Page 77 of Last First Kiss
“New York?” Her eyes are so wide I half expect them to fall out of her head. “Why haven’t you told her?”
“How do I tell the person I’m falling in love with that I might be moving to New York?”
Before Lala can say anything, another voice cuts in.
“You’re what?”
I turn slowly toward the door, my heart dropping. My mom’s standing there, her face completely unreadable. But then I look past her shoulder, and there’s Clara. Suddenly, it feels like my whole world tilts on its axis.
“Clara ...” I take a step forward, but she’s already backing away, hurt flashing across her face, before she spins and disappears down the hallway.
I freeze.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Lala says, nudging me with a surprising amount of strength for someone in a hospital bed.
I hesitate only a second longer before speeding after Clara. “Clara, wait! Please—wait!” I shout, but she doesn’t stop; she doesn’t even slow down.
I keep going anyway, because something in me knows that if I let her walk away now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CLARA
I’ve always hated hospitals.
The weird, sterile smell, the buzzing lights, it all takes me back to watching my mom slowly lose her battle with cancer.
Ishouldhave been in my 7th-grade English class, learning about sentence structure or research basics. Instead, I had been in a hospital room, watching my mom die.
The air in that room had been stale and cold, too clean to feel real. Machines had beeped steadily around us, indifferent to the weight pressing down on my chest. I’d been holding her hand—what was left of it, anyway. It used to be warm, full of life, always gentle, always cooking up something delicious. But it just lay there. Fragile. Paper-thin skin stretched over bones, her usual warm brown tone turning bluer and paler as a priest read her last rites and took her final confession.
He was preparing her for God. The same God who was letting this happen to her. I’d known faith was more complicated than punishment and reward, than black and white.But at that moment, all I’d felt was rage. Not at her. Never at her.
At Him.
Because if He was listening, if He actually existed, why had this been the best He could do?
Why had He let a fourteen-year-old girl watch her mother—the strongest person she’d ever known—get hollowed out by pain and sickness until she was barely holding on?
The priest had placed a hand on her forehead, and I’d wanted to shove it away, to scream and ask him why we were pretending this was some kind of blessing when it felt like a curse.
He’d spoken words I couldn’t bring myself to hear. Something about forgiveness. Mercy. Eternal peace. The usual bullshit about an afterlife that didn’t feel real to me. Because when she’d left me, that had been it. She was gone. Forever. No warm afterlife or heaven. Just darkness.
I’d tried so hard not to cry at that thought. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t, not in front of her. She’d hated seeing me cry—it had made her feel like she’d failed me somehow. Like she was leaving me unprepared. I’d never told her this, but shewas. What was I supposed to do without her? How was I supposed to navigate the world without her?
Her breathing had slowed. The beeping had changed tempo. And even though I’d known it was coming—had known for months, it had still hit me with a force that rocked my entire world. And all I could think was,This is it.
I’d leaned forward, pressed my forehead to her hand, and whispered something. I don’t even know what anymore. Maybe a goodbye. Maybe nothing. I’d leaned in, and she’d leaned back.
“I love you so much,” she’d whispered, a tear slidingdown her face, landing on the top of my hand. I hadn’t dared look up. I’d just held on to her hand, squeezing harder than I should have for how fragile she was, but I hadn’t been able to help it.
When I’d finally lifted my head, she was gone.
A hand had landed on my shoulder and I’d known who it had been without looking. It had been a hand so secure, so full of warmth, it could have only belonged to one person—the single most important person in my life from that moment on: Alejandra.
I hadn’t thought I could hate hospitals more than I already did. But now I’ve lost two people here. First, my mom, and now—somehow—my best friend.
“Clara,” I hear for the twelfth time in a span of thirty seconds.
