Remission by Ofelia Martinez

Chapter 7

A Grilling

Iwas hesitant to leave my shift on Friday. Valentina had been nauseous all morning, and now she lay in bed, tired, panting, and weak. We couldn’t force anything into her body that she didn’t bring back up. I sat next to her, watching helplessly. We’d been battling her cancer for weeks—battling it aggressively—and I knew it would get worse before the tide turned. Even though I was a doctor and knew better, there was that tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me this was not a battle to be won.

“Valentina, we need to explore—”

She raised a hand to silence me. “No,” she said in a breathy voice that broke me.

“It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to stay on the trial. We can explore other options. Less aggressive treatment.”

Valentina grabbed my wrist, and I could tell from her body shaking that she was trying to squeeze my arm fiercely, but the grasp was so gentle, my eyes softened.

“Okay. You are strong. So strong. I’m going to trust that you know your limits.”

“I told you at the start, Doctor. I want to live. Put me through hell if you have to, but be as aggressive as you can. I can take it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’ve gone up against ruthless fighters, bigger, stronger, more experienced. Sometimes they’ve beaten my body to a pulp, but I’ve still found a way to rise and keep fighting. Trust me, this right here,” she swept her hand across her body as if it were on display, “this is nothing compared to some of the fights I’ve won. I’m a professional athlete—a fighter. This all you got, doc?”

I smiled at her confidence. This is what it took. Sometimes. Sometimes it took better doctors, but she already had the best. I didn’t mean me. She had Dr. Medina now. It was at that moment that I knew deep in my gut that Valentina Almonte would live. She had what it took, and so did her care team.

Before I clocked out, I finished noting in her chart and met Sara in the doctors’ lounge. The week had kicked my ass. Valentina’s case was only the tip of the iceberg. I had many other demanding patients and a group of new interns who didn’t know an esophagus from a rectum. I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep through my day off tomorrow. I was frowning when Sara spoke up.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You are not bailing tomorrow. I won’t let you break your dad’s heart.”

I groaned. “Fine. What time do I have to be there?”

“Six is good. And please do something about your face. I want pictures.”

“I’m not doing my makeup for a cookout.”

“Fine. But if you don’t do your own makeup, I’ll be doing it for you.”

Sometimes I couldn’t understand why I’d become best friends with such a bossy and intrusive woman. There was no way out of this, and I knew it. A voice we weren’t expecting startled us.

“Am I invited?” It was Dr. Medina. We heard him but couldn’t see him. Then, he sat up from where he had been lying down on the couch. He turned to face us.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a party in my presence. It would be rude not to invite me, don’t you think?”

“Uh—” I’d never seen Sara at a loss for words, and this was amusing.

“I’m not sure it would be your thing, doctor,” I said.

“Why not?”

“It’s very casual. My Dad is hosting it, and the guest list does not include many, um . . .”

“Doctors,” Sara finished for me, saving me from having to say, dude, you’d stick out like a sore thumb in the barrio.

“I don’t only socialize with doctors.” He looked from her to me. “And I don’t know any people in this city. It will be nice to have a conversation with someone other than my cat.”

I couldn’t help the snort that escaped me. “You have a cat?”

“Is that funny?”

Who the hell was I to judge? “No, Doctor. Of course not. We’ll see you at six.” I rattled off Dad’s address, and he asked for my phone number.

“In case I need help finding the place,” he said lamely.

After he left, Sara studied me with a massive grin on her face.

“What?”

“He asked for your phone number.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down, or tried to, anyway.

I shook my head at her.

“Your children will have the eyebrows of gods.”

“Shut up,” I said.

“I don’t think Ramiro will be very happy with you bringing home a date.”

“It’s not a—” but Sara had left the lounge with my soda in her hand before I could finish speaking.

Of course,I didn’t arrive at Dad’s at six. I knew that man, and he would be working all day to get ready for the cookout. I wasn’t even a little surprised when I showed up at ten in the morning, and Ramiro was already there helping.

