15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Cat

The vibration of my phone against my hip startles me as I walk back into my classroom, nearly causing me to spill the fresh coffee I just poured in the teacher's lounge. I set the mug down on my desk, the aroma of dark roast mingling with the ever-present scent of chalk dust and school supplies. No one ever calls during school hours.

And there’s no reason for anyone to. If something happened with Stella or Mason someone would just walk over to my classroom to get me. Or call their grandmother. Leo would just text if he needed to update me on something.

Shit.

Maybe it’s the aide. Did Abuela need to go to the hospital again?

My heart pounds against my ribs as I fumble with my phone, my fingers trembling as I swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Ms. Alonso, this is Marta, the aide.” She sounds out of breath, almost as if she's running from something. Or someone. Knowing my grandmother, it could be either. “I quit.”

The line goes dead before I can get another word in. I stare at my phone, mouth agape, willing it to buzz again. This has to be some kind of joke, right? Or maybe she just got disconnected and will call me right back to explain.

But the seconds tick by and the screen remains stubbornly dark, reflecting my stunned expression back at me.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

I glance at the clock. At least it's lunch break, and I have my prep period after. Small mercies, I suppose. I gather my things and make my way to the principal’s office. As I clock out and inform my principal of the situation, the start of a headache builds behind my eyes.

The walk to my car feels like a death march. This was the last hope, the only thing keeping my grandmother out of assisted living or the emergency room. As I slide into the driver's seat, frustration bubbles up inside me. I slam a hand against the steering wheel, the sharp sting doing little to alleviate the storm of emotions swirling in my chest.

I already know how this conversation is about to go. It'll be like trying to convince a brick wall to move—pointless, frustrating, and guaranteed to leave me with a migraine.

But what choice do I have?

I can't risk my grandmother accidentally doubling her meds again, or chasing off yet another aide with her stubborn insistence on independence. As much as it pains me, assisted living seems like the only solution.

She's the only family I have here. The thought of losing her makes my chest tighten, a lump of emotion forming in my throat that I desperately try to swallow. I can't entertain the what ifs. Not now. Not when I need to be strong.

But the stress is starting to get to me. I catch myself chewing on my nails again and force my hand down. When did I turn into such a mess?

I take a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of pine air freshener, before I get out of the car. Sending up a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening, I hope that somehow, this time will be different. That my grandmother will be reasonable. It's asking a lot, I know. But they say miracles can happen, right?

Getting out of the elevator and onto the second floor, I walk down the hallway to her place, knocking when I get there.

The door swings open, revealing Abuela in all her feisty glory. “That's a nasty habit,” she says, smacking my hand away from my mouth as I unconsciously start to raise it again.

She ushers me inside, the familiar scent of her perfume and freshly baked cookies enveloping me. It's a smell that usually brings comfort but not today.

My grandmother sets a plate of cookies next to me on the coffee table before taking a seat on the sofa. “So, tell me, why are you here in the middle of the day? Shouldn't you be at work?”

I arch my brow, eyes narrowed. “Marta called. Care to explain?”

She ignores my question, reaching for a cookie. “How about you tell me what's going on with that new boss of yours? The handsome one with the nice behind?”

My muscles tense for a brief second. Nice try. “No deflecting. You know this leaves me no choice, right?”

She pulls back the plate of cookies and sets them on the sofa beside her, out of my reach. A petty move, but effective. “The answer is no. Of all the family, I thought you'd be the last to send me somewhere they lock you away and wait for you to die.”

“For God's sake, just look at the brochure.” I thrust the colorful pamphlet toward her, my fingers leaving creases in the glossy paper. When she leans away, I clear my throat and begin reading, my voice taking on an unnaturally chipper tone that sounds foreign even to my own ears.

“Benefits include 24/7 care, private apartment residences, community activities, safety, gourmet dining—”

“Bah!” My grandmother slams her palm down on the arm of the loveseat, the soft thud punctuating the word. “They put that in there for you, so you don't feel guilty!”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check. “I spoke with the director on my way here. We can schedule a visit whenever you would like. Just to look, Abuela. No commitments.”

“I'm not going.” She stands—her gaze as sharp and unyielding as ever despite her age—and takes the cookies with her as she walks into the kitchen. The message is clear—conversation over.

