.

"No es necessario, mijo. That won't be needed," she repeated once again, shaking her head quickly. She turned her head in the other direction, pulling her hair tie out to run her fingers through her hair restlessly. "You know that I can't go."

This was not a unique conversation. Mom's aversion to Alabama was an enigma- something my Dad got frustrated about easily. In fact, it might be the reason he was sitting outside frustrated. 

But for this, she had to go.

"Why?" I asked, hoping she might say. "He just died. We have to see him." 

She shook her head. She turned to look at me, tears were running down her face fast with a shaky smile.

"I just can't," she said before her crying became apparent.

"I know you hate it there, but you can't say that now-"

"I can't. Now drop it," my mom snapped, tears drying up and her mouth was firm. I flinched at her harsh tone, not sure to do with this unusual situation.

"Why not?" I asked her the futile question.

She cleared her throat

"It will be too hard to go back," she whispered weakly. 

I frowned.

"About Abuelo?"

She shook her head while sniffling before she collapsed onto the bed in tears.

"What are you thinking about?" 

I watched my girlfriend pull herself from her daze, focusing her eyes on me. She was dressed in her a white t-shirt and jeans. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, leaving wisps of her hair falling over her cheeks. She was so cute it hurts. 

We were sitting side by side, something that started the moment we were dating. 

"What?" she asked. 

"You haven't looked at your book for a while now," I said, gesturing to her empty sketchbook page. 

She blinked. "Not sure." 

She has been like that recently. We spent the time hanging out between our spot and at my home whenever my family was out of the house, which has been often lately. Occasionally I catch her like this, looking off into the distance pensively with a blank look on her face. Her eyes slightly narrow and her fingers move idly to anything she had within her reach-her pencils, the hem of her shirt, her fingernails. 

"I need words, princesa." 

"Words?" she repeated. 

"You've only been giving few word responses," I pointed out, though I wanted to say this has been happening on more than one occasion. 

She gave a ghost of a smile. "I'm just thinking about what I want to draw. I don't have inspiration. I am looking at nature," she said, gesturing to the scenery in front of us. 

I pointed to myself. "I am right here. Am I not enough inspiration for you?" 

She laughed, which made me relax. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed hearing her laughter until she does it. It's my favorite tune. 

"I could say the same. You stopped playing the guitar too," she pointed out. 

I looked at the guitar that was settled across my lap. While she was drawing, I tried to focus on my music. Being outside with Elise just brought out music-related ideas that I couldn't get alone with myself.

"I was writing a song. I'm trying to think about some lyrics. Here is all I have so far," I explained, picking up the guitar and playing the music I have written out in my notebook.  

"The sun is always in my eyes
The pain keeps crashing through my windows
To hear your voice again
And call you 
But I know you won't be there anymore" 

I kept playing it, listening to the cliche lyrics ring in my ears. My voice dried and my fingers froze on the guitar. I took a deep breathe before looking at Elise.  

"Are you thinking about her?" she asked curiously, placing a hand on mine. 

I nodded. "Yeah. I have been thinking about her," I admitted. I kept thinking about everything about Mom. All different memories were coming at me, and I couldn't muddle through them all. First was past memories and it was everything I learned about her after her death. It felt like I was thinking about two people: her before death and her after death. The more I learned about her, the more lost I felt. 

"I think if she heard this song she would be happy," Elise comforted me, her fingers running lightly over her hand. I took her hand. 

"Yeah she would," I agreed, feeling overwhelmed about Mom right now. The pain was getting easier to manage but at times, it felt like it could fracture my chest any moment. "You know, what would make her thrilled I think if we go on that date we talked about the other day," I brought up with humor.

She rolled her eyes, laughing.  "Well that wasn't a smooth transition," she said, leaning into the crook between my head and shoulder. Her strawberry scent wafted towards me, and I couldn't help but sigh into the embrace. 

"I know but I want to go out and do something like the beach," I suggested. 

"I think the closest beach is a few hours away," Elise pointed out. "We don't live that close to a beach." 

I put my guitar to my other side, thinking about other things to do. Dates were much easier in New York to figure out because there were options. I wanted to do something special for Elise. She deserves it. 

"I am not sure about the date, but we could go to the diner and grab a bite tonight for now?" I suggested sheepishly. 

I felt Elise's head shake. "We could go back to your place and watch something if we are putting a pin on it." 

My finger was running over the back of her hand, feeling the smooth skin under my fingertips with a smile. A question popped into my mind that began to nag me that slipped out before I could stop it. 

"Why don't we go back to your place? Or in fact go anywhere else except here and my house." Another observation I noticed from her. She asked to keep it between us, which I did since she requested, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. Was she embarrassed of me too? 

"I just like your place, and I like it just the both of us. I like those moments when you play music and I draw. I just find it inspiring, and it's so...peaceful," Elise sighed, turning her head. My eyes closed for a moment when I felt her lips on my collarbone. 

"And that's the only reason?" I asked softly.

She pulled her head back and I watched her expression change.  "Why does this feel more like an interrogation than a conversation?" 

I don't know. It feels like you are hiding something from me, Elise. "You're not ashamed to be with me right?" I couldn't help but ask. 

Her body stiffened. Her pretty blue eyes widened, and she tossed her art to the side. "Babe, of course not. I swear to you that is not it." Her hands settled around my face, forcing me to only look at her. Her face look tired but genuine, which made me relax. Her fingers running over my face before she kissed me. 

"Then if that's not it, what is it?" I couldn't help but ask. 

She paused before speaking again. "Do you not like me at your place?" 

"How did you even come to that conclusion?" 

"I don't want to feel like a burden or an intrusion," she responded meekly, her hands slipping away from my face. Her voice got soft, and guilt was racking through my entire being for making her feel that way. 

"You are none of those things. I love having you around," I exasperated, tracing a finger down her jawline and across her lips. I masked my frustration. My frustration with her dodging my question. It wasn't a hard question to him, something that could be cleared up immediately."Now are you going to answer my question?" 

She nodded, her eyes turning glassy. "Yes let's have a date tomorrow then."

My jaw ticked because that wasn't the question I asked, and she knew it. I wanted to shout to tell me, but it seemed silly over a simple question. I didn't want to ruin the moment anymore I did. So I didn't. 

I smiled, kissed her a couple of times before turning to my guitar. She untangled herself from me and grabbed her sketchbook. We didn't say anything for the rest of the time. 

And we didn't go to the diner.