Page 10 of The Broposal

“He is.That’swhy you two never fight. It’s not healthy. It’s important to be open about your emotions”—Jackie leaned her head on my shoulder—“like we are.”

“That’s not why we don’t fight.” I had to resist telling Jackie she was more than open with her emotions. She could be so mean about it. But I didn’t want to start a fight, especially over Han. “Do you really think fighting is healthy?”

“Of course. It proves there’s love, you know? It wasn’t the fighting that told me my parents stopped loving each other. It was when theystoppedfighting. They didn’t fight, because they didn’t care.Wecare.” She kissed my shoulder again.

“We do,” I reassured her as I kissed the top of her head. I was the opposite of self-aware, but Jackie knew me. She was self-assured and had enough confidence for both of us. She was my first. If fighting was proof of love, then she loved me more than anyone. But what proof was there for Han?

Luna curled up around my feet. Han left her with me whenever I was anxious, which I almost always was. I looked around and noticed he’d already done my dirty dishes. He never guilted or judged me when my executive dysfunction caused him more work. He just did it to make things easier on me.

Everywhere I looked, the evidence was there.

CHAPTER THREE

HAN

It wasn’t that Jackie bringing up ICE got to me.

It was just that… it did.

And there was no way in fuck I’d let her see me worked up over ICE, or that I lost my chance at a green card, or that I had no idea what to do next.

I’d already crossed every other path to citizenship off the list. The only two options left were to join the military or get married. I couldn’t bring myself to support the militarized US state, and I couldn’t use someone for marriage. Even if I wanted to, I had no prospects.

My chest tightened, and my breath hitched. Suddenly the room felt simultaneously big enough to gulp me up but also too small, like it would crush me alive.

Back to polyp.

Close your eyes. Breathe steady. Remember where you came from…

My earliest memory was of a guitar. Ringed fingers plucked the strings, a pendant I couldn’t quite make out hanging from the woman’s neck, bobbing back and forth as she swayed with her song. She set the guitar on the ground and pointed. I looked up at her in awe, but the memory was fuzzy around her face, and when she sang, she sounded like she was underwater. Like a distant song clouded by time, but still beautiful all the same. Logically, I knew this woman was my mother, even if I couldn’t bring myself to remember her song, or necklace, or what her face looked like back then.

But I remembered the guitar, and the magic of my first time making music with my own hands.

I opened my eyes, breathing just fine. I wasn’tokay, but I was better. I got out a pen and started writing.

I might not have been super vulnerable with any real-life person. I preferred to let things out in letters to my mom I’d never send. I’d been writing them since I was ten, when Leti, Mariana, and I got a shared laptop. Even then, I never had the courage to actually send any of the letters. My mom wasn’t the type to appreciate a heartfelt letter. It always felt like she cared more about drugs than about me.

So, I wasn’t exactly writing these letters for my actual mom. They were for the fictional mom in my head, who would appreciate them and write back a sappy letter of her own.

I tried writing, but my hands shook and my vision blurred. So I went to method number two for processing shit.

My guitar.

I strummed for a bit, then turned on my computer and started recording just in case genius struck. Sometimes, when I couldn’t write the words on paper for my mom, I found myself singing or speaking them on a recording I’d never show anyone.

“Hi, Mami. I lost my job.” Instead of singing, I just strummed while I blurted out my unfiltered thoughts. “Would you have me if I moved back home with you and Papi?” My throat tightened, but I swallowed and kept going. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t think I can stay here anymore. I’m sorry…” I tried gulping down the lump, but it just grew, and I choked on it. I turned off the recording. Some things were too vulnerable even for the made-up version of my mom that existed only in my head.

CHAPTER FOUR

KENNY

Jackie was long gone by the time Han came out of his room, but he didn’t sit next to me.

“Going for a walk,” he said as he made his way to the door.

“You okay?” I asked, but he just threw me a thumbs-up before shutting the door behind him.

Shit. Walks were one of Han’s tells. I wanted so badly to chase him out there and ask what was wrong, but I knew he wouldn’t say. He didn’t even tell me, hisroommate, that he’d lost his job. Had I done something? I must have.

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