Page 5 of The Last Sunrise

“Bone it is,” my mom agrees, typing furiously on her phone.

It starts to ring but she swipes, ignoring it. Her apple-red thumbnail is chipped, and I take note of it, betting to myselfthat she’ll have it fixed by the end of the day. Hell or high water, she’s never not polished in every sense of the word.

“Great! Now to the curtains. We will cover all the plants here,” the woman tells my mom, and I politely interrupt.

“Why would we cover them? They’re beautiful.” I look around to the branches and greenery layered through the ballroom. “They’re the best part.” My cheeks heat, not wanting to be rude or make a bad impression. Lord knows what they already think of me, the spoiled daughter of the rich, bossy, clipped-tone woman with the bright red nails and matching heels.

“Most people want them covered or moved for their weddings. To make the room more elegant,” the woman explains, her eyes soft but nervous.

My mom agrees with me. “Let’s keep them. It’s charming.”

“We can incorporate them into the theme. Like a forest at night?” I say as it comes together in my mind.

My love of interior design and putting things together to create something beautiful is blooming at full force. I haven’t felt this way in so long. My imagination has been dormant for months, so I have been taking stock. Numb and nonexistent. Dance, my number one love, is long gone now, only serving as a distant and painful reminder of what I’m no longer able to do. Pushing that thought aside, I try to focus on what I can do, which is visualize a concept and execute it. My sudden confidence and boost of energy surprise me, so I’m running with it.

“This is exactly why I wanted you here,” my mom tells me.

Turning to the small group of planners, she waves her arm toward me. “My daughter led and decorated the entire remodel of SetCorp’s main office in Dallas when she wasbarely twenty-one. She has remarkable taste, so just follow her opinions and everything will be fine.”

Despite the smile on her face, her tone is mildly aggressive. Since these women don’t know her, they can’t decode that she’s using her fakest of smiles right now. They don’t know that if she waves her hand, they will lose their jobs and she won’t lose a wink of sleep.

“Great,” one of them responds.

We move on to the linens and curtains, which I gently suggest we drape from the ceiling instead of covering the beautiful windows. The event will be held at night, so I suggest small, soft, twinkling, yellow-toned lights to avoid too much reflection from the glass. I’m high off the feeling of doing something, and the day flies by.

My mom, Lena, and I head out for a late lunch. The waitstaff have brought us a table full of dishes I don’t recognize, but my mom’s eyes light up as each one arrives. Despite her Spanish roots, she’s never introduced me to her native food, or any seafood, with the exception of lobster once or twice at a steakhouse. My palate is embarrassingly limited, but I plan on working on that while in Mallorca. I take photos of the food, like I always do, and grab a fork.

I’ve never seen my mother eat as much as she is now, her eyes closing as she inhales the meal. It makes me happy, to see her this way. The chipped paint on her fingernail is now fixed—no surprise. I try not to stare at her too long, so that she doesn’t notice and put her guard back up, but I can barely help it. Lena makes eye contact with me from across the table, and a subtle smile lifts the corner of her mouth. She must notice my mom’s sudden appetite too. She scoops some pasta ontomy plate, knowing me well enough that she doesn’t give me any of the seafood, just some bow tie–shaped noodles with a white sauce and peas. I take a bite; it’s creamy and delicious, but the smell coming from the steam off the shrimp in front of me is begging me to at least try it. Hesitantly, I grab a piece of shrimp from the plate and pop it into my mouth. The flavor bursts as I chew, my taste buds dancing as the garlicky, buttery flavor fills my senses. Sometimes my sensitive sensory awareness can be such a burden, but the thick smell of garlic and lemon and spices has me grateful for them. I grab another piece, feeling ridiculously proud of myself for such a small thing, and my mom takes notice.

“You like it?” She seems more surprised than I am.

I nod, chewing and smiling. Her lips twitch at the corners and I can tell she’s keeping herself from smiling back, but even so, I can feel her pleasure at me enjoying the food she grew up eating. It might be ignorant to assume the food is the same here as where she grew up, but I wouldn’t be so naïve in my thinking if she was open with me about her life. She doesn’t talk much, if ever, about her childhood and teen years, but the few times she has, there’s a passion within that doesn’t exist in her current life. I’m on a mission to find out more about my mom this summer, whether she agrees or not. I’m determined to get to know her before we run out of time.

