“You look terrible,” she told me.
“Good morning to you too.”
“You need moisturizer.”
“I need a new existence.”
“That too.”
Then she hugged me.
I had expected questions.
Instead, she held me so tightly that I stopped
breathing for a second.
When she stepped back, her eyes were wet.
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just warn me next time before the internet tells me you’re dating a billionaire.”
I groaned.
“You saw it.”
“My mother sent it to me.”
“Aunt Rosa?”
“At five thirty this morning.”
I covered my face.
Marisol laughed.
Then she became serious.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Did Ethan come here?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked around.
“Where is Billionaire Airplane Guy?”
“His name is Adrian.”
“So you’re defending him already.”
“I am correcting you.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Marisol.”
“Fine.”
She started unloading groceries.
Bananas.
Crackers.
Juice boxes.
A package of cheese.
Everything a parent might need while the world became confusing.
I watched her.
“Why did you bring food?”
“Because children get hungry at inconvenient times.”
I almost cried.
Apparently that was what happened when your nervous system had been functioning on
fear and caffeine for too long.
Marisol saw my face.
“Oh, Elena.”
“I’m fine.”
“No one who says that while crying over string cheese is fine.”