I turned into the driveway, and the sight of his black pickup truck forced a sigh out of me. I loved Ramiro very much, but I’d never been in love with him. He was more like a brother to me, but he didn’t see me as his sister. Not yet.

Both Mom and Dad had told me that after I was born, they had somewhat jokingly agreed with Ramiro’s parents that I would marry their son one day. When we were little, and girls still had cooties, even Ramiro had recoiled at the idea. But as we grew up, his view changed, while mine remained the same.

When we were in high school, he told me he would wait for me forever, that I was his soul mate, but I knew deep down that I wasn’t. I told him not to wait. He’d dated women over the years, but he always swore, even before starting anything with someone else, that he was only waiting for me to get back to him.

Ramiro kept waiting even when I insisted there was nothing to wait for. First, he waited for me to finish college. Then, he waited for me to finish medical school. Now, he claimed to be waiting for me to finish my residency, so I would be less busy. I’d assured him things wouldn’t slow down after that. My career was not the reason I wasn’t with him.

I couldn’t deny part of the fault lay in me. I’d dated some, though no one seriously. Every man I’d ever given a chance to never went past a few dates. Either he hadn’t understood the demands of being a physician, or he was a fellow physician who had a schedule as busy as mine, and we never saw each other. Each relationship was doomed before it had a chance to take off. But even though I’d dated plenty, and I was no virgin, I never had the heart to tell Ramiro; I swore to myself that the minute I got serious with anyone, I would tell him. Of course, I used to be sure there was someone out there for me, but these days, I wasn’t so sure.

In middle school, I once tried to make true the future that seemed predestined. I caught Ramiro off-guard, and I kissed him. It could very well have been that kiss he held on to, even if I’d explained a million times that I’d been in a bad place when I’d done that. My mother had just died, and I’d honestly believed she wished for me to grow up and marry Ramiro one day. I knew now that she would much rather have seen me happy with someone else than unhappy with the boy she knew and had once chosen for me. I had long ago let go of that dream, but my poor papi still clung to it.

Dad was predictably in the kitchen, pouring spices and beer over trays of thinly sliced meat for the carne asada.

“Buenos días, Papi.” I kissed his cheek.

“Pero, what are you doing here? I told that güera you weren’t supposed to be here until six. She never listens.”

I laughed. “I wanted to help.”

His shoulders slackened in resignation. “Fine. Go help Ramiro outside.”

It was a herculean effort, but I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I loved spending time with Ramiro, but more and more, I avoided it. I needed them both to understand that Ramiro and I were never going to happen.

What Dad clung to, I believed, was his inability to let go of his roots. Every immigrant parent’s dream was for their child to become a doctor or a lawyer, but then I did. And he wasn’t careful with what he wished for. Now, he was having a hard time letting go of the fact that I would never be the homemaker, traditionalist, child-bearer he’d envisioned his daughter being. He couldn’t have it both ways, and the sooner he realized it, the better.

Because that is what it would be like. Ramiro wasn’t the type who would be okay with my sixteen-hour shifts and overnight on-call rotations. He was the kind of man who wanted a homebody who would have his favorite meal ready on the table every Friday when he got home from work, tired from a long week at the garage. That woman could not—would not—ever be me. Whomever that woman ended up being would be very lucky to have him, but she wouldn’t be me.

Ramiro balanced on a chair as he wrapped a string of twinkle lights around one branch of the tree in the backyard. He had earbuds in and didn’t hear when I called to him. He wore dark denim jeans and a black ribbed tank. He was tall and barrel-chested. A heartbreaker in every sense of the word. If only I could have loved him back.

He turned, and his eyes lit up at the sight of me.

“Caro!” He jogged over, picked me up in his arms, and swung me around. “Happy birthday, Corazón.”

“Put me down!” I smacked his giant shoulders. He was well built and hit the gym often.

“You weren’t supposed to be here until six. We aren’t ready.”

