Holding Her Hand

  “You’re not going to get Lark pregnant, are you?” he asks. He stares hard at me.

  “No, I probably will,” I admit. “Not tomorrow. And probably not the next day. I’d like to ask her to marry me first.”

  “Are you asking for permission?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I will one day.”

  “Come and see me when you’re ready,” he says. “And bring cigars. I like cigars.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I reach for my phone so I can get his number, but my phone is missing.

  “Something wrong?” Lark asks as she comes my way.

  “I can’t find my phone.”

  “Did you leave it at your mom’s house?”

  “I don’t think so. It was in my pocket.”

  “Maybe you lost it in the car.”

  We take the food back up to the waiting room, and settle down to wait. A few minutes later, Dad comes out and I give him the plate of food I made for him. He says, “She wants to see Lark.”

  Lark chokes on the food that’s in her mouth. One of her sisters—I still can’t tell which one is which—pats her on the back until it passes.

  Dad jerks his thumb toward the hallway. “If you don’t go, she’ll come out here and get you.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Marta says as she gets to her feet.

  Lark holds up a hand. “It’s all right. I can do it myself.” She adjusts her shirt and tries to tidy her hair.

  “You look fine,” Marta says to her.

  She takes a deep breath. “I got this,” she says.

  Emilio tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, you do.”

  Lark

  I step into the room and am actually comforted by the chirps and beeps that mean Mrs. Shepherd is alive. She’s tired and weak and her color hasn’t returned yet, but the doctor says she’s going to be all right.

  “I never did like that bitch,” she signs as I get closer to the bed.

  Relief washes over me. “I didn’t know you were allergic. I’m so sorry. I ruined your birthday. I almost killed you.”

  “You didn’t ruin it. Samantha did. Never did like that girl, not since she was little and she used to throw rocks at Mick because he could hear.”

  “She didn’t!”

  “She did. So I went to her mother and threatened to dispose of her body in a pretty vile way. The mother, not the kid, because the mother was in charge at that age—and we never had another problem out of her.”

  I laugh. I like Mrs. Shepherd, and I can see where Ryan gets his sense of humor. “I did hope he’d marry a deaf woman, though, I have to admit.”

  “He still might.” I wince.

  She laughs. “No, he won’t. He has that look in his eye. I knew he would meet someone and fall in love one day, and I knew it wouldn’t be with Samantha, but I never thought it would be with someone like you.”

  “I know I’m not what you wanted for him, but—”

  She waves her hands in the air to stop me from talking. “He’s a grown man. He’s a talented artist. He has a good job and a home of his own. He will always be my little boy, but he will one day be someone’s husband…” She stops to wipe away tears that have formed in her eyes. “And that’s a decision he has to make all on his own. If he picks you, I’ll support both of you one hundred percent.”

  “Even though I can hear?”

  “Oh, you’ll have your own special challenges. You will always be the one who has to answer the phone when there are voice calls. You will end up translating for him more than you think you will. And you will avoid situations where you think he won’t fit in. And he’ll avoid similar situations for you. You’ll change your life for him, and he’ll change his for you. For him, he’ll hate that he has to rely on you for some things, and it’ll cause a rift between you at times. But when you love someone, there are always things that get in the way of it, and hearing is only a small percentage of them.”

  I sit down in the chair next to her and settle in. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.”

  “I know. I can tell.” She smiles softly at me. “You have my blessing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, go get my boys in here so I can make them feel bad.”

  “Beg your pardon…?”

  “Didn’t you see the two of them at the party? Always messing around. When you go out there, tell them I look terrible, like I’m not going to make it. Tell them they should be really nice to me. Tell them that I deserve to be spoiled.” Her eyes twinkle at me.

  So I do just what she told me. They go back to see her together, and they come out twenty minutes later, both of them looking like kicked puppies. “She looks so bad,” Mick says.

  “She looked fine when I saw her,” Mr. Shepherd starts to say, but I press my finger to my lips and he begins to grin. “She’s probably really tired. You all should go home. I’m going to spend the night.”

  “You ready to go?” Ryan asks me.

  I nod. “Ready when you are.”

  Out of the blue, Mick asks Wren if she would like a ride home, and she very shyly accepts. Marta and Emilio take Peck and Star home, while Ryan and I take my car and driver.

  “What’s up with that?” Ryan asks.

  “What’s up with what?”

  “My brother and your sister.”

  “I have no idea.” I look up at Ryan. “He’ll be nice to her, right?”

  “Of course.”

  We get in the car and go to his house. “I’m too tired to build a blanket fort,” he says, scratching his belly as he pulls his shirt over his head.

  I pick up pillows from the couch and throw them on the floor. “What happens if I fall in the lava?” I ask as I teeter on one foot.

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Then I get to have my way with you.”

  I pretend to fall into the imaginary lava. “Oops.”

  He stalks toward me and tosses me over his shoulder. When we get to his room, he sets me down, pulls my shirt off quickly, and then he removes my pants and panties. He turns me around to unhook my bra in the back. Without stopping, he bends me over his bed. I hear the jingle of his belt coming undone, and then his pants fall to his ankles. He probes at my entrance with his cock.

