Page 47 of The Last Sunrise

“Did you just wake up?” my mom asks me, concern clear in her dark eyes.

I nod.

“Hmph.” I watch as she looks around my room, taking in everything, seeing if something is amok, or maybe looking for Julián.

“Can we get this over with?” I ask her through a forced smile.

The last thing I want is to seem rude in front of the stylist, but I don’t have the energy to fake it today. My head is aching, throbbing at my temples.

“We’ve narrowed it down to three. A sage green, a cream, and a burgundy. Here’s the burgundy.” The stylist’s accent makes the words sound as beautiful as the deep-wine dress in her hand.

“Let’s go with that one,” I suggest. I liked them all the last time I tried them on.

The stylist’s face falls, and she nods, agreeing. Not wanting to push me, but I can tell she internally disagrees.

“What about the green?” I suggest, and relief fills her eyes. At this point, I don’t care what dress I’ll be wearing during this bullshit event.

The moment it’s over, I’ll be on a plane getting the hell out of here. My mind is fully made up; leaving is the only way I can make it through this summer alive, or attempt to. It’s better for Julián, too, who won’t have to worry about seeing me again.

I try the silky green dress on, and the reaction from the styling team and my mother says it all. It looks great, the silky material hugging my hips, my breasts. The hanging neckline and backless detail make it even more flattering. If I wasn’t decaying inside, I would be able to appreciate the dress for the work of art it is. Simple and elegant, unlike the body wearing it.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” My mother smiles, the swollen pockets under her eyes noticeable under the light. Maybe she does feel guilty; she’s just become a master at hiding any and all emotions.

After the women pack up their roll-aways, pins, and all things stylists carry, my mom tries to sneak out of my room with them. Hesitation is clear in her eyes when I gently grab ahold of her wrist to stop her. She sighs but gives in, and I pull her to the couch in the living room area of my room.

“What’s this about, Ry? The gala?” She doesn’t look at me, instead focusing her gaze on a porcelain vase on the table in front of us.

“No. I want to talk to you… a real conversation between a mother and her adult daughter.”

Her shoulders straighten, immediately defensive.

“You don’t need to react like that. That’s exactly why we keep butting heads and can’t seem to speak the same language.”

“We were fine before we came here and before you met Julián,” she retorts, crossing her legs. Her foot swings lazily, but I know it’s a nervous tick of hers.

“No, we weren’t. I was just suffering in silence, Mom.”

My words seem to have an effect on her, and she slowly turns her head to look at me. “What do you mean, ‘suffering in silence’? I’ve done my best to take care of you.”

“This isn’t about you not taking care of me medically,” I clarify. “I know you did everything you could when it came to my doctors and medications and finding all the latest research, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Suffering isn’t only physical, Mom, and you know that.”

We sit in a few moments of silence before I continue.

“I want you to see me. Not just my tuberous sclerosis, or a problem you need to handle or fix. I want you—” I correct myself. “I’ve been aching for you to see me as your daughter who’s a grown woman, who has emotions and dreams that were lost, who has a sense of humor and a personality that you don’t even know. I’m not blaming you for working overtime, I just wish you could separate me from my condition, especially when we both know the situation I’m in now.”

In an attempt to get all my words out before she has the chance to flip them on me, I keep going.

“I want to know what your life was like before you became a mother. I want to know your favorite color or if you ever danced. Did I get my passion and talent for it from anyone in my family? I want to know if you ever had any dreams orhopes. Do you know what it feels like to be loved? Have you ever been heartbroken? What was your favorite snack as a child? Do you even know mine? I don’t know anything about you, but I’ve spent my entire life practically glued to your side. I don’t even know if you have friends or family here. IfIhave family here…”

My mother’s eyes have softened since my speech, but she’s still wildly uncomfortable. It breaks my heart for her.

“Ry,” she finally says. “I didn’t know you felt any of this. I didn’t have a clue that you thought about any of this. I wanted you to be able to breeze through life and not worry about my mistakes or my past, only your future.”

“None of what I’m asking or wanting to know is about you making mistakes. I really wish your mind didn’t always go to that,” I tell her, meaning it. “You can’t protect me from everything, and I don’t want you to. Are you planning on living your entire life for me, and then what? When I’m gone—”

“Don’t.” She raises a hand, her voice feeble and gentle. “Please don’t say that. And yes, I am planning on living my entire life for you, just as I’ve done since I heard your heartbeat inside me.”

“That’s not living.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks, trying to stay as calm as possible.

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