Page 148 of It Happened on a Sunday
“What?” abuela Ximena asks. “Faster? More alert? Nosier? What exactly do you think it would take for you to actually be successful at that job? Especially considering I plan on dying long before you. Or do you intend to prevent that, too?”
“I would if I could,” I say.
“See?” Camila smirks. “God complex, just like I said.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Then what did you mean?” Lucia asks.
“I meant that I love you and don’t want anything to happen to you!” I reply, shoving an exasperated hand through my hair. “Is that so terrible?”
“Of course not,” my abuela soothes. “But it does become a problem when you think we can’t survive without you. Or thatour mistakes are somehow your own.”
I do my best to ignore the uneasy feeling taking root deep in my stomach. “I didn’t say either of those things.”
“You didn’t have to.” Lucia’s voice is softer than before and definitely softer than Camila’s, though that’s nothing new. “We all know that’s how you feel about Grant, even though what happened between the two of us had nothing to do with you.”
“I introduced you. I set you up on your first date—”
“Because I asked you to, Sly!” she interrupts. “I saw him when I stopped by your practice one day, and I asked you to introduce us. Don’t you remember that part? Or have you gotten so good at beating yourself up overmylife choices that you forgot that part of the story?”
“I didn’t forget,” I tell her, even though I kind of had. “But I vouched for him. I told you what a good guy he was—”
“And I told you that I got that black eye walking into a tree branch, that I broke my arm tripping on a run. You asked all the right questions, Sly. I just gave you the wrong answers,” she says, and there are tears in her eyes. “I knew that if you found out what Grant was doing, you wouldn’t rest until I was away from him. And for a long time I wasn’t ready for that, because then I’d have to admit thatImade a mistake. That I chose poorly. Not you,me.”
“I should have seen—”
“No one saw!” Camila explodes. “Lucia isn’t just my sister. She’s my best friend in the whole freaking world, and I didn’t have a clue.” My middle sister’s voice cracks, taking my heart with it. “What makes you so special that you think you should have been the one to save her?”
I don’t say anything to that, mostly because I don’t know whattosay. I still feel like I should have known. Camila may know Lucia, but I knew Grant, and I didn’t have a fucking clue what an abusive bastard he was.
The same can be said of Vivian. Outside of my family and the guys I play with, I would have said she knows me better than anyone—and I thought that was a two-way street. The fact that I was so incredibly wrong eats at me. That mistake might very well kill Sloane.
“To be clear,” Lucia says, sliding closer to me on the stone bench so she can put a hand on my shoulder. “You did save me. And the same goes for Sloane. You’re doing everything right to support her. But you are not responsible for why she’s fighting to begin with.”
“I’m not doing anything—” I start, but she cuts me off with a look.
“It may not feel like it, but when I finally couldn’t hide how much trouble I was in, you were the first one there. You got me to the hospital, you stayed with me the whole time, you kept Grant away from me. Then you helped me get back on my feet, helped me apply to law schools and build the life I have now. You did save me, Sly.” She hugs me then, puts her head on my shoulder the way she used to when she was—when we were—little. “But you aren’t responsible for what you had to save me from. That’s on Grant, not you.”
“And the same can be said for Sloane,” abuela Ximena adds, reaching for my hand and squeezing it tight. “You aren’t responsible for Vivian’s actions. But youarethe one who performed CPR. Youarethe one who’s sat by her bedside for the last twelve hours. Andyou’rethe one praying for her to wake up with every ounce of strength you have. Focus on that. Keep doing that. Because the truth is, you can’t control what other people are going to do in this world, Sly. You can only control how you respond to it.”
Her words make sense, and if she was talking about anything but this, I would believe her. But sheistalking about this. She’s talking about the woman I love being drugged right in front ofme while I held the fucking glass. The same woman who is still fighting for her life because ofmymistake.
How the fuck am I supposed to get past that?
I don’t realize I’ve said the last part out loud until abuela Ximena smacks my arm. “Stop with the pity party and listen to what we’re telling you, mijo. Sure, you failed with this situation—but not in the way you think. It’s not about Vivian and what she did. It’s about what you’re doing even now. You’re letting shame and twisted beliefs—”
“And a god complex,” Camila interrupts with a snort.
Abuela Ximena gives her the beady eye before turning back to me. “You’re letting your belief that you have the ability to control what happens to everyone you love—”
“Soooo, the definition of a god complex?” Lucia eggs our middle sister on.
“Okay, I’ve got it!” I grumble at them both.
“Do you?” my abuela asks. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re so busy planning how to punish yourself for Sloane’s death that you’re forgetting to help her live.”
“I’ve done nothing but think about her living for the last twelve hours—”
