Chapter Forty-Three

Because hospitals have essentially become the drivethr us of health care, I get sent home barely more than twenty-fou r hours after a cyst in my ovaries ruptures.

The discharge takes about as long as I’d waited to be seen in the ER. It’s enough time that I am able to mentally make a list of all the things I’m going to do when I get home.

Things Whit Is Dying to Do Once She’s Home

1. Shower.

2 . Moisturize until I feel like a slug.

3. Give Patch all the beh ind-the - ear s cratches.

4. Ask C hloe Torres about secretly being my eyes and ears at the kickoff carnival (and possibly other events, depending on how long I’m down for the count).

5. Watch that old Intonation docu mentary- slash- concert Lily, Abuela, and I were obsessed with years ago.

6. Kiss Zay again.

7. And again.

8. And again.

Those last few might be hard to execute now that Abuela has essentially told me I’ll be housebound and resting from now through eternity.

As proof, she drives about five miles per hour the entire way home, concerned that if she hits a bump in the road, it might cause me pain— despite me reassuring her that that’s not how it works. Lily is irritated, too, because she’s supposed to meet up with Ruby. But Abuela takes her sweet time, cussing out any driver that honks at her and simply turning up the radio.

I head straight to the shower once we’re home and take one that’s long and hot. When I emerge, my fingers and toes are wrinkly and my skin feels like it’s been steamed in a sauna. I love it. It helps me feel like a human again. I take my time putting on some lotion and running some coconut oil through my hair before settling into my comfiest pajamas and climbing into bed.

Patch joins me, rubbing up against my hand and purring, which he never does. Bendito. He missed me. I missed him, too.

There’s a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I say.

It pushes open and in comes Abuela with a tray full of rice, cold water, ginger ale, crackers, my prescription pain meds, and a giant jar of Vicks VapoRub. A heating pad is draped over her shoulder.

I laugh out loud. “What’s all this?”

“To make you feel better,” Abuela says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She rests the tray on my nightstand and hands me the heating pad first. “The doctor said this will help. And it always helped with my cramps, too.”

She plugs it in for me and then pulls back my blanket and positions it on my lower stomach. Then she reaches for the Vicks.

“Abuela, I don’t need that,” I protest.

“You always need Vicks VapoRub.” The adorable way Abuela pronounces VapoRub like “vaparoo” is what ultimately makes me acquiesce.

“At least let me do it,” I say.

“Okay, okay.” Abuela hands me the jar. “What else do you need?”

“This is plenty, Abuela.” As if she doesn’t believe me, she looks around the room, straightening some things on my messy vanity, picking up some wool socks I left on the floor, taking a pen on my desk and placing it back in the cup where it belongs. “Abuela,” I say, keeping my voice soft. She meets my gaze. “I’m okay. Really.”

She lets out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I was really worried.”

I give her a soft smile. “I know you were. But I’m okay. I just need to rest.”

Abuela arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yes. I’m taking my medicine every four hours, just like I’m supposed to, so the pain is manageable. The heating pad will help. And the Vicks.”

Abuela comes over and kisses me on the top of my head. “Okay, nena. I love you.”

“I love you. Can we watch the Intonation concert tomorrow?”

This eases the worry lines on her face. “Of course we can. I’ll ask Lily to look up where we can find it. Now, sleep if you can.”

“Okay. I will.”

When the door closes behind Abuela, I slather a little Vicks on my abdomen, just like I promised. Then I pull out my phone, text Marisol and Sophie to let them know I’m home, and FaceTime Zay. He’s already grinning when he answers. “There she is,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice soft.

“Hey yourself. Looks like you made it home okay.”

“I did. Now I’m resting after Dr. Abuela made me cover myself head to toe in Vicks VapoRub.”

He laughs. “What is it with Latina matriarchs and that stuff ? Do they have stock in it or something?”

I laugh, too. “They must.”

A silence falls between us. It’s the first time, I realize, that Isaiah and I have ever talked by phone. And phone calls are notoriously awkward, aren’t they?

I wrinkle my nose. “God, this feels a little weird, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, a little,” Zay admits. “I mean. I guess I didn’t really envision what comes after the girl you like gets rushed to the hospital and the adrenaline causes you to profess your feelings. Do you just go right back to small talk?” He puts on a mocking voice. “How about that weather?”

“In my defense, I didn’t intend to get rushed to the hospital. I’m dramatic, sure, but not that dramatic,” I joke.

“I’m just glad I showed up at your job like a creep.”

“It’s not creepy to want to try those delicious cookies!”

He gives me a look. “Do you really think I went there for the cookies?”

“So, wait—you c ame just to see me?”

