Chapter Thirty-Nine

January 2016

Black was Mandy's favorite color, but today she wished she were wearing anything but. Abuela had made it through Christmas, but before midnight struck on January 1, she was gone.

It seemed Thanksgiving was her last good day. After that, and by the time Mandy returned from her second Thanksgiving, Abuela slept most of the day and was more out of it than not. Mandy felt there was little she could offer in those days. When she wasn't working, she would spend her time at Isa's doing laundry or dishes or whatever needed to be done so that Sandy or Isa, when they had time off, could sit by Abuela's side. That's all Isa ever seemed to do those days, work and come home to be with Abuela. Mandy hardly ever saw her even when they were in the same house together. Family would come and go, and the phone never seemed to stop ringing.

Mandy hadn't been there when it happened. Around 11:30 p.m. on December 31, Abuela's heart stopped. Mandy's phone rang sometime shortly after, and when she saw it was Isa calling, Mandy knew. She answered the phone, "I love you for real," and was answered by Isa's sobs. And together they cried like that until Sandy took the phone and told Mandy exactly what had happened.

After that, Isa's house felt empty.

Flowers and condolences poured in, and there were so many casseroles.

With all the planning that needed to take place, Mandy still hardly saw Isa. They hadn't had a second to be alone and cry while holding each other, and as selfish as it was, Mandy needed that.

Time itself didn't seem to know what to do with Abuela's absence either. It seemed to completely spin out of control or drag on for an eternity. That morning it was spinning, but Mandy was dragging. She was going through the motions—hair, makeup (waterproof mascara, of course), getting dressed, except she still needed shoes, and that was where Mandy was stuck.

If there was anyone in the world who loved Mandy just how she was, it was Abuela—and if she were still there, she would likely laugh at Mandy's selection of tennis shoes with her dress. But Abuela was gone. And there sat a pair of black heels, staring at Mandy as though saying, You know you should pick us . Yet Mandy hesitated.

Even the thought of sliding her feet into them felt wrong. Just as everything else felt wrong without Abuela. Mandy didn't know much about death or how or why things happened, but something told her 2016 was going to be the worst year of her life.

"Are you still not ready?" Edmund appeared at the doorway of the walk-in closet. "If we go now, I can maybe make it back in time for the two o'clock meeting."

A flush of heat raced through Mandy's body. Abuela was practically her own grandmother, and Edmund acted as though her funeral were some kind of inconvenience to him. How many times had she dropped everything for him? Done everything he'd ever asked of her? She had gotten used to the fact that he was phlegmatic, and how he could compartmentalize just about everything in his life, but this? Something inside of Mandy snapped. Although she'd never done anything like it before, she picked up a shoe and threw it at him, hitting him right in the chest before the shoe fell to the ground. "You don't have to go if you're too busy. I mean whatever will they do without you at the two o'clock meeting. That is so much more important than anything I'm going through today."

Edmund picked up the shoe—because of course he did. Nothing could be out of place in his perfect apartment. "You're upset."

"Damn right I'm fucking upset."

"Amanda." Edmund hated it when she swore. And like always, he was so damn calm when grief burned so fiercely through Mandy she didn't know what to do with it.

Mandy grabbed another shoe and chucked it at him, but this time he caught it. "Fuck you. Abuela is gone and all you can think about is work." All he could do was think about himself.

"She wasn't even your grandmother."

If those words were meant to sting, they did. "If that's what you think, then I don't even want you to come with me."

"You don't mean that. Plus, how would it look—"

"I don't care how it would fucking look." She grabbed another shoe, but this time she didn't throw it. She twisted it in her hands, and that for some reason seemed to make Edmund more upset, but he didn't say anything, his jaw tightening as he stood there staring at her like she was a child having a temper tantrum.

She glanced at his side of the closet—suit jackets hung from various shades of light to dark, ties on racks in color order. Everything was in place, and there seemed to be a place for everything. And then there was Mandy's side. She was lucky she could find anything the way her clothes pressed in on each other. Most of the time they came off the hanger wrinkled, and then there was a pile on the floor underneath. It was the only place in the entire apartment where she was allowed to do things her way. The only place that said she was there. Was that because Edmund could close the door? Was it because the only time he saw the mess was when he was in the closet himself? She ran her hand down the kelly-green dress she wore weeks ago. She looked amazing in it, but it was one of the most uncomfortable dresses she'd ever worn. What the hell was she doing? Mandy started to laugh—the ridiculousness of it all slamming into her like a bullet train. "What do you even like about me?"

