Kara If someone saw how I was this week, they would probably think I was going through the emotional storm of puberty. That or insanity. They could ask my dad. He would know the answer, but I was sure he wouldn't rat on me. I had too much dirt on him. When before I would've drowned my sorrows by picking up shifts at the hospital or nursing home, now I locked myself in my room and deeply meditated on my questionable life choices. Other than my classes and shifts at The Yard, I didn't go elsewhere. I worked nonstop before, but now I didn't want to do anything but bed potato it. To shut down my brain for hours because my issues had become a song on replay in my head. I laughed, cried, and cried some more, obsessed about what I said and should've said. What I did and should've done in the past, and agonized over the troubles in store for me in the future. It was extremely exhausting. The tears scared me at first. I had no idea a human being could cry as much as I did. I could take a shower for days with the tears I had shed. I'd been repressing my tears for so long that once I let them out, they were like drunk teenagers at a house party. Too happy to stop. Other times I would feel detached, as though my soul had been sucked out from my body. I was going through the motions but wasn't really feeling them. I was on safe mode and couldn't access my files. How do I get back the password? I needed a new one, but I hadn't gotten the email with the link to reset it yet. When the hell was it coming? Check your spam folder. My dad had tried to coax me out, but he'd never seen me this way before. He was deeply concerned and bewildered and dealt with it by making all my favorite foods and making sure not to bring any salvaged items he liked to hoard inside the house. Dylan also tried, but he couldn't shut up about mommy dearest every time he opened his mouth, so I banned the little shit from my room. I had no idea what was going on with him and the woman who birthed him, and it would drive me insane thinking about it—wondering if he was safe with her. What I needed to do to help him heal if...no, not if, but when Karen hurt and left him. How his life would change. How he would change from her influence. Would Dylan turn out to be like her? I was scared that he would. And if I were being honest with myself, I would admit that I was terrified I would stop loving Dylan the way I stopped loving her. But worse than that, I was petrified that I would keep loving him even when he turned out to be just like her. Was there an end to this heartache? Was this how my life was going to be until I croak and die? An endless, constant, merciless ache in my heart. I pulled the covers to my neck, shifted in my bed. The sight of the bathrobe hanging on the over-the-door hook made my heart do a slow cartwheel in my chest. It was Cameron's bathrobe that I wore when I slept over at his place. He'd left it here the other night. I'd only seen him once this week and we didn't even talk. After Tala's plane left, I texted Cameron that I needed to take care of some things this week and that I would see him on the weekend at The Yard. It wasn't that I didn't want to be with him. A part of me wanted to shut down, hide from the world and its bottomless appetite to cause pain. I didn't want to be comforted or talk about my feelings. I wanted to be alone and lick my wounds and make the torturous thoughts in my head as close to me as my skin. Because maybe after a while I would learn to shed them. I ignored my phone and everyone. I was too busy crying and it felt too damned good to cry, freeing. But at the same time, it left me feeling hollow and drained. Cameron's schedule had been hectic—between his classes and backbreaking construction work, he didn't have time for anything else. I was glad not to have his entire focus this week. I wouldn't have known how to handle it. Deb had mentioned Cameron was doing a reno for a single mom who was pregnant with triplets. They were in a rush to complete the project before mother and triplets leave the hospital and settle in their newly renovated house. So really Cameron should go home and couch-and-beer it at home at the end of the day. But in the dark recesses of my mind, I wondered why he hadn't come. But the next night, someone had knocked on my bedroom door. I was shocked to see Cameron filling my doorway. Our house was small to begin with, but he was a giant. His head grazed the top of the doorway as he stood there, gorgeous blue eyes scanning my room until they found me. I'd never had a guy enter my bedroom before, unless he was related to me by blood—sans Damon, but especially when my dad was at home. Cameron had stepped in, and without a word, he laid down beside me in my bed, wrapped me in his strong arms. I didn't ask any questions. He didn't ask any either—he didn't have to. He knew as soon as he found my tear-stricken face. He kissed my forehead and I closed my eyes and fell asleep. When I woke up, he was gone. It was a big moment, having Cameron in my bedroom, but I was so out of it I couldn't savor it completely. The noise from the groaning pipes in our house pulled me out from my thoughts. Someone must be taking a shower. I let out a sigh, sliding my gaze to my desk drawer. The key to Tala's house was still hidden there, untouched ever since Mrs. B had given it to me. She'd said if I wanted, I could move in next week or the week after when the renovations were done. I still remembered my conversation with Mrs. B the night before they left. I skipped classes that day and spent it with Tala, helping her pack the rest of her stuff. It felt strange to see that her whole life could be crammed into two Balikbayan boxes and two suitcases. Her relatives from different provinces had driven to their house that night. Thomas even came over for an hour and talked about how excited he was to move to Toronto soon to look for a place before he started medicine. Everyone was leaving, and I was, as always, the one left behind. It was a great party with mouth-watering Filipino dishes—pancit, vegetarian lumpia which I ate a lot of, adobo, sisig, caldereta, leche flan to name a few. There was karaoke and her aunts even had games prepared. Eventually Tala and I had sneaked away and hid in her bedroom from the boisterous, affectionate crowd. It seemed like Tala and I couldn't stop talking and laughing, as though we were trying to tell each other every story in our lives, even the ones we've already told each other before. And then Mrs. B had knocked on the door and asked Tala to step out so she could talk to me alone. She looked fatigued. She held my face in her hands and said in a quiet, trembling voice, "I don't mean to take her away from you, Kara. It hurts me to separate the two of you. Know that I love you like my own and I promise you'll be seeing each other soon. I'll send you a ticket so you can visit us. Take care of yourself, anak." "Can I ask why you're leaving, Mrs. B? Aren't you happy here?" "I'm tired of living my life in this wheelchair even though I'm grateful for it." She stroked my hair, and I had a feeling she was giving and seeking comfort. "I feel like I don't have enough time left. Pagod na ako, anak." "Why? Why do you feel that way, Mrs. B?" She shook her head, gave me a loving smile. "I want my last days to be in the country where I was born. Where my parents raised me and my siblings. My very first home. And I want Tala to be around family who will take care of her when...I'm gone. Will you forgive me for taking her away from you?" "There's nothing to forgive." I bit my lip to keep from crying. It seemed that once I had let myself cry the night before, the tears came so easily now. Mrs. B had been more of a mother to me than my own, and it broke my heart to hear her talk like this. "I'll visit you and Tala soon." "I love you, Kara. Call me once in a while, sweetheart, okay?" I nodded. "I love you, too. I'm going to miss you." Tala had strongly forbidden me to drop her off at the airport. She couldn't stand goodbyes. So I slept over—our last sleepover together the night before she left. When I came home the next day, I found out from my dad that Mrs. B had already talked to him about my possible move to their house. She'd wanted to ask for his permission before she brought it up to me. "What did you tell her, Dad?" "What do you think I said?" "That you can't live without me?" He nodded. "No truer words have been said. But I told her if that's what you want, then I wouldn't be against it." "Are you really okay with it?" "I get your bedroom, eh?" I laughed, made a face. "I knew it." "I want you to be happy. You'll have more space for yourself to do what you want to do. Focus on them now and let go a little." My dad reached out and messed my hair affectionately. "I need to learn to let go of you too." I felt like we needed to talk about it more, but my dad seemed satisfied with the conversation. I knew he liked to reassure me that he was okay with everything, but I knew that wasn't completely true. He worried but kept it to himself. He told me before that he would be the last person to get in his child's way and that his dad status would be complete if he taught us to be independent.