Chapter 32 32

Chapter 32 32
Dona's POV

My mom shifted the plate of pecan pie in her hands so it wouldn’t slide, then leaned over and pressed the doorbell beside Piper's door again. The chime echoed inside the apartment, but nothing happened. She sighed and impatiently pushed her blonde hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears.

“Is Piper even around?” she asked. “Or maybe she’s still at the hospital?”

“She texted me yesterday,” I replied. “She said she’d be discharged today. It’s been two days since August and I went to see her, remember?”

“Mm,” she hummed, but she still gave the door a look like she was ready to start banging on it with her shoe.

I pressed the bell myself, holding it longer. Finally, there were footsteps, quick ones, and then the lock clicked. The door swung open, and Piper’s mom Marisol, appeared with her curly reddish-brown hair piled up in a haphazard bun. Fine wrinkles pitted her face, and when she smiled, she revealed a pretty set of teeth with a small gap right in the middle.

“Ay, Samantha!” Marisol gasped, instantly reaching forward.

My mom pushed the pie into my hands and stepped in for the hug. They squeezed each other, talking over the top of their words in that way moms do.

“Look at you, still beautiful...”

“How have you been? My God, it’s been too long...”

“You should come by more often....”

“Y tú también! Don’t disappear...”

I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell into the pie. “Hi, Marisol,” I cut in. “Is Piper home?”

Marisol turned to me and did her usual dramatic gasp. “Ay, yes, yes. She came home this morning. Come in, come in.” She stepped aside and waved us through. “She’s resting, but you know how she is. Resting means she’s doing everything except resting.”

We walked inside, and I took in the familiar space: the bright throw pillows, the half-dead plant near the balcony, the empty coffee mugs on the table, the smoky smell of something cooking.

Piper’s high-rise apartment in Tallahassee was ridiculous for a college student. She even had an actual skyline view. Meanwhile, my mother had practically chained me to her hip and refused to let me live anywhere without her.

Piper was a lucky bitch. A very loved, very spoiled, very lucky bitch.

I set the pie down on the dining table, and Marisol clasped her hands in glee.

“Oh, Samantha, thank you! You didn’t have to bring this. Ay, it smells so good. God, pecan pie? You spoil us!”

My mom smiled, all proud. “Well, we wanted to drop something off for you all.”

I wasn’t listening much anymore because the smell from the kitchen was calling my name: savory, warm, definitely Puerto Rican. Probably some type of stew or beans cooking.

I followed the smell and rounded the corner into the kitchen. Piper was standing by the stove in tiny grey shorts and a white singlet, her curly reddish hair tied in a ponytail so disheveled it was practically falling apart. She had one hand on her hip and the other holding a wooden spoon, and she was eating straight out of the boiling pot like a gremlin.

She looked nothing like the fragile woman I’d seen lying in that hospital bed two days ago. Her color was back. Her attitude was back. Her whole everything was back.

I folded my arms. “Seriously?”

She nearly dropped the spoon. “Dona!” she squealed. “Try this. I swear it’s good.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

She stepped closer, waving the spoon at me. “Open your mouth. Just a little. It won’t kill you.”

“Piper, what is even that? If that burns my tongue....”

“You’ll live,” she giggled.

I tried to dodge, but she was quick and the spoon ended up in my mouth anyway. The broth was hot but rich, full of flavor and absolutely delicious. I narrowed my eyes at her while I chewed.

“Good, right?” she asked, proud as hell.

Before I could answer, her mother’s voice boomed from the living room.

“Piper! If I catch you eating from that pot again, I’m gonna smack your hands so hard you won’t be able to open a jar till Christmas! I don’t care if you got asthma or bloody tuberculosis!”

Piper froze and I stopped chewing. Then we looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Run!” Piper whispered dramatically.

“Run where?”

“My room, genius!”

We tore down the hallway, still laughing, bumping into the walls as we barreled toward her room.

We crashed onto Piper’s bed, both of us still wheezing from laughter. Her comforter puffed up around us, smelling like laundry soap and whatever candle she’d been obsessed with last month.

“Bro,” Piper groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over her face. “My mum has been here since yesterday, cooking like she’s feeding the entire state of Florida. I swear on all that is holy, she’s trying to season me to death. I think I permanently smell like sofrito."

I let out another laugh, rolling onto my side. “You’re stupid.”

“I’m suffering, Dona,” she insisted, pointing at the door like her mother might kick it open any second. “I cannot wait for her to leave my apartment. apparently she might stay till my asthma treatment is done. And guess what, my dad might join too. Both of them. In here. Breathing my air. Touching my things.”

I snorted. “Okay, I take back every single thing I ever thought about you being a lucky bitch.”

“Thank you,” she said, patting my cheek like I was the one with the chronic illness. “Validation accepted.”

I pushed myself up with my elbows. “When does the treatment even start?”

She sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Tomorrow is my first shot.”

I remembered the doctor’s explanation from the hospital: biologic therapy. He had talked about injections every few weeks to control her inflammation. Her breathing would be made easier and Piper would yell less. That last part was my personal prayer point.

“You want me there?” I asked softly.

Piper turned her head, raised a brow, then grabbed my hand in both of hers like she was about to propose. “Sweetheart,” she said in the fakest gentle tone ever, “you would have to skip classes. And you skipping classes is technically possible, but also something the world isn’t prepared for.”

I gasped. “Wow. Wow. You know what? I’m still going. I’ll surprise you.”

“You literally just told me,” she said flatly.

“You’ll forget,” I replied, waving a hand. “Your brain is fried from all that pot-stealing. I might even show up for the mixer you talked about.”

She cackled and shoved my shoulder. “Look at you. Who are you? You’re talking about skipping classes, and you’re talking about going for a college mixer. Girl, you’ve changed.”

“I needed a distraction,” I muttered under my breath.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just… yeah. Mixer. I’ll go. I need to get out of my own head, you know?”

Because I did. I needed to think about anything that wasn’t my stupid almost-stepbrother with his stupid blue eyes and the stupid kisses he shouldn’t have given me in the first place.

Before Piper could drag that out of me, my mum’s voice came from the living room. “Dona! We’re leaving!”

I yelled back, “I’m sleeping over!”

There was a pause, then, “Okay! Text me if you need anything!”

Piper perked up with a grin and immediately hopped off the bed, heading straight for her closet. “Girl, I already knew you weren’t going home. Here.”

She tossed a nightdress at my face and I let it flop onto my lap. “Thanks, bully.”

She plopped back onto the bed beside me and nudged me with her foot. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Rude.”

We both broke into giggles again.