Page 136 of Outspoken

Seems I know nothing about getting along with kids the way I thought I did. Or it’s because I’m only used to dealing with young kids like Daniel. A teenager is an entirely different species.

Amber slips her flats off to walk barefoot along the sand. After a minute, she cries out and stops walking. Angel and I pause to look at her.

“Fuck,” she mumbles, lifting one foot. “I stepped on a stupid rock.”

Angel smirks. “That’s why I kept my shoes on.”

“Are you bleeding?” I ask, moving closer.

After checking the sole of her foot, she says, “No. Just hurts like a bitch.”

I half smile. “You sure you’re not using this as an excuse to get me to carry you?”

Touching my arm playfully, she asks, “What if I am? Do I get a piggyback ride if I can’t walk?”

I smile wider, stopping myself from responding with something dirty. Angel is here and…I shouldn’t. I drop the smile and force myself to glance at the ocean as it swallows the sky. “If you want one, you know I’m always here for it.”

She lowers her arm and puts space between us. “I know. That’s why you’re…” Her sad eyes shift to the sand. A beat later, she bends to pick something up. “Seashell,” she says, showing me.

It’s a flat, light pink scalloped shell with no cracks. It’s hard to find intact seashells out here because everyone picks through them or crushes them under their feet.

Angel moves closer to get a better look.

She twirls it around for him. “When my mom died,” she says, “I made up my own dumb ritual. When I was sad, I would come to the beach and look for a seashell. Sometimes it was a pretty rock. I’d whisper whatever I wanted to say to her into the shell or rock and then toss it into the ocean.” She laughs. “I know it sounds stupid, but it kinda made me feel better.” She gives Angel the seashell. “Wanna try?”

He glances at me, then at the shell. He walks off with it. As we watch, he puts a lot of distance between us and then faces the ocean, flipping the shell in his palms over and over. After a bit, he spins it into the water so it skips along the surface. With a glance at Amber, he returns to strolling and bothering seagulls.

Amber searches the sand for another shell, but only finds broken pieces. I grab two smooth rocks, handing her one. She presses the sandy white pebble to her chest and hums softly. The wind catches her hair, blowing strands across her shoulders. The sun shining close to the horizon envelopes half of her face in orange light.

The sight of her takes my breath away.Mi amor is an angel.

“I didn’t get to spend much time with you, Marta,” she says to the ocean, her eyes glassy. “But I’m so thankful we shared that evening together. You reminded me of my own mom and made me feel so at home and welcome. You were an amazing woman and a strong mother. Thank you for raising such a wonderful, sweet, kind-hearted son who is probably too good for this world. I’ll always remember our time together, Marta, and I wish we had so much more.” She walks forward until the water covers her feet, then she drops the rock lovingly into a small, rolling wave.

I wipe my wet cheeks as she continues to stand there, giving me a moment alone.

I look at the tiny rock in my hands, unable to speak. Pressing the rock to my heart, I let memories of my mother flood my mind. I remember her rocking me in her lap as a kid, singing to me after a bad day at school where I got teased by boys or dumped by some little girl who found a cuter guy. I picture the times we cooked together as a family while she and Lupita danced to music on the radio. My siblings and I always ended up dancing, too, and Carlos usually spilled something, so Mom bought extra ingredients just in case.

My thoughts fill with her every word of wisdom and her never ending strength. I think of her first chemo appointment where she refused to show fear, chatting with other chemo patients in the stuffy room and getting everyone to smile and think of their blessings.

I stand on the warm sand staring at the horizon as I relive any memory that rises to the surface, letting the sobs happen. I’m sure Amber can hear me, but she never moves. She’s a graceful angel, the water lapping at her feet as she gazes at the waves and waits as long as I need her to.

As I cry for Mom, I cry for everything I’ve lost with Amber, everything she and I can’t have because of our different paths. I grieve for the babies we’ll never create together, the adventures we’ll never share, the wedding that will never happen. I grieve for the lifetime I’ll never get to love her.

I choose Amber with every ounce of my soul, but can I give up on a family to be with her? I can’t say yes and I can’t say no, so I’m stuck in an awful fog trying to make peace with letting her go.

I sob until I’m empty—these painful emotions will only make my situation worse. It’s best to get them out.

Several minutes pass and I finally toss the rock into the ocean. My chest lightens as the pebble sinks. I walk forward and squat to cup cold water and splash it on my face, rinsing everything away.

Amber touches my back as I stand. “Did it help?” she asks.

“You help, mi amor.”

As she presses her lips together and tries to blink away tears, I take her hand. I don’t care if we’re not meant to be. Right now, I just need her hand in mine.

She interlocks our fingers with a soft smile, then we walk along the sand again in comforting silence.

When we finally reach Angel, who is farther down the beach, he’s staring at a red plastic bucket and shovel.

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