Romero was silent on the other end, then in an even gentler voice he said. “Things will get better. I know things look hopeless right now but they won’t always be like this.”
“You’ve seen a lot of death in your life. How can you stand it?”
“It’s different if it’s someone you care for who’s dying, or if it’s business-related.” He had to be careful what he said on the phone, so I regretted having brought it up, but hearing his voice felt too good. “My Father died when I was fourteen. We weren’t as close as I’d wanted us to be but his death was the only one that really got me so far.”
“Mother and I aren’t as close as many of my friends are with their mothers, and now that she’s dying I regret it.”
“There’s still time. Maybe more than you think.”
I wanted him to be right but deep down I knew it was only a matter of weeks before Mother would lose her battle. “Thanks, Romero,” I said softly. I wanted to see his face, wanted to smell his comforting scent.
“Do something that’ll make you happy today, even it’s only something small.”
“This is making me happy,” I admitted.
“That’s good,” he said. Silence followed.
“I need to go now.” Suddenly my admittance embarrassed me. When would I stop putting myself out there? I wasn’t someone who was good at hiding her emotions and I hated it.
“Goodbye,” Romero said.
I ended the call without another word, then stared at my phone for a long time. Was I reading too much into Romero’s call? Maybe he wanted to be polite and call the sister of his boss’s wife on her eighteenth birthday to gain some bonus points. But Romero didn’t seem to be the type for that. Then why had he called? Had it something to do with the way he’d looked at me at our Christmas party? Was he starting to like me as much as I liked him?
***
Two weeks after my birthday, Mother’s health deteriorated even further. Her skin was papery and cold, her eyes glazed from the painkillers. My grip on her was loose, scared of hurting her. She looked so breakable. Deep down I knew it wouldn’t be much longer. I wanted to believe a miracle would happen, but I wasn’t a small kid anymore. I knew better. Sometimes I wished I were still that naïve girl I used to be.
“Aria?” Mother said in a wispy voice.
I jerked up in my chair and leaned closer. “No, it’s me Liliana.”
Mother’s eyes focused on me and she smiled softly. It looked horribly sad on her worn out face. She’d been so beautiful and proud once, and now she was only a shell of that woman.
“My sweet Lily,” she said.
I pressed my lips together. Mother had never been the overly affectionate type. She’d hugged us and read bedtime stories to us and generally tried to be the best mother she knew how to be, but she’d almost never called us nicknames. “Yes, I’m here.” At least until Father tried to send me away again. If it was up to him Mother would be locked away from everyone she loved, only cared for by the nurses he’d hired until she finally passed away. I tried to tell myself it was because he wanted to protect her, to let a proud woman be remembered as she used to be and not only for her sickness, but I had a feeling that wasn’t his main incentive. Sometimes I wondered if he was embarrassed by her.
“Where are your sisters? And Fabi?” She peered over my head as if she expected to see them there.
I lowered my gaze to her chin, not able to look into her eyes. “Fabi is busy with school.” That was a blatant lie. Father made sure Fabi was busy with God-only-knew-what, so he didn’t spend too much time with our mother. As if Father worried her sickness would rub off on Fabi if he got too close. “Aria and Gianna will be here soon. They can’t wait to see you again.”
“Did your Father call them?” Mother asked.
I didn’t want to lie to her again. But how could I tell her that Father didn’t want them to come visit our dying Mother, that they wouldn’t even have known she was close to dying if I hadn’t called them. I filled her glass with water and held it up to her lips. “You need to drink.”
Mother took a small sip but then she turned her head away. “I’m not thirsty.”
My heart broke as I sat the glass back down on her nightstand. I searched for something to talk to my mother about, but the thing I really wanted to tell her about, my crush on Romero, was something I couldn’t trust her with. “Do you need anything? I could get you some soup.”
She gave a small shake of her head. She was watching me with a strange expression and I was starting to feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t even sure why. There was such a look of forlornness and longing in her gaze that it spoke to a dark place deep inside of me. “God, I don’t even remember how it is to be young and carefree anymore.”
Carefree? I hadn’t felt carefree for a very long time.
“There’s so much I wanted to do, so many dreams I had. Everything seemed possible.” Her voice got stronger as if the memory drew energy from somewhere deep inside of her body.
“You have a beautiful house and many friends and children who love you,” I said but even as I did I knew it was the wrong thing to say, and I hated this feeling of always doing the wrong thing, of not being able to help.
“I do,” she said with a sad little smile. Slowly it faded. “Friends who don’t visit.”
I couldn’t deny it and I wasn’t even sure if Father was why they stayed away or if they’d really never cared about my mother in the first place. I opened my mouth to say something, another lie I’d feel guilty for later, but Mother kept talking. “A house that was paid for with blood money.”