Page 8 of Back to You
I’m not fragile. I didn’t need protecting. Andrew’s death has been hard, but she’s my mom. I deserved to know.
Anna
I get it. I guess with Andrew, and then the lupus—everyone was scared about how it might affect you. I’m sorry. Why don’t we meet for lunch tomorrow? I’ve missed you a ton.
Mariana
Sure, yeah. We can have lunch before I go see my mom at the hospital.
Anna
Sounds good. See you tomorrow.
I toss my phone aside and press my arm over my face. This day has drained everything out of me. I haven’t unpacked yet. I don’t have the energy. I curl into the couch, wrapping myself in the throw blanket from the armrest. Sleep takes hold.
CHAPTER 3
Mariana
I’m rushing into the restaurant when my heels break, and I nearly face-plant onto the floor. Because, of course. Why is it that when you’re already late, the universe has to throw one last humiliation for good measure?
I hit snooze on my phone so many times this morning that it just…gave up on me. By the time I finally dragged myself out of bed, I was already late to meet Anna, so I threw on the first thing I could find and sprinted out the door.
Now, I look and feel like a complete disaster—limping, off balance, frustration bubbling under my skin. Then I see her.
Anna is sitting at our table, her dark eyes lighting up as soon as she spots me. Her black hair, once long and flowing, is now cut short just below her chin. She’s wearing small gold hoop earrings, a red crop top, loose-fitted jeans, and sneakers—effortlessly cool, just like always. God, I’ve missed her.
For a second, I hesitate. It’s been too long. Too many missed plans, and too many ignored texts when I was caught up in someone else’s world. A flicker of guilt twists inside me, but before I can dwell on it, Anna is already up and running toward me. I don’t even have time to think—I hobble forward, one heel in my hand, and then we collide, wrapping each other in the kindof hug that makes everything else disappear. We hold on tight, and suddenly, we’re laughing and jumping up and down like we’re teenagers hanging out in our old bedrooms.
For months, our only constant has been our Thursday night FaceTime calls. No matter how many texts went unanswered or plans fell through, we always had that. But, despite all the FaceTime calls, there’s nothing like this. Nothing like having her right here, yet beneath the joy, there’s an ache. Because deep down, I know why it’s been so long.
Andrew always talked about the importance of family, of surrounding ourselves with people who love and support us. I used to believe him. I used to think he meant it. But what I learned, far too late, was that he didn’t want me to have those things—he only wanted me for himself.
At first, it was subtle—a comment here, a disapproving look there. Little things that made me second-guess the people I loved. Until, one day, I looked around and realized he had pushed every single one of them away, and I hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. The people in my life weren’t a support system; they were a threat.
I swallow hard and squeeze Anna just a little tighter. When we pull back from the hug, I realize we’re both crying.
I laugh, swiping at my face. “Look at us, tontas, crying in front of everyone.”
Anna cups my cheeks, studying me like she’s trying to read every emotion running through me. “Mari, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need.”
I nod, tears slipping down my face.
I’m so grateful for Anna. No matter what, she’s always stuck around. Through every high and crushing low, she’s been my anchor. Friends like her are rare, really; she’s more like the sister I never had but always wanted.
When Papi died, it was Anna who sat beside me in that suffocating funeral home, her hand wrapped around mine, steady and unshakeable. She was the one who spoke to the funeral director when Mami and I couldn’t find the words, the one who made sure we ate when grief hollowed us out.
When she found out what Andrew was doing to me, she was there. She didn’t scream or curse at me for staying, though I know she wanted to. Instead, she sat with me in silence, waiting for a moment when I was ready to talk. She begged me to leave, tried to make me see that love wasn’t supposed to hurt, that it wasn’t supposed to leave me questioning my own worth. But when she realized I wasn’t going anywhere, she didn’t walk away in frustration like so many others did. She stayed. The only one who knew—the only one I let in, while I kept the truth buried from everyone else, including our families.
She called me, even when I stopped answering. She sent texts every morning, sometimes something simple like Good morning, other times longer messages reminding me that I deserved more than the life I was living. When I wouldn’t respond, she’d send voice notes instead, her voice gentle but firm, telling me stories about her day, slipping in reminders that she loved me, that she wasn’t going anywhere.
She mailed me care packages, little things she knew would make me smile. A book she’d just finished and needed me to read. A candle that smelled like the vanilla chai lattes we used to get in high school. Once, she even sent me a box of my favorite pastries, packed carefully with ice packs and a note that simply said, For when you need a taste of home.
She made sure that no matter how many times Andrew tried to convince me that I had no one, I knew the truth. He could push and pull and manipulate all he wanted, but he would never erase her.
And now, with Mami’s time slipping away, I know she’s going to be here again, helping me through all the pain that comes with knowing that I’m about to lose her. Anna has never wavered. She’s my constant, and I love her for it.
The waiter stops by, and the first words out of Anna’s mouth are, “Mimosas! And keep ‘em coming, please.”