  “Do we need a condom?” he asks.

  “Um, yeah,” I tell him. I’m not on birth control.

  He pulls back, goes to the bedside table, and puts on a condom. Then he takes the same spot behind my rear, his dick teasing me.

  I press back against him in invitation. He slides in slowly, filling me up, and he presses my shoulders toward the mattress. I lift my bottom so he can go deeper. “God, I love fucking you,” he says close to my ear.

  I’m facing away from him so we can’t talk much. I couldn’t talk if I wanted to after a declaration like that.

  He slides his hand between me and the mattress and finds my clit, and within a few lunges, he has me clutching at the sheets, with his greedy cock taking every inch of me with short, shallow thrusts, then long, slow pushes.

  I turn my head so I can kiss him, and when I come apart, he grunts against my lips and comes with me, pushing me into the mattress with a hand at the small of my back.

  I climb naked up the bed and slide under his covers, and he comes with me. I face him so we can talk, even though I want nothing more than to curl into him.

  “Did you mean that thing you said earlier today?” I ask.

  “What thing?” He grins at me, so I know he remembers.

  “The thing about loving me.”

  He runs his soft fingertips against my inner thigh. “Yes, I meant it.”

  “How do you know?” I wring my hands together.

  “Because I think about you all the time. I want to be with you all the time. I can’t breathe when I think about you sometimes, and I don’t know how to tell you how I feel.”

  “That’s pretty good.” I sniff back a tear.

  “I know you don’t love me back,” he says. “Not yet, anyway.
But I can wait for you.”

  I stop his hands from moving. “I do love you. Why do you think I kept your baseball cap? I was intrigued. Then I was enthralled. Then I was beholden when you learned about my scars and you didn’t care. Then I was in love with you.”

  “When did you know?”

  “When you kissed all the scars on my stomach, when we were on my couch. I knew then that you were special. And then when you put the kite tattoo on me, I knew that you knew me. And I knew I wanted to know you. I want to know everything.”

  “I asked your dad if I could marry you one day.”

  I jerk to attention. “What did he say?”

  “He said when I’m ready to formally ask, to bring him cigars.”

  I laugh. “That’s Emilio.”

  “Your family is pretty awesome.”

  “So is yours.” He pulls me forward to lie on his chest, and he turns the lights down low. I burrow into him, knowing that this is where I’m supposed to be.

  ***

  The next morning, I wake up to someone shaking my shoulder. I look up and find Ryan. “Wake up,” he says.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your parents are here.”

  “They are? Why?” I brush my hair out of my eyes.

  “Something happened. I’m so sorry.”

  My heart thudding, I jump out of bed and get dressed.

  I step into the living room and Marta and Emilio get to their feet. “Lark,” Emilio says. “Stay calm.”

  “Someone should probably tell me what’s happened,” I suggest.

  “You remember when I lost my phone yesterday?” Ryan says, wincing.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Apparently I didn’t lose it. Samantha stole it.”

  “And?”

  “And she sold your pictures to the news outlets.”

  “What pictures?”

  He winces. “The before and after pictures of your scars and the tattoos.”

  Emilio flips on the TV and finds a channel where the news is playing. “In entertainment news today,” the announcer begins.

  I fall onto the couch, my knees weak as I see my original scars and hear the story of how I got them, of my parents dying in the fire, and my suicide attempts.

  “People know,” I tell them.

  “What do you want to do about it?” Emilio asks.

  I square my shoulders. “Call a press conference,” I tell him.

  “Are you sure, mija?” Marta asks.

  “I’m positive.” I’ve never been more positive about anything in my life.

  “Okay,” she says softly.

  “I’ll get ready,” I say. And I go to shower, and then I go home and change my clothes and put on makeup. I put on a pretty outfit with short sleeves, and I show up at the press conference.

  The room goes silent when I walk in with my sisters, their husbands and boyfriends, and with the Reeds and their wives behind me. Ryan stands with his family, his mother included, and the fact that they are here, too, catches me right in the gut. They must have come straight from the hospital. Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them back. I have to keep it together.

  I step up to the podium.

  “I’ll take questions now,” I say softly.

  “Did you try to kill yourself, Ms. Vasquez?” someone asks.

  “When I was fifteen years old, yes, I did. I had lost my birth parents, and I felt like their deaths were my fault. I found it hard to get over the loss of them, and I’m still not over it. I still have periods of grief and sometimes the guilt overwhelms me. But I get through it.”

  “Do you take medication for your problems?” someone else asks.

  “To which problems are you referring?”

  “You mentioned depression and suicidal thoughts.”

  “Whether or not I take medication is not relevant—”

  “But it is,” the reporter shoots back. “America wants to know how you’re going to keep it together.”

  “Do you know why I’m here today?” I ask the crowd of reporters.

  Cameras click, cameramen adjust their lenses, and microphones are pushed closer.

