So many words bubbled up in me, and the urge to tell her about Rider hit me hard, because I needed to make it feel real again, but my throat sealed off. If I told her about Rider, there was a ninety-nine-percent chance she would flip out.
Because Rosa had been there when every frayed and damaged layer had been peeled off me. Even though Dr. Taft had been Team Accept Your Past and they typically agreed with everything Dr. Taft said, she and Carl were Team The Past Is Your Past. They firmly believed that all facets of said past should stay where they belonged. And Rider was definitely the past.
So all I did was shrug as I veered over to the fridge, grabbing a Coke.
“How was your first day?” she asked, even as she frowned at my choice of beverage.
Turning to her, I smiled, even though it felt like there were tiny snakes wiggling around in my stomach. They’d been there since I’d gotten in the car.
Rosa tilted her head to the side and waited.
I sighed as I rolled the can between my hands. “It was okay.”
Her lips curved into a smile, and tiny lines formed around her eyes. “That’s good. Terrific, actually. So, no problems?”
I shook my head.
“Meet anyone?”
Seconds away from shaking my head again, I caught myself. “I... There is a girl in my English class.”
Astonishment flickered over her face. “Did you talk to her?”
That got a shrug from me. “Kind of.”
She looked like I’d sprouted a third arm and was currently waving it at her. “What does kind of mean, Mallory?”
I opened my Coke. “She’s in my class and she introduced herself to me. I said like maybe...seven words to her.”
The look of surprise gave way to a broad smile, and I stood a little straighter, momentarily forgetting about Rider’s unexpected appearance. The smile on her face was full of pride and I basked in the warmth of it.
Show us. That was what Carl had said this morning, and that smile told me I was showing them. Rosa knew, firsthand, how far I’d come and how big a deal it was for me to be comfortable enough to talk to a stranger, even if it was only seven words.
“That is so good.” Walking to me, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight. I inhaled deeply, welcoming the weird scent of antibacterial soap and the faint trace of apples from the lotion she used. She brushed her lips over my forehead and then pulled back, clasping my arms. “What did I tell you?”
“That...that it wouldn’t be hard,” I said.
“And why?”
I fiddled with the tab on my soda. “Because I’ve already...done the hard work.”
She winked. “That’s my girl.” She gave me another squeeze. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there this morning. I really wanted to be.”
“I...understand.” My smile grew, stretching my face so much it nearly ached. Rosa might not have been my mother by blood, but she was everything a mother should be, and I was so damn lucky.
Her mouth opened, but her cell went off. Holding up her hand, she grabbed it off the counter, answering it quickly. Her posture grew rigid as she turned sideways. “Dammit,” she said. “Can you hold for one sec?” She hit the mute button. “I’ve got to head into the hospital. There are some complications from the surgery this morning.”
“Oh no,” I whispered, hoping she didn’t lose the patient. If you Googled the word strong, I swear Rosa Rivas appeared beside it, but she felt every patient’s loss like it was a family member. It was the only time I saw her drink. She’d take a bottle of wine and disappear into the study, doors closed until Carl coaxed her out.
I always wondered if it was because of Marquette or if every doctor was that way. Marquette had passed away five years before the night I entered their lives, so they were coming up on a decade since her death, but I knew that couldn’t have made their loss any easier to bear.
“These things happen,” Rosa said with a sigh. “Carl is going to be late. There’re leftovers in the fridge.”
I nodded. Both of them worked at Johns Hopkins, where cardiac surgery was actually created—something I’d learned from them. Hopkins was one of the best hospitals in the world, and when they weren’t in surgery, they were heavily involved in the teaching programs.
She hesitated, glancing down at the still-muted call. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?” Her dark eyes held mine for a moment and then she sent me a quick, fleeting smile and started to turn.
“Wait,” I said, surprising the crap out of myself as she faced me, eyes wide. My cheeks heated. “What...does no la mires mean?” I’d totally butchered the words like a typical white girl who couldn’t speak any form of Spanish would.
Her brows shot up again. “Why are you asking that?”
I raised my shoulders.
“Did someone say that to you?” When I didn’t answer, because I was no longer sure I wanted to know what it meant, she sighed. “It basically translates to don’t look at her.”
Oh.
Double oh.