"Let's not do this right now," Edmund tried to reason.

"Then when? When do we do this? After your meeting today? Or maybe we can do this right before the wedding? Or even better, on the honeymoon? Or when we have kids—that would be the perfect time to do this. Because you don't even need to answer. I already know there isn't anything you really like about me—the real me. This." She spread out her arms in front of her tornado-tangled clothes rack.

"Don't be absurd. I love you," Edmund said.

"Do you though? Do you really love me ? Or do you love the idea of me." She looked back at the heel in her hand: black, plain, boring, and completely not her. It was something he had selected, and she just went along with it. But she was tired of doing that. "We both know you could have any girl you want, but you chose me. Why?" But Mandy knew why. She made things easy. She hid her mess in the closet and closed the door. She was agreeable and wore uncomfortable shoes and dresses because it made him happy. But was Mandy happy?

"That's right, I chose you. I. Choose. You." Edmund stepped forward. Handsome, distinguished, successful Edmund in pressed black slacks and just-out-of-the-package bright white shirt—collar starched to perfection. Have him throw a jacket "lazily" over his shoulder, and he would be on the cover of a magazine. Mandy did love him—or maybe she was just as guilty of loving the idea of him. When she looked at him, butterflies didn't threaten to erupt from her stomach. And today, on arguably one of the toughest days of her life, he wasn't the one she wanted to wrap her arms around and hold on to.

She slipped on her tennis shoes and walked toward him, sliding the diamond off her finger. "We both know this was never going to last." She placed the ring in his hand and left alone.

The service was set to start at 10:00 a.m., so when Mandy rolled in fifteen minutes later than that, she was exactly on time—actually, she was a little early, but only just. No Jiménez family event ever started exactly when it was supposed to. There wasn't a chance to say hello before they were ushered inside the church. The Jiménez family all sat up front, so Mandy sat next to her parents.

Mom muttered, "Edmund?"

Mandy shook her head. She would have to explain to them later what happened, and she would have to move back into her room for a while.

Dad didn't say anything. He wrapped his arm around her, and she curled into his side like she did when she was little. Even though Mandy's life felt as if it were falling apart, there was always something comforting about Dad's embrace—it was like coming home no matter how old she was.

Once the service started, so did the tears. As soon as they turned on, there didn't seem to be a way to turn them off. Luckily each seat had been supplied with its own small package of tissues, and Dad shared his with Mandy and Mom.

Even as the pastor carried on about how Abuela was in a better place and how her soul was at peace, it didn't ease the ache in Mandy's heart. She couldn't understand how Abuela could be okay with never seeing any of them again, because Mandy wasn't okay with never seeing her. If anything, Mandy yearned to see her, talk to her, hug her one last time. Was it possible to love someone more now that they were gone?

And what did it say that Mandy didn't have those same feelings about Edmund? She would miss him, but not in the same way that Mandy missed Abuela. Was it because Edmund was still around? Was it because the universe had other plans for them—they weren't done in the way things were final for Abuela? Mandy already knew she would have to see him again to apologize for her earlier outburst. No matter how angry, and sad, and hurt she'd felt, it didn't excuse her behavior.

Tears streamed down Mandy's cheeks, and Dad squeezed her tighter as the lingering scent of frankincense tingled Mandy's nose. One day she would be sitting in the front row, and he would be the one who was gone, and one day it would be Mom. It wasn't fair. Why did anyone have to die at all? It felt like such a cruel joke to put people in your life to love just to take them away. What was the purpose of that?

"Consuela's granddaughter would like to say a few words," the pastor said.

Isa didn't move for a moment before she was nudged into action by Tía Maria. Isa slowly rose, made her way from the pew, and stood at the podium. The black dress she wore was new. Her hair was pulled back except for the little hairs that always framed her face and never did what she wanted. And unlike Mandy, Isa's eyes were not red and puffy—like she had no tears left to shed. Isa clenched the note cards in her hand, then looked out to all the people filling the pews. Her eyes locked with Mandy's, and Mandy gave her a reassuring nod saying, You can do this , without any words. But the look Isa returned said, No, I can't .

