Page 34 of The Perfect Snipe

My muscles tense for a brief second.Nice try.“No deflecting. You know this leaves me no choice, right?”

She pulls back the plate of cookies and sets them on the sofa beside her, out of my reach. A petty move, but effective. “The answer is no. Of all the family, I thought you'd be the last to send me somewhere they lock you away and wait for you to die.”

“For God's sake, just look at the brochure.” I thrust the colorful pamphlet toward her, my fingers leaving creases in the glossy paper. When she leans away, I clear my throat and beginreading, my voice taking on an unnaturally chipper tone that sounds foreign even to my own ears.

“Benefits include 24/7 care, private apartment residences, community activities, safety, gourmet dining—”

“Bah!” My grandmother slams her palm down on the arm of the loveseat, the soft thud punctuating the word. “They put that in there for you, so you don't feel guilty!”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check. “I spoke with the director on my way here. We can schedule a visit whenever you would like. Just to look, Abuela. No commitments.”

“I'm not going.” She stands—her gaze as sharp and unyielding as ever despite her age—and takes the cookies with her as she walks into the kitchen. The message is clear—conversation over.

I bury my face in my hands, the scent of chalk dust and hand sanitizer filling my nostrils. I don't know what to do. If I let this go, she could wind up right back in the ER. Or worse. But fighting with her about it could mean she cuts me off.

The what ifs I've been trying to avoid come crashing down on me. But I push them away as I stand and walk into the kitchen.

I'm sorry,” I say, even though I don't really know what I'm apologizing for. I understand this is stressful for her. It's stressful for everyone. I'm just trying to help. I'm just trying to do what's right.

She continues to pretend to wash dishes that are already clean. So, I wrap my arms around her shoulders, even though she refuses to acknowledge me. “I don't want to upset you, and I don't want to lose you either.”

“I'm fine. Don't worry about me.” She pushes out of my hold to turn around and hug me back. She runs her hand over the back of my head the way she did when I was a child and got upset. The familiar gesture nearly breaks me. “That was an accident. It won't happen again.”

God, I wish that were true. I wish I could believe that she's too strong and healthy for anything more to happen. But I know that isn't true. “But—”

“No more,” she cuts me off, her voice stern. She pats me two more times, then holds me at arm's length. “I'm fine. And I won't hear of this again.”

I walk back to the living room like a scolded child, caught between feeling diminished and angry. I run a hand through my hair, wincing as my fingers catch on tangles. I love my grandmother. But I've spent my entire life taking care of everyone else around me, and now this is all falling onto me once again.

Not my mother or any of my uncles and aunts.

Me.

And I know Mom is aware because we talked the other day. But I guess because I’m the one that lives close by, everyone’s expecting I take care of it.

I sink onto the sofa, grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it to my chest. It's not like she means to hurt me. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't. No matter what's happening, everyone believes I can handle it. No one thinks to make sure I'm okay.

I squeeze the pillow tighter. A small rectangular photo of me sits on a mantel above the flat screen. Twenty years have passed, and somehow nothing has changed. I'm still Cat, the girl surrounded by people but expected to take care of herself and everyone else.

I'm tired of being strong. Maybe it's selfish, maybe I'm wrong and in the moment and will change my mind after a good night's sleep but, right now, I feel as if the people I take care of have pushed me into a deep dark hole that I'm not sure I can climb out of.

My grandmother comes back into the room, settling into her favorite armchair. “How’s Nora doing with the wedding planning?”

I recross my legs, still clinging to my pillow for support. “Wyatt’s driving her so crazy that she suggested just going to City Hall.”

She chuckles. “I can see that. But he’s so in love and just wants to show everyone. And how’re things with Leo?”

Great. So, we're back to this.

“It's . . . fine.” I try to keep my voice neutral, but I can feel heat creeping up my neck.

“You know, having a crush on him and living under the same roof can be awkward.” She takes a sip of her tea to hide the smile that spreads across her face.

“I don't have a crush on him.” The words come out too quickly, too defensively, that even I know they sound like bullshit.

“The two of you have no poker face. Has something happened?” Her eyebrow raises, the smirk on her face growing larger.

I pretend to respond to a text on my phone, desperate for any distraction. “We don't really spend a lot of time together. It's a really important part of the season, you know.”

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