Page 53 of Your Biggest Downfall
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern lining her face as she looked me over.
I could tell she knew something was off, but I shook my head, unable to find the words. How could I even begin to explain everything that was happening? The guilt, the shame, the overwhelming sense of loss—it was too much to put into words. I hoped she wouldn’t push me to talk, at least not yet.
As I stepped into the house, I inhaled the familiar scent of home, and relief washed over me. But that relief was quickly overshadowed when I saw Mami. She was getting up from her spot on the couch, her movements slow and tired. My eyes were bleary from the tears clinging to my lashes.
Mami had always been the strong one, the pillar of our family, and now she looked so fragile, so worn down by cancer. She bore the weight of it all in her eyes, and it broke my heart. She didn’t deserve any of this. I couldn’t add to her pain and become just another burden.
I walked over to her, my steps hesitant, and gently took her hand. “Mami,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
She looked up at me, her eyes filled with concern, and squeezed my hand. “Whatever it is,” she said softly, but I could hear the exhaustion in her voice, “we’ll get through this together.”
I nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. The truth was, I wasn’t sure how we were going to getthrough this or if I even deserved to. But standing there, with Aunt Mae’s embrace still lingering and Mami’s hand in mine, I had to try. I had to find a way to make things right, not just for myself.
“Is it about the boy you ditched us for?” Aunt Mae asked as she grabbed my hand and led me to the couch so Mami could sit next to me.
Mami took her cane and tried to whack Aunt Mae with it. I laughed at their exchange and collapsed on the worn fabric couch.
“Yes,” I admitted honestly. I wasn’t ready to share the specifics, but it felt good to say it out loud, even if just a little. “I–-I think I liked him.”
“Liked?” Aunt Mae asked, raising an eyebrow as she grabbed the remote.
“Yeah. He had to go away for a while, and when he gets back, I want to be better—to support him.”
There was some truth in that, but it wasn’t the whole story. Yes, I wanted to be there for him, but I also wanted to be better for myself. I never wanted to end up in the position I found myself in. This wasn’t just about him; it was about ridding myself of the shame and guilt I carried, about becoming someone I could be proud of.
“Are you in trouble?” Mae asked hesitantly.
I shook my head. “No. I...” I cleared my throat. “I want to stay here tonight.” I paused, looking at Mami. “If that’s okay with you?”
Mami nodded. “Of course it is.”
Aunt Mae stood up. “Let me help set up the bed.”
I nodded, getting off the couch and gently helping Mami into the chair in the corner. As I did, I couldn’t help but notice how much lighter she felt, how fragile she had become. It tugged atsomething deep inside me, a mixture of sadness and regret that I hadn’t been around the last couple days.
Aunt Mae and I moved in sync, pulling out the bottom cushion of the couch to reveal the fold-out bed underneath. Mami was too weak to go up the stairs, so that was where Aunt Mae slept. The sheets, stiff and slightly crunchy from too many washes, crinkled loudly as we unfolded the mattress. I reached for the bedding, smoothing it out with my hands, but the stiffness of the fabric seemed to resist. That’s when it hit me—Aunt Mae did this every night. My heart sank. I should’ve been here, helping, supporting them. Instead, I was out at some party, trying to escape my own reality. What kind of daughter was I...
As we made the bed, a heavy silence hung between us. I wasn’t sure if they weren’t pressing because they could feel how hard this was for me or if they were generally unaware of the turmoil. We were careful as we helped Mami into the bed, making sure her IV lines weren’t tugged or twisted.
Once Mami was settled, I slipped into the bed beside her, like I used to when I was little. The familiar scent of her skin and the warmth of her body against mine brought back memories of when I was younger, when being close to Mami could make everything better. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this, how much I craved this kind of comfort.
Aunt Mae joined us on the other side, the bed creaking under our combined weight. The three of us sat there in silence, the soft glow of the TV casting a gentle light across the room asJeopardyplayed in the background. I watched the screen, but my mind was elsewhere, lost in the swirl of emotions that I had been trying to keep at bay all day.
Nestling closer to Mami brought a sense of peace, a quiet calm settling over everything. The shame and guilt I had been carrying eased, replaced by a deep, quiet relief. This was where I was supposed to be, right here with them. The warmth of Mamiand Aunt Mae beside me, the familiar routine of watching TV together, it all felt like a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge.
I glanced at Mami, her eyes half closed, a small, contented smile on her lips. Then I looked at Aunt Mae, her face serene and calm. It was the warmth I needed. In that quiet, shared silence, the broken pieces of myself started to mend, if only just a little.
23
nova
Twenty-Nine Days Later
Iris had kept me on as her assistant and kept me busy. I was working six, sometimes seven days a week, and in truth, I wasn’t mad about it.
It was finally my day off after working ten days straight, and Luna had convinced me to get lunch with her at the restaurant across the street from our apartment. The cafe was a cozy, inviting spot with wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and shelves lined with books and potted plants. Soft light streamed through the large windows, filling the space with a comforting glow. The aroma of fresh coffee and baked bread hung in the air.
Luna and I had ordered sandwiches and were sitting by the window, watching the bustling street outside. It was a sunny summer day in Chicago, and the sidewalks were packed with people enjoying the weather—couples strolling, tourists snapping photos, and cyclists weaving through the traffic.