All Mandy wanted to do was race up there and hold Isa in her arms. But Tía Maria shuffled out from the pew and got to Isa before Mandy could even move. Tía Maria took the cards from Isa, who then returned to her seat, where Sandy wrapped her arms around her on one side and another tía slid over and did the same from the other.

"Marisa has prepared a few words that I will share with you," Tía Maria said. "Three months ago…Three months ago, my life changed.

"Three months ago, I started thinking about this very moment and what I would say, what I could say. I even started writing something down because I knew, when this moment came, I wouldn't be able to find the words.

"I thought, what could I tell you about my abuela that you don't already know? You know she had a giving heart…there wasn't anyone she wouldn't go out of her way to help. You know she was an amazing cook…if you had her pozole rojo, you can consider yourself family. You know she had a great sense of humor…even she thought she was hilarious. You know she was kind and caring and loving. You know she was persistent, and that she always thought her way was best. You know that she was stubborn, and that she also loved so fiercely. You know that Abuela was never one to care what other people thought of her.

"That is one thing I will not only remember but that I've always admired most about her.

"I can remember a time…I think I was nine or ten, and my best friend Mandy was sleeping over, and we had convinced Abuela we needed to make cookies. And if you knew Abuela, you knew sweets were her weakness. We had the flour, and sugar, and the butter, and everything mixed together when she realized we were out of chocolate chips. So what did she do? We all jumped into the car and went to the grocery store in our pajamas and slippers—even Abuela. People must have thought we looked ridiculous, but she didn't care. She wasn't going to let us down. We started those cookies, and we were going to finish them. And we marched through the store as she led the way.

"Abuela was always leading the way. She came to this country to give her children and her grandchildren a better life. She fought and sacrificed and has always been our biggest cheerleader.

"My first year in college, I called one night, miserable. There was nothing I wanted more than to come home, but Abuela made me realize that giving up wasn't an option. I had come too far to let go of my dreams. And look at me now.

"Well, look at her." Tía Maria gestured to Isa.

"Three months ago, my life changed. But today my world has changed forever.

"I miss you, Abuela. You helped prepare me for this world, but you never prepared me for a world without you." Tía Maria took the note cards and went back to her seat.

There were a lot of sniffles, and Mandy too had to wipe her eyes and nose once again. A few more family members came up, and a choir sang some songs. Everyone completely lost it at the photomontage of Abuela's life. And then it was over, and people started to make their way to the reception hall. Abuela was being flown to Mexico later that day to be buried in their family's plot.

As soon as Mandy walked into the reception hall, Isa grabbed her arm and led her through a side door and out into a small garden, where they were alone. She stopped just behind a tall rosebush where no one could see them and held Mandy's hands—one in each of her own.

"She told me," Isa said. "Abuela told me."

For a moment Mandy wasn't sure what Isa meant, but as her brown eyes that had been so dry before filled with tears, Mandy knew. The day on her porch, before Mandy left for Europe, before she told Isa she didn't want her to go anymore and broke both of their hearts.

"Why didn't you tell me?" A tear slid down Isa's cheek.

"What was I supposed to say? Abuela was right. I was being selfish. I couldn't ask you to give up everything for me."

"It was my choice. And I wanted to be with you." Isa squeezed Mandy's hands tighter. "I hated you for leaving me. I wasted years being mad at you. It wasn't fair. I should've known."

"And what would that have changed? Look at you." Mandy took her in, all of her—the sweep of her hair, the curve of her neck, the freckle on her left shoulder. "You are an amazing doctor. Your life, your mom and Abuela's lives, and all your patients' lives are better because of that. Keeping you from this would've only benefited me."

Tears spilled from Isa's eyes, each one racing to be the first to drip from her chin.

Mandy took a wrinkled tissue from her pocket and tried to catch them all. "I am sorry, but I don't regret it. You became a better person without me. Yes, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life, and I was miserable without you, but you would've been miserable if you missed your chance at this. This was who you were always meant to be. I can't regret it. I won't. Because when you really love someone, you don't stand in their way."

"It wasn't fair." Isa sobbed. "It just wasn't fair."

Mandy pulled Isa into her, and together they cried.