Chapter Four

I skipped dinner with my mom and Lena to have room service, and it was the best choice, even though my mother took the liberty of deciding what I wanted for dinner. The extravagant rolling cart is full of shrimp, pasta, and thick, crunchy, delightful bread. The silence in my room is comforting after a day full of talking. I snap pictures and videos of the food and nearly every inch of my room since I didn’t earlier, then scroll through the photos from the day. I love capturing every moment that I can. My photo album in my phone has almost one hundred thousand photos of even the most mundane moments in my life. I zoom in on one of the pictures I snuck of my mom at lunch and smile. Her brows are relaxed, her phone away from her ear. Maybe this trip is just what we need to become closer. My nightly alarm goes off, making me drop my phone on my chest in surprise. I swipe to silence it, roll out of the comfy bed, plug my phone in, and head to the bathroom. My nightly routine is always the same: shower, pajamas, brush my hair and teeth, take my meds.

Like a zombie, I go through the motions without emotion or having to think about the next step. Every single night. I open my blue pill organizer and take out a sleeping pill, eventhough I’m so exhausted already and not entirely sure I need it. The clock says ten thirty, so I check my calendar for tomorrow. Legal meetings, on-location walk-through of the new land SetCorp will build the resort on. It’s endless and starts at seven a.m. As I move to close the thick forest-green curtains, I hear voices from the street below and tighten my grip on the fabric, pulling it back open.

Curiosity has me sitting on the ledge, which is perfect for people watching. In my suburban neighborhood at home, the streets are practically always empty, so this is fascinating. There are people everywhere, and the streetlights are bright, allowing me further into the busy nightlife. Laughter rolls through the air, couples young and old hold hands as they walk, and my heart aches a little seeing a couple dancing on the sidewalk. Not really for myself—that ship would never so much as set sail—but it makes me think of my mom and how lonely her life must be. She’s still so young, not even halfway through her forties, and there’s still so much time for her if she would open herself up to the possibility. I, too, have longed to be loved—at least once—but the universe has other plans. Plans I accepted a while ago.

As far as I know, my mom hasn’t so much as gone on one date since I was born, and my “father” was a man she met at a bar but fell head over heels for—how cliché. My mom says she never gave a shit, but I overheard her talking to Sonia about how much she cared about him and wanted to be a mother, a family, but he bailed. Trying to imagine a version of Isolde Pera who meets a random man at a bar makes me laugh, and I lean my cheek against the cold glass of the window, enjoying the voyeuristic view of the people below. Like a spoiled princesstrapped high in a castle tower, I close my eyes and try to imagine what it would be like to be one of them.

I wake up to the sun warming my skin against the window. Panicking, I grab for my phone and check the time. It’s only six forty-five. The street below is already filled with vendors, tourists, and locals alike, starting their day as the sun rises. The reflection of deep orange burns my eyes, but I refuse to look away. I want to be out there; I want to feel the breeze and the buzz of energy from roaming around the full streets.

The desperation to join them pulls at me, and I mentally weigh the potential consequences of ditching my mom’s schedule for the day. Will she even care? Today isn’t like yesterday, there aren’t any plans that include the charity gala, so I’ll just be tagging along, taking up space in the car.

I begin typing a long paragraph of excuses to my mom and pause. What the hell am I so worried about? I’m twenty-three years old and I’m not here for the summer to work for or be shackled to SetCorp. I jump off my bed before I can change my mind and go to my mom’s room, knocking at the door. She opens it, already ready for the day. Her makeup is bold today, maroon eye shadow swept across her eyelids, her high brow bones accented with a shimmery bronzer. Her outfit is more business-centric than yesterday, a deep mauve suit with black pointed-toe shoes peeking from the bottom of the pants.

“Is everything okay?” she asks before I start my plea.

Nodding, I pass her and walk into her living area. Her room smells like jasmine, her favorite note in perfume.

“Yeah, I feel fine,” I respond, knowing that’s what she wants to know, not mentioning that I forgot to take my medication last night. It’s been in my system so long that one night won’thurt me. “But I really want to go to the beach today. I can see the coastline from my window and it’s driving me crazy that I haven’t seen it yet.”

She takes me in, silently assessing me. “We can go to the beach between lunch and the land walk-through?”

“Mom,” I sigh, knowing she doesn’t mean to control me, but that doesn’t change the fact that she does. “I want to go to the beach alone. And walk around. I really, really want to have one day without SetCorp stuff.”

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