I bury my face in my hands, the scent of chalk dust and hand sanitizer filling my nostrils. I don't know what to do. If I let this go, she could wind up right back in the ER. Or worse. But fighting with her about it could mean she cuts me off.

The what ifs I've been trying to avoid come crashing down on me. But I push them away as I stand and walk into the kitchen.

I'm sorry,” I say, even though I don't really know what I'm apologizing for. I understand this is stressful for her. It's stressful for everyone. I'm just trying to help. I'm just trying to do what's right.

She continues to pretend to wash dishes that are already clean. So, I wrap my arms around her shoulders, even though she refuses to acknowledge me. “I don't want to upset you, and I don't want to lose you either.”

“I'm fine. Don't worry about me.” She pushes out of my hold to turn around and hug me back. She runs her hand over the back of my head the way she did when I was a child and got upset. The familiar gesture nearly breaks me. “That was an accident. It won't happen again.”

God, I wish that were true. I wish I could believe that she's too strong and healthy for anything more to happen. But I know that isn't true. “But—”

“No more,” she cuts me off, her voice stern. She pats me two more times, then holds me at arm's length. “I'm fine. And I won't hear of this again.”

I walk back to the living room like a scolded child, caught between feeling diminished and angry. I run a hand through my hair, wincing as my fingers catch on tangles. I love my grandmother. But I've spent my entire life taking care of everyone else around me, and now this is all falling onto me once again.

Not my mother or any of my uncles and aunts.

Me.

And I know Mom is aware because we talked the other day. But I guess because I’m the one that lives close by, everyone’s expecting I take care of it.

I sink onto the sofa, grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it to my chest. It's not like she means to hurt me. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't. No matter what's happening, everyone believes I can handle it. No one thinks to make sure I'm okay.

I squeeze the pillow tighter. A small rectangular photo of me sits on a mantel above the flat screen. Twenty years have passed, and somehow nothing has changed. I'm still Cat, the girl surrounded by people but expected to take care of herself and everyone else.

I'm tired of being strong. Maybe it's selfish, maybe I'm wrong and in the moment and will change my mind after a good night's sleep but, right now, I feel as if the people I take care of have pushed me into a deep dark hole that I'm not sure I can climb out of.

My grandmother comes back into the room, settling into her favorite armchair. “How’s Nora doing with the wedding planning?”

I recross my legs, still clinging to my pillow for support. “Wyatt’s driving her so crazy that she suggested just going to City Hall.”

She chuckles. “I can see that. But he’s so in love and just wants to show everyone. And how’re things with Leo?”

Great. So, we're back to this.

“It's . . . fine.” I try to keep my voice neutral, but I can feel heat creeping up my neck.

“You know, having a crush on him and living under the same roof can be awkward.” She takes a sip of her tea to hide the smile that spreads across her face.

“I don't have a crush on him.” The words come out too quickly, too defensively, that even I know they sound like bullshit.

“The two of you have no poker face. Has something happened?” Her eyebrow raises, the smirk on her face growing larger.

I pretend to respond to a text on my phone, desperate for any distraction. “We don't really spend a lot of time together. It's a really important part of the season, you know.”

“Hmm.” Her gaze lingers on me, and I can practically hear the gears turning in her head.

Don’t want to talk about Leo or what happened. Been trying to forget about it, except he’s been front and center in all of my fantasies lately. Sure, I’ve gotten off thinking about him here and there over the years. He’s definitely one of the hotter hockey players in the league.

And at first real life didn’t fit the fantasy after I’d met him.

But that one night shattered everything. The way he talks when he’s horny. The things he said when I was on my knees.

Fuckity fuck.

That man is anything but quiet when it comes to sex.

Things are also a bit weird now too, like we’re walking on eggshells. Hopefully, it’ll pass because if I go back to Nora’s, both she and Wyatt will have questions. Not to mention . . . Leo’s kids need me.

We made an agreement, one I intend to keep. Which also means no letting Abuela find out what happened. She already meddles too much.

“Cat? Hello? Where'd you go in that brain of yours? Hmm? Got something on your mind?” She leans forward a little, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I have to get back to work.” The words come out in a rush as I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over the coffee table in my haste. “Clocked out to make sure you're okay, but I still have to pick up the kids.”

I lean over to kiss her cheek, then walk out of the apartment and to my car, reminding myself I’ve got this.

But I can't shake the feeling that I'm lying. I don't have this.

Not even close.