“I came to help dad. Ramiro, you really don’t need to be here helping him. That’s what I’m here for.”

His face fell for only one second before he shook it off. “You know better. You get treated like a queen on your birthday.”

“You two spoil me almost every day, not just my birthday. How can I help?”

“You can tie the tablecloths down, so they don’t blow away. That would be great.”

With the three of us, everything was ready by four in the afternoon, and all that was left was to fire up the grill when guests arrived. Ramiro left to get a bit of rest and change clothes. I went to my old room and took a quick shower.

I hadn’t thought to bring clothes, of course, so I had to settle for whatever old items I had in my closet. Luckily, one of my favorite deep green dresses was there. I wore this dress on very rare occasions, but I loved the square neckline that showed off my collarbones without too much cleavage. I had more than plenty in that department, so I didn’t need to be highlighting it more than necessary. The deep emerald looked beautiful on my dark, caramel-honey skin. It was also the perfect outfit for the hot, Kansan summer day.

Because it was so hot outside, I knew something was up when I laid eyes on Sara dressed in an outfit more suitable for fall. She walked in wearing a thin, long-sleeved blouse and didn’t remove her sunglasses even when she was indoors. Not this shit again. I was going to kill him. Oath or not, I was going to kill him. I took a deep breath before leading her upstairs to my room—I couldn’t take more control away from her.

Leading her to sit on my bed, I sat on the chair in front of her.

“Honey—” That’s all it took. One word, and she broke into a sob.

“I’m sorry, Caro. I don’t want to ruin your party, but I also couldn’t miss it. I promised your dad . . .” She trailed off into her sobs and wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

“Oh, sweetie.” I brushed her hair back. “You aren’t ruining anything. You know I hate these things anyway.” I smiled, and she laughed weakly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Sara squared her shoulders and took her shades off. She’d done an expert job with the makeup, covering the blue and green bruises I knew were under that thin layer of pigment, but I couldn’t be fooled because the swelling was clearly there. My fists clenched at my sides, and I couldn’t help but bite the inside of my lip.

“Don’t say it,” Sara said. “I know he is slime. I know. I’m leaving him, okay?”

I’d heard this before, and there was not a shred of conviction in her voice, just like the last time. I wanted to shake her so badly, but just like the last time, I restrained myself. Even though it broke my heart, I couldn’t help her out of this until she decided she was ready. So much power is taken from a domestic abuse victim, I couldn’t bear to force her into anything she didn’t want, even if it did everything short of killing me to hold my anger in check.

“When you’re ready, I’m here for you. We are here for you; Papi, Ramiro, Sofia, and me. We got you. You got it?”

“I know.”

“Why don’t you stay up here and sleep it off? I’ll tell Dad you’re sick and resting here, and later I’ll sneak you a plate of food.”

Sara smiled up at me as I stood. “Did you make the salsa?” she asked.

“Yes. I made the salsa.”

“The molcajete salsa—your mom’s recipe?”

“Yes, with the secret ingredient.”

“Bring extra?” she said as she curled into a ball under the blankets.

It was hard to get into the partying mood after that, but as tough as it was, we moved on. It was horrid to think it, but as often as that bastard Brian had beaten her up, Sofia and I had started getting used to it. And wasn’t that just the shittiest bit of it all? We were the only two who knew because we were the only people in the world she couldn’t hide her bruises from. We were too analytical.

Dad was happy, and we both knew this party was more for him. He’d invited all the neighbors—Ramiro’s parents weren’t present because they were vacationing in Florida—all of the mechanics from the garage, among whom were Ramiro’s best friends, and Sara, but I kept her tucked away in her tower—my room.

The music came to a stop at six-thirty when we thought everyone had arrived. Dad said a few words, in Spanglish, of course.

“I want to thank you all for being here today to celebrate my hijita. It is a special day for me. She turns twenty-six today, and I’m the proudest dad in the world.” As he spoke, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Medina enter our backyard. He carried a box wrapped in navy blue paper, finished with an orange bow. I smiled at him, and he waved back before placing the box carefully on the gift table.

