Page 78 of The Last Sunrise

“But why? She’s awful to you. She’s been awful to you.”

Mateo chuckles, reminding me of Julián. “My soul burns like the sun; your mother’s like the moon. Cold, surrounded by darkness, but steadily there. I would have done anything to be just a star near her, but the moon and sun stay separated, since the beginning of time”—his eyes meet mine, and there’s decades of pain there as he finishes with—“for a reason.”

I take that in. All of it. Someone loving my mother, my cold, ambitious-to-a-fault mother, in such a way.

“Please tell me why she left here. Can you tell me? I’m sorry to ask again, but she doesn’t tell me anything. I barely knowher. I sound like a broken record, but you’re the only source I have.” Sadness draws my knees to my chest, and my toes dangle over the ledge of the dock.

“It’s unfair to tell her truths, but I can tell you mine. I mentioned that she suffered, and she did. The woman I knew wanted more for her life than not knowing where the next meal was coming from, if her pare was going to break another window, punch another hole in the wall. When the house was under threat of getting taken, and your mom did everything she could, I saw something in her break. As her mare’s health got more unstable… she had the same…” He pauses, looking for a soft way to say whatever’s coming next.

“The same condition you do. But your mother didn’t know that, and here in Europe we don’t have as much research, and Iz was just a child, a teenager with the world on her shoulders and within her reach. Once her pare left and then her mare passed, she fled. I watched your mom take care of your grandma her whole life, and I think she was afraid the same thing would happen to her, that she would have the same fate. I supported it, only wanting her to be happy, even if I was in misery. I kept thinking, dreaming, that she would come back someday, once she felt she could take care of herself. But the woman I knew faded, and I couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t let go, no matter how much time passed.”

“My grandma had tuberous sclerosis?” I gape.

I had no idea. All these years and my mom never mentioned it once. Maybe she disassociated, maybe she didn’t want to make me afraid that I would end up dying young like her grandmother and mother.

He nods, his thick hair blowing in the night wind.

“No one knew what it was at the time. Your mother didn’t know either until you were diagnosed, but everyone in our barri, that’s our neighborhood, knew about the seizures, so we all kept an eye out for her, like we always did for one another. That’s how things are here, and that’s why I couldn’t leave with your mom, Oriah, even though she begged me to come with her. My family needed me. My pare was ill and I couldn’t just let the company go to some stranger. I was never going to aim to live among the stars, I was fine just admiring them from down here. Not because I didn’t love her enough, but because I love this island and I would only be holding her back. I couldn’t be at fault for dimming her bright light. She needed more than what I could give her, and I can’t hold that against her.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but my mom’s life, outside of her job, has been beyond miserable. You two should have been together through all of it, both of you would have had a chance at happiness. I’m sorry if that’s rude or too honest. But if you would have fought for each other, everything would have been different.”

His eyes watch me, a strong sense of wisdom and pain swirled together. “If we would have fought then, neither of you would be here to fight for each other now.” Mateo places something cold in the palm of my hand.

A key.

Without a thought, I jump to my feet and scramble a thank-you as I rush to Julián’s door, slide the key in, and push the wood as hard as I can.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The heartbreak I had felt until now can’t be compared to the sight in front of me. The entire living space is trashed, not like he has broken everything, but like he hasn’t bothered to touch, clean, or move. I look around the trash-covered room and find his body curled up in the corner, his back to me, his knees pulled into his chest. I rush to him, putting my hands on his face; it’s burning up. The entire boat is burning up, the air conditioner not even turned on. His eyes are blank as he looks at me. Deep purple circles are etched under both eyes, his eyelids the same deep purple as he closes them.

“Julián… what… what happened?”

“You should go,” he tells me; his voice sounds like sandpaper. I look around for water but don’t see any. I stand up, go to the fridge, and find it empty. Kicking my feet through some of the trash on the floor, I stub my toe on my metal hotel cup, half-full of water. Without a thought, I bring it to his lips and make him drink it. He empties it, and I use every bit of strength I have not to scream at him when I take in how sunken his face looks, how dead behind the eyes. He’s a shell of the man I love, and I want to know where the hell my Julián went and what brought this on.

I ignore his pleas for me to leave and begin to collect the trash around the boat, shoving it into a bag. An episode, he had a depressive episode, likely triggered by my mother being here in his space, in his only safe space. I use the rational, methodical part of my brain to power through, opening the windows, wiping off the surfaces of dust and stickiness and trying not to gag when I remove a plate of uneaten, rotten fish from the bedside table. Pages of crossword books have been torn out, thrown, and scattered across the room. My chest aches with each one I pick up and throw away. All the anger I had toward him evaporates by the time the boat is clean. He’s still huddled in the same corner, and I approach him slowly, carefully.

“Let’s take a shower,” I suggest, gently touching his shoulder, fully expecting him to jerk away.

Instead, he begins to shake, sobs breaking through his hoarse throat, shame covering his face, deeply burned into his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he cries, squeezing his knees closer to his chest, rocking on his tailbone.

I refuse to cry, and I absolutely refuse to leave. I sit up taller. I give him a few minutes of silence, making sure I say exactly what I mean.

“Here with you…” I pause, touching his shoulder again. “This is the only place I belong.”

He slowly turns his head to face me, the rocking slowing. “You should never have to see me like this… cleaning up my trash… I’m worse than a goddamn animal.”

I move behind him and wrap my arms around his sweat-soaked body as sobs continue to rake through his body.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this; I never wanted you to see me like this. I’ve been trying to keep it together.”

I hug him tighter. “Yeah, well, I never wanted you to see me seize and fall into a pool either, but here we are.”

“Ry…” My name is wrapped in relief, sorrow, shame, agony as he turns around, grabbing me into his arms. I don’t know how long we sit like that, but when his body finally stops shaking, he eventually looks up at me, making eye contact. I can’t stop myself from crying any longer.

“I’m so sorry. I just… with the fight we had, the realization of this ending soon, then seeing your mom here… She looked so pristine and perfect, and my place is a fucking wreck. Seeing her on the land that will be destroyed soon, it was too much for me. Hearing her remind you of how separate our worlds should be, how we can’t ever make it work, knowing that they tried and failed. You deserve more than me, than what I can offer you. I don’t have anything to offer you—no money, no security, my mental health is all over the place, and you need someone who isn’t fucked-up, who isn’t a stubborn fucking mess. You shouldn’t have to worry about me… take care of me. I should be the one taking care of you.” He’s frantic, panicked, having a breakdown.

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