“Of course I did. I had this whole thing where I was going to ask when your break was and see if you wanted to split the cookies with me.” Isaiah chuckles. “Guess you’re not the only one who plans things out.”

I put my free hand over my heart. “I’m touched.”

“You sure you’re not weirded out?”

“Not even a little bit,” I promise. “Especially because I’m a little embarrassed with how you found out about my health issues. Talk about weird.” My gaze drops. “In fact, I’m actually pretty mortified you found out at all.”

“What? Why?” Isaiah asks.

“It isn’t something I have practice talking about, for one thing. I’m used to keeping it a secret— even from Marisol and Sophie. I didn’t tell them until recently.”

“Oh, Whitney” is all Isaiah says.

“Yeah, it’s been hard to— I don’t know— come to terms with it all, I guess.” I blink and look back at his face on the screen, which has taken on a soft expression as he listens. “This is terrible, but it just sometimes makes me feel like my body is a little broken.” My voice hitches on the last word and I try to cover it up by forcing a laugh.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” Isaiah murmurs. “I hope you know that nobody who matters thinks that. Not even close.”

I bite my lip. “Maybe. It’s difficult not to feel that way when there are so many symptoms to manage. It’s never- end ing.” Despite my best efforts, I sniffle. “I was so worried that if my friends found out if you found out, that maybe . . .” My voice trails off.

“That maybe what?”

“That maybe you’d decide I wasn’t worth liking.”

“Hey,” he says gently. “I get what you’re saying, and I respect your feelings. But I also want you to hear me when I say nothing like that could make me not like you. Okay?”

A wave of relief washes over me. Maybe it’s silly, and maybe I shouldn’t need this validation, but hearing him say those words out loud helps more than I’d like to admit. I’ve been so fearful of how others might view me once they knew I had this mysterious illness that manifests in dozens of strange and unpredictable ways that this reassurance is beyond welcome. Maybe it’s okay to sometimes need that reminder.

“Really?”

“You’ve already admitted you like me, too, so you’re kinda stuck with me,” he teases.

I laugh at that. “What if I laugh at you again if you fall in another apple orchard?”

“Well, in that case, it’s immediately over, obviously,” he says, grinning. Then he glances quickly at something off- screen. “Yooo. You ever heard of knocking?”

“I need you to move your car,” Camila’s voice whines.

“Why can’t you move it? I’m a little busy right now.”

“Doing what?” Isaiah suddenly disappears from the screen and he shouts “Hey!” as Camila comes into view— her face shifting from a scowl to a surprised smile.

“Whitney?”

“Hi, Camila!” I say, all too grateful that she didn’t seem to catch any part of the heavy conversation Isaiah and I were just having. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you, sweetie? You doing okay?”

I nod. “Yes. I’m doing much better, thank you.”

“Okay, okay, give me back my phone,” I hear Isaiah demand. She raises the phone above her head so that I’m looking at the top of Isaiah’s bedroom wall instead of either of them. “In a minute!”

“Now!”

“Ugh,” I hear her say, before Isaiah comes back into view. Camila pokes her head up from behind him. “Are you guys dating yet?” I smile sheepishly and nod. Camila shrieks and jumps onto Isaiah’s back. “I knew it!”

Isaiah rolls his eyes. “You have no chill whatsoever, damn. Get off me.”

“What’s going on?” a small voice asks from off- screen.

“Can y’all leave me alone?” Isaiah asks, unable to mask the irritation in his voice. “I’m in the middle of something!”

“He’s talking to Whitney— they’re dating!” Camila squeals.

“Oooh, I’m telling Mami!” the voice says.

“Amaya!” Isaiah calls after her.

More chaos, and then Isaiah’s mom is in frame, with Amaya and Gianna in tow, and they’re all gushing over me and Isaiah and asking a million questions. Are you feeling better? What do you need? Is Isaiah treating you well? When did this start? Are you in love? (That last question from Gianna.)

“Can you all stop being so nosy?” Isaiah asks. “Damn!”

“He swore!” Amaya yells.

“Let’s leave your brother alone,” Isaiah’s mom says as she comes into view. “Hi, Whitney! It’s so good to see your face. We’ve been praying for you, mija.”

I laugh more. “Oh, thank you so much. I’m feeling much better.”

“What do you need? Can we bring you anything?” she asks.

“Mami, chill,” Isaiah warns. He looks at me. “I’m so sorry. I’ll text you.”

Then the screen goes black and I’m still chuckling to myself. Chaos or not, I appreciate Isaiah’s family and their concern for me. They always make me feel like I belong. Getting Isaiah is enough— but getting his family along with him is icing on the cake.