Page 74 of Outspoken

My thigh muscles twitch, desperately wanting to step forward and join her in the back of the car, wanting us to explore each other when she's sober in the morning. Tonight, I could hold her, get wrapped up in her energy, and cling to the peace of having her close.

But, if there is some greater plan, I don’t think going home with her now is part of it. Meeting her this way is such bad timing that it doesn’t feel like it's part of any plan, only a cruel joke.

“Thanks for spending the evening with me,” I say.

She shrugs, keeping the door open as she pulls a bag of pills from her purse, swallowing one dry. “Thanks for everything. I hope your wish comes true when you decide what it is.”

“I hope yours does too.”

She closes the door and then gives me a small wave through the window. The car drives away. After it’s gone, I realize she’s still wearing my jacket.

I laugh to myself. Mom would say something like,“It was meant to be hers, mijo. You’ve had it long enough.”

I’ll miss that jacket, but it doesn’t bother me. I hope it keeps Amber warm.

I stand on the grass and text Dustin to let him know I’m leaving. Then I order my own ride so I can get the hell out of here and find somewhere chill to eat. My stomach is painfully empty.

As I’m waiting, I send Brody a message:Found your sis. Sent her home. She’s safe.

Brody responds:Thanks. I owe you. Means a lot to me. See you Monday.

Since I let love go tonight, I hope Monday is the start of something great.

Chapter Nineteen

Miguel

PRESENT DAY

I STARE BLANKLY AT THE TV in the living room, finally noticing the show I was watching has ended and kids' cartoon is now playing. I leave it. I'm not watching anyway—my mind is too filled with clutter.

Patty, my mom’s caregiver, steps in front of the TV to get my attention. She’s always in lavender scrubs, which she says complements her dark brown skin—though scrubs aren’t actually required. I've told her she can dress more chill and make herself at home, but she said it helps her mentally separate work from the caregiving she does in her personal life. Besides, she told me, scrubs feel like PJs, so she’s super comfy.

“That’s my time for the day,” she says, her dark-brown hair framing the thick red glasses she wears. She’s like an old hipster. I can imagine her sitting around French coffee shops, reading poetry, and discussing metaphors or something else with other old hipsters.

She motions toward another room. “Your mom's in the kitchen cleaning dishes. I told her not to, but you know how she is.”

I lean forward on the couch, resting my elbows on my knees and trying to focus. I haven’t showered in a few days, which isn’t like me, so I should really get out of this wrinkly shirt and wash off any unpleasant smells. “Thanks. I'll go help her finish.”

Mom appears, as angelic as ever, wearing the new teal house robe I bought her. She eases herself onto the couch beside me. “I'm done. I work quick.”

Patty shakes her head, resting a hand on her hip. “You've been up doing chores all day. You have chemo tomorrow, so take it easy.”

Mom waves her away. “Hush. I feel good. No taking it easy.”

“Thanks for your work today, Patty,” I say, standing so I can walk her out.

“You got it.” She grabs her large beige tote off the floor, and then I follow her to the front door. “Also, I fed the cat.”

I turn the knob. “It still won't leave?”

“Nope. I left the back door open almost all day, and it refuses to go. Guess you're a cat owner now.”

Mom yells from the living room, “Don't get rid of mi pequeño angel! La amo.”

“I know you love it,” Patty calls back. “But you're not cleaning the litter or all the damn hair it sheds. We are.”

Mom yells back in Spanish, telling Patty not to destroy her new friendship with one of God's beautiful creatures.

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