Page 24 of Hearts to Mend

“Está bien,” she waves my concern away, “comes, mijo.”

She’s speaking Spanish more than English this morning, which means she’s upset. And from the way she sets my coffee down a little too hard, sloshing some over the rim, I’d wager she’s upset with me.

Why? Because I stayed out all night? I wouldn’t blame her if she resents being used as a babysitter while I spent my time falling asleep beside my ex-girlfriend. Come to think of it, I owe mamá an apology.

But not right now. She’s busy fluttering around the room, taking care of everyone here, pouring refills of coffee, stacking second helpings onto a few plates, making sure we all have enough napkins, and feeding the entire nursing staff on this floor.

I hardly have an appetite, but mamá will worry if I don’t eat something, so I polish off one of the tacos and the empanada before I set my plate aside. Dee and Matty finish what’s on their plate, too, and manage to fend off mamá’s offer of second helpings.

An awkward silence falls over the room as everyone seems to sense it’s time to talk, but what are we supposed to talk about? The very air in here is charged with emotions, memories, anxiety. They dampen the conversation.

Finally, Dee interrupts the silence. “Inez, would you mind taking Matty to the bathroom so he can wash his hands? He’s going to get me all sticky with his cantaloupe fingers.”

To soften the blow of this expulsion from the room, Dee grins at Matty and pulls a face. When he acts like he’s going to smear his sticky fingers in her hair, she dodges and weaves and sticks her tongue out at him like she’s six years old too.

Mamá attacks Matty’s fingers with a wet wipe from her purse. Then she takes his hand and helps him off the bed and out the door in search of a restroom for a more thorough cleaning. There is a bathroom in the room, so it’s clear mamá and Matty’s quest is a guise. Dee’s other guests sense that, too, and find reasons to leave, kissing her on the cheek or wrapping her in big bear hugs as they go. And soon it’s just her and me, alone again.

I brace myself for a torrent of anger from Dee: anger that I’m here now, anger for the years I wasn’t, anger about that spectacular kiss last night, anger about, well, everything.

Instead, she says, “I’m sorry.”

I blink. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes, I kissed you without your consent last night. That’s not okay.”

I come to my feet, advancing closer to her. “I was more than okay with—”

She holds up her hand to stop me from coming any closer. “Rico, last night was a mistake. I was in a weird headspace, high on adrenaline. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I shouldn’t have done what I did. It won’t happen again.”

I hate this speech, but I let her say it. I know she needs to control this, whatever this is. I controlled our breakup. If we’re ever going to come back from that, it needs to be her who decides it, drives it.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t help things along. I give her half a grin. “Dee, if you ever want to kiss me again, you have my complete and total consent.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “And speaking of consent, I never said you could come into my room last night. I was asleep—”

“I’m sorry—”

“Who do you think you are, strutting into my life after all this time and pretending to care?”

“I do care.”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You made your choices, Rico. You left me to go to war, and then you left me again. You started a whole new family. And now you think you can walk back into my life like nothing happened? You expect me to just be here, waiting? No. I reject that. I reject you. It’s my turn to dump you now, so consider yourself dumped.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nod.

Dee looks surprised I’m not arguing, her brow furrowing adorably. “Well. Good. You can leave my room now.”

“May I speak first?”

“Why?”

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