Page 15 of The Broposal

My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. According to Kenny, I wasn’t the only undocumented cook here. Daniel knew damn well what he was threatening.

The other cooks hung their heads, eyes focused on thegrease-splattered floor as Daniel grabbed Juan’s arm and dragged him out the back door. I hung my head, too.

By the time I walked outside, Kenny was already waiting in his car. We spent most of the ride in silence. Something was obviously off with him, but I was still feeling too guilty to pay much attention. I wished I could have done something to help Juan, but if I’d done anything else, I’d have been dragged out the door with him. Or worse, I could have pushed Daniel to actually call the cops.

Pressure built up in my chest again, making it hard to breathe. I hated that Daniel could make one fucking phone call and ruin everyone’s lives. That anyone had that kind of power made me sick. Literally. I wanted to throw up.

“Hey, you okay?” Kenny finally seemed to come out of his own fog. He spared me a concerned glance before looking back at the road.

“The other new hire got fired already. Daniel almost called the cops.” It was all I needed to say, since I knew Kenny understood the gravity of that sentence. But saying it made my throat tighten.

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

Back to polyp.

I tried to conjure up a comforting memory, but all I could think about was how hard it was to breathe.

Breathe… steady…

Back to polyp!

Instead of being taken back, my throat kept shrinking,allowing less and less air. I grabbed at the locked handle to ground me, squeezing it tighter than my throat. I wanted out of the enclosed space of the car. Now.

As if he’d read my mind, Kenny immediately took the next exit and pulled into an empty parking lot.

“Han, there’s no cops. No one’s going to take you away, okay? You’re safe. You’re safe…” Kenny rubbed circles into my back while I gasped for air. My vision tunneled, and I felt suffocated. Instead of answering, I fumbled with the lock on the door until it clicked. I shoved it open, tumbling outside on all fours, desperately trying to suck in some air.

When my throat finally opened up, my breakfast came pouring out. I gasped in between bouts of bile spilling from my mouth. I barely noticed Kenny kneeling beside me, rubbing my back. Once I’d emptied my stomach, my throat burned like hell, but at least I could breathe. Kenny offered me a water bottle, and I quickly gulped some down.

“Thanks,” I croaked, leaning into him in exhaustion. Kenny was the only one I felt comfortable having a panic attack around. Well, notcomfortable. No panic attack was comfortable. But safe. Taken care of.

“You okay?” Kenny asked.

“I’m good.” I didn’t want to dwell on it. We got back in the car and rode the rest of the way home in silence, like we always did when I had a panic attack. The best thing for me to do was ignore it. Though Kenny often tried, I never wanted to talk about it.

When we got home, I quickly fed the cats, making sure to give them some extra treats before throwing myself down in the desk chair in my room. I was about to pick up my guitar and start playing when I noticed the sticky note on my laptop.I pulled it off, the corners of my lips twitching at the red panda drawn on the sticky note with a quote bubble saying “it’ll be okay.” Kenny must have snuck in here while I was with the cats.

Kenny knew I wasn’t one for an emotional conversation. But he must have known some part of me liked being reminded he cared, just without confronting it face-to-face.

I finally picked up my guitar to distract myself from the anxiety attack and the reason for it, plucking at the strings halfheartedly.

It wasn’t long before Kenny peeked in through the open door. I jutted my chin toward my bed, letting him know he could sit. Neither of us mentioned the note. We never did. One day I would tell him I appreciated the notes, but not today.

Instead of sitting like a normal person, Kenny flopped down on the bed, not seeming bothered in the least that his head was hanging off the edge. Luna followed him in and curled up on the floor near Kenny’s head. I strummed absentmindedly while I waited for Kenny to say whatever he came in to say. After forever and a day, he broke the silence.

“Jackie and I broke up.”

I resisted the urge to say what I felt:Thank God.

Instead: “I’m sorry, bro. You okay?”

Kenny groaned. “How do you stay so detached from your relationships?” His voice sounded strained, since his head was hanging off the edge of my bed. I couldn’t blame Kenny for being a little dramatic. Just yesterday he was convinced he’d marry the girl. He seemed pretty upset, so I didn’t pry.

“I can’t really get attached when I could get deported any day.” I chuckled at the unfunny joke, keeping my fingers busy plucking at the guitar strings. Not a great way to lighten the vibe. I was never great at that, and Kenny didn’t even laugh.

“Do you worry about that a lot?” he asked.

One part of me wanted to be honest and say of course I worried about it. But the other part wanted to say no, so Kenny wouldn’t worry, too. I didn’t want him to realize I damn near had a panic attack every time someone so much as mentioned the word “cop.” I didn’t want Kenny to worry about the constant reminders that I wasn’t safe. Like my ankle being so messed up from high school. I couldn’t go to the hospital then without risking getting thrown back into a country I hardly knew. Or that I had to walk on eggshells at my brand-new job so Daniel wouldn’t call the cops. Or that I was the only one in the family I grew up with who was undocumented, so if I got sent back, I’d be sent back alone. But I also couldn’t lie. “No bullshit,” and all that.

---