Chapter 23 On my own
Maya's POV
"Papa? Papa!"
I was on my knees beside him. His face was too pale and his lips were gray.
Ohh God. No, please.
"Papa, wake up. Please…"
He didn't move. I grabbed his hand. It was cold.
No.
No no no.
My phone. Where was my phone? I patted my pockets, nothing. I looked around. It was on the floor, near the table. I scrambled across the floor on my knees and grabbed it.
My fingers were shaking so badly I could barely type the numbers.
9-1-1.
Please. Please. Please.
The line was ringing.
Pick up. Pick up. PICK UP.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"My father… he collapsed, he's not waking up… please…"
"Ma'am, I need you to calm down. What's your address?"
I gave it to her. My voice was shaking, my whole body was shaking.
"An ambulance is on the way. Is he breathing?"
I looked at him. His chest was rising and falling slowly.
"Yes. Yes, he's breathing. But he won't wake up. He won't…"
"Ma'am, I need you to stay on the line with me. Can you tell me what happened?"
"I don't know, we were talking and he just… he fell…"
"Has he had any medical conditions? Heart problems? Diabetes?"
"I don't know… I don't… he never told me…"
Why don't I know?
Why don't I know anything about my own father?
What kind of daughter am I?
"Help is on the way, ma'am. Just stay with him."
I stayed with him and I held his hand and I prayed to a God I wasn't sure I believed in anymore.
The ambulance came. Red lights flashed through the windows and the whole apartment lit up like a crime scene.
Paramedics rushed in. Three of them. They pushed me aside, gently but fast.
"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"
Papa didn't answer.
"What's his name?"
"Maya. His name is…his name is…"
"His name, ma'am. What is his name?"
"Alejandro. Alejandro Sandoval."
"How old is he?"
"Forty-five."
"Is he diabetic? Has he had a heart attack before? Is he on any medication?"
I don't know. I don't know anything.
"I don't… he never… Please just help him…"
They lifted him onto a stretcher. His head lolled to the side and his eyes were still closed.
He looks dead.
No. Don't think that.
Don't.
"We're taking him to Westbrook General. You can ride in the ambulance."
I grabbed my jacket, my phone and my keys.
I didn't look back at the apartment. I didn't think I could ever look at it again.
The ride was a nightmare.
Sirens screaming, lights flashing and the world outside the windows blurring into streaks of red and white and black.
I held Papa's hand and it was still cold.
"Stay with me, Papa," I whispered. "Please, stay with me."
One of the paramedics was talking to another. Words floated toward me. Words I didn't want to hear.
"Possible stroke."
"Blood pressure is elevated."
"We caught it early, but…"
But? But what?
There's always a but.
I squeezed Papa's hand tighter.
You can't leave me, you're all I have. You're all I have left.
The hospital was cold. White walls, white floors, white lights, everything white. Like a place between life and death.
They wheeled Papa through a set of double doors.
"You have to wait here," a nurse said.
"But…"
"Wait here. The doctor will come out when there's news."
Then she was gone.
And I was alone.
I don't know how long I sat there.
Minutes, hours. Time didn't exist in that white hallway.
I counted the tiles on the floor, seventeen. No, eighteen. No, I lost count. I started over.
Papa is going to be fine, he is strong.
Papa survived crossing to a different country with nothing but hope and a baby in his arms.
He can survive this. He has to.
A door opened and a doctor walked out. She was young and tired and her scrubs were wrinkled.
"Maya Sandoval?"
I stood up. "That's me. How is he? Is he okay? Can I see him?"
The doctor held up a hand. "He's stable."
Stable. Thank God.
"We're monitoring him closely. He's not out of danger, but we caught it in time."
Caught it in time.
Thank God.
Thank God.
The doctor's face softened. "He needs rest, Maya. No stress or agitation. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
"Can I see him?"
"Just for a few minutes. He's sleeping. Try not to wake him."
No stress. No agitation. I could do that. Anything for my father.
Don't tell him that his boss's daughter destroyed your life. Don't tell him that you're being bullied and humiliated and hunted.
Don't tell him any of it.
Just smile and pretend everything is fine.
No stress, right?
I walked into Papa's room and seeing him lying there broke my heart.
He looked small. Smaller than I'd ever seen him. The man who had carried me across an ocean was lying in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms and a machine beeping beside him.
He looks like a stranger.
He looks like someone who could leave.
I sat in the chair beside his bed but I didn't hold his hand. I didn't want to wake him.
I just sat there and the silence was too much.
I couldn't do this alone.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to Justin's name.
He said he wasn't going anywhere but then he also didn't tell me about Cynthia.
He also didn't tell me about the ring. What else hasn't he told me?
I put the phone down. I can't call him. I can't trust him. I can't fucking trust anyone.
The tears came then. I was all alone.
I pressed my hands over my face and sobbed and in the darkness behind my eyes, I saw her.
Mama.
Soft, beautiful and always knowing what to do.
Mama would know how to fix this. She would hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. Mama would make me hot chocolate and braid my hair and sing me to sleep but Mama was gone.
Mama was gone and Papa was in a hospital bed and I was all alone.
I thought about Sarah. Sarah would have been the best person to call.
The thought hit me like a wave.
Before, when she was still my friend and my sister. Sarah would have answered on the first ring. She would have been at the hospital in ten minutes and she would have held my hand and cursed the doctors and made me laugh through the tears.
She was my ride or die ever since we got to this country, always there for me, fighting for me and crying with me.
What happened to her? What happened to us? Why did she let jealousy poison everything? Why did she choose to destroy me instead of talking to me?
Why?
Why?
WHY?
I sobbed harder.
I didn't hear the phone ringing at first. It buzzed in my hand and I looked down.
Justin.
The screen glowed and his name stared back at me.
Should I pick up?
What should I say to him?
"Hi, Justin. My father collapsed and I'm at the hospital and I'm alone and I don't know what to do and also your maybe-fiancée humiliated me at a party and I don't know if I can trust you but I need someone and you're the only one I want to call."
The phone kept ringing.
Pick up, Maya. Don't pick
up.
You'll just cry and fall apart.
You'll just need him and needing someone is dangerous. Needing someone is how you get hurt.
The phone rang again.
What should I do?
I stared at his name….and couldn’t decide which scared me more.
Answering… or not.