  I clear my throat so I can talk past the lump in it. “I’m here today because I want our fans to know that depression is a disease. It’s not a lack of mental fortitude or an emotional weakness.” I tap my chest. “If I had a problem with my heart, I would be urged to see a cardiologist. If I had a problem with my knee, someone would suggest that I get an anti-inflammatory for it. If my lungs didn’t work, I would see a pulmonologist and find what medical route I could take to get better.”

  My voice gets louder because now I’m angry. “I’d like to know why it is that when someone is depressed, it becomes a problem about the person having a lack of character or a lack of fortitude or something to be embarrassed about. If someone seeks out medication for depression, that person grows stronger, because his or her illness is being treated. Depression is an illness, people. It’s not a lack of conviction and it’s not a lack of mental fortitude. It’s a disease. And it should be treated with just as much aggression as any other disease. So, yes, people who suffer from depression do often take medication.

  “But my prescription history is none of your business, and if I did take medication, it would be none of your business, just like high blood pressure pills and insulin would be none of your business. Your only question to me should be ‘Are you getting treatment, Ms. Vasquez?’ Yes, I am getting treatment. My days are no longer dark, because I sought treatment. I didn’t look at my illness as a lack of self-awareness, a lack of mental acuity, or a lack of conviction. I looked at it as what it was. It was a medical issue. I got treatment. I am better.”

  I clear my throat again. And the room is silent.

  “My family and friends probably didn’t understand why I would agree to stand here and take questions on such a delicate subject. Here’s why.” I point to the monitor. “If you there at home feel like you have nothing left to live for, if you don’t have one thing to look forward to or a reason to get out of bed, there are treatments available. There are doctors who can help. Don’t stay home and not seek help because it makes you feel weak to ask for help. Ask. For. Help. Treat your brain with as much sympathy as you would treat your heart, lungs, or any other organ in your body that needs medication. Because isn’t it the same thing? If parts of our bodies are sick, we make them better by seeing the right kind of doctor. Go. Do it. Get better.” I look at my family, and Ryan. “It does get better. I promise.”

  I hold up my arms. “I used to have ugly scars that I hid from the world. You’ve all seen them since they’ve now been plastered everywhere. They are still there, underneath the beautiful ink. What was once an ugly reminder of my darkest days are now full of color… full of hope, love, a future, and a past. Do not let depression define or control you.”

  I give out a phone number for a counseling hotline I know does good work. Then I thank everyone for attending.

  I walk off the stage and stop in front of Ryan. “How did I do?”

  “Will you marry me?” he asks, tilting his head.

  My heart bumps in my chest, but not with fear. “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Whenever you want.”

  He takes my hand and we walk out together amid all the camera pops and flashes. “I could hold your hand forever,” I tell him.

  “Count on it,” he replies.

  Ryan

  Three months later

  I cover my head as birdseed pelts us outside the church, trying to protect Lark from it as much as I can, but she just laughs and pushes toward the limo that’s waiting for us. The Reeds are having a blast throwing shit at us, and they’re laughing like hell. We accept congratulations from all of them. Her parents are standing by the limo door and she stops to hug them. Emilio pulls her close and whispers in her ear. She gets teary and blinks it back, and then Marta holds her close.

  I see my mom standing by the church doors, so I ask Lark i
f she can wait one second. I run over, pick my mom up, spin her around, and set her back down. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you more,” she says.

  “No. You can’t love me more. Not possible.”

  “Yes, it’s possible. My heart is older, so it’s bigger, which means it can hold more love. Sorry, kid, you won’t win this one.” She grins at me.

  This is a mock argument we’ve had ever since I was small. I’ll never win it, but I do know that my love for her is huge. And so is my love for Lark. My mom hasn’t ever once doubted my love for her or that it would lessen any when Lark came into my life. I hear horror stories from some of my friends who say that their moms hate their wives, but that’s not the case here. My mom loves Lark and they spend a lot of time together.

  She points to Lark and scolds me. “It’s rude for you to keep her waiting.”

  I give her a hearty kiss on the cheek and run back to my bride.

  Lark looks so beautiful. I thought my heart was going to stop when she started down the aisle. And she’s mine, from here forward. To have and to hold. In sickness and in health.

  We went this morning to the place where her parents are buried. I think it was important for her to talk to them, to tell them about me, about us and the wedding. She always thought her mom would fluff her veil on her wedding day, and she did. It just wasn’t the mom she was given by birth. Marta fluffed her veil and wiped her eyes and took care of her, all the way up until she gave her over to Emilio so he could give her to me.

  Lark spent about an hour at her parents’ graves, and then she was ready to go. She spent the morning with her sisters getting ready for the wedding.

  Star waddled down the aisle like a penguin, and I think Wren looked a little green at one point. Finny is Finny, and she just made inappropriate jokes about the size of my junk. Peck was quiet, but I get the feeling from her that she wouldn’t hesitate to chop my balls off if I did something to hurt Lark.

  They’re part of my family now and so is Lark. I take her hand in mine. Her hand is mine to hold forever.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I nod. “I’m fine.” Just feeling a little undeserving of all I’ve been given, is all. I brush a lock of hair back from her forehead. “I love you so much.”