Page 44 of American Beauty

A faint beep cuts through the silence—sharp, familiar. The kind that comes from the back door when someone punches in the code.

I don’t move. Because I already know who it is. No one else uses the keypad. No one else walks into my home like they own the place.

Only one person doesn’t need an invitation.

Tina.

Her footsteps move through the house with a calm authority, the kind that comes from raising six kids and running a home like a quiet empire. She doesn’t call out for me. Doesn’t ask permission. She knows where I’ll be.

It’s late morning, I think, but the blinds are still closed. And I haven’t bothered to check the time.

There’s a quiet knock, and the door creaks open. She pauses in the doorway, taking me in without a word. I can imagine what she sees. The blankets tangled around my waist. The stubble that’s moved past rugged into something closer to despair. My body too still. My spirit gone quiet.

“Oh, Aleki.”

I shift my gaze toward her, and the second our eyes meet, I see it in the soft furrow of her brow, in the way her mouth tightens like she’s trying not to cry. Heartbreak. Not the loud kind. The quiet, aching kind that mothers carry when they’re watching their child slip into something they can’t fix with a kiss to the forehead and a warm plate of food.

“You missed Sunday with the family. Again. And church. Four weeks in a row, Aleki.”

I shift, pulling the pillow higher beneath my head. “I’m going through a lot right now.”

She comes into the room and sits on the side of the bed. “I called you three times yesterday.”

Talking is the last thing I want to do. “I texted to let you know I was okay.”

Her fingers fold in her lap, tight. “And the day before that? When Jack texted? Or when Sefina found out she landed her dream job and we all gathered at the house to celebrate?”

I glance away. “I’m happy for her.”

She hums low in her throat. “You didn’t even reply, Aleki.”

“I need space right now.”

“You’ve always pulled away when you’re in pain. You lock the doors and pretend you’re fine when, in truth, you’re crumbling.”

I blink up at the ceiling, not sure what to say. Because she isn’t wrong.

“You’ve always carried things deeper than your siblings. You hold on longer. Feel it harder. It’s your greatest strength—and your greatest burden.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, turning my face into the pillow. Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder, fingers warm, grounding.

“I know what heartbreak looks like. I know what grief sounds like. But this is more than that.”

I don’t respond.

“Aleki.”

My throat tightens.

“Are you thinking about hurting yourself?”

Her words land like a stone in my chest. I hate that she’s filled with a fear like that.

“No, but I’m tired of hurting like this. It’s too much.”

Relief flashes in her eyes, and she reaches over, brushing a hand over my hair like she did when I was a boy. “Okay. That’s what I needed to hear.”

Her hand falls away. “Now, get up. Take a shower. I’m going to make you something to eat. You may not be ready yet, but you still have to show up for yourself.”

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