Dad continued, and I returned my attention to him. “Mija, you are smart, strong, and beautiful. I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve a daughter like you, but I’m glad I did it.”

“Don Gustavo.” Ramiro jumped in, beer in his hand. “Mind if I say a few words too?”

I panicked. Oh, god, no. Please, Papi, don’t let him.

“Of course, mijo.”

“Thank you,” Ramiro started, and I sank into my chair. “I would like to propose a toast to Caro. Todo el barrio loves you. You treat patients for free at their homes when you can, and you are always helping your dad. You come from a hard worker, and I know you are a hard worker too. It’s been a privilege to grow up with you, and I can’t wait to start the next chapter of our lives. To Caro!” He raised his beer, and glass bottles clinked all around me.

Ramiro walked to the spot where I sat on my chair and offered me a hand. I grabbed it, smiling tightly, and stood to hug him. He went for a kiss, but I gave him my cheek instead of my lips. As I turned my head, I saw Hector still standing by the gifts, his eyes shadowed completely by his strong brow—his face unreadable.

I grabbed my drink before walking over to him.

“Dr. Medina. Hello.”

“You look surprised I showed.”

“To be honest, I am a little bit. I’m glad you came, though. You will be a novelty here tonight.”

“I doubt that. They have you.”

“I don’t mean because you are a doctor.” I laughed. “These people here, my people, are working-class people. The offspring of migrant workers, for the most part. I don’t think you’ll find many fancy Mexicans here tonight besides yourself.”

“I’m a fancy Mexican?” he asked. At first, I thought he was joking but stifled my laugh when I sensed his earnestness.

I eyed him up and down, hand on my hip. “Yes. Definitely a fancy Mexican.”

He stiffened when I laced my arm in his and led him to the opposite corner of the yard where Dad was grilling and talking to my uncle. I didn’t miss when Hector used his free hand to straighten his tie.

“Papi!” I said. “I want you to meet someone.”

Dad said a few more words I couldn’t make out to my uncle and then handed him the apron and tongs. He came around the food table next to the grill. He smiled at me, but his lips thinned, seeing my arm was still linked with this strange man’s.

“Papi, this is Dr. Hector Medina. My new boss.”

Dad leaned back a bit and narrowed his eyes, studying him. Finally, after what seemed like years, he reached out his hand to shake Hector’s, making him realize he had to let go of my hand.

“It’s a pleasure,” Dad said.

“Likewise. Thank you for inviting me to your home.” I covered up my snort with a pretend cough. Invited? This fool invited himself.

Dad wanted to interrogate him further, but he heeded my glare. This was my boss after all, and I owed him respect. He couldn’t treat him like any other man I might bring home—not that I had brought anyone home for him to meet anyway.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked Dr. Medina, trying to break the awkwardness.

“Water would be great.”

“Let’s go into the kitchen, and I’ll get you some ice.”

He followed me back into my childhood home, and I suddenly felt very nervous about him seeing where I grew up.

“This is a nice house,” he said, and I couldn’t tell whether or not he was mocking me.

“I was happy growing up here.”

Once the glass of water was in his hand, I suggested going outside for a plate of dinner, but he shook his head. “How about a tour instead?”

I almost choked on my beer. “A tour?”

“Yes. I’d love to see the rest of the house that was so happy for you growing up.”

I cocked my head, unsure if I should give some excuse as to why that was a bad idea. I envisioned his childhood home in Mexico—probably a mansion—and I recoiled at the thought of showing him around. I couldn’t come up with anything, so I led the way.

The living room was cozy, and I was glad I’d come early to help dust and tidy up a bit. I knew Dad abhorred dusting or any other household tasks besides cooking.

A row of picture frames lined the fireplace mantel. Dr. Medina’s eyes zeroed in on them, and he walked over.

He picked one of me at the pool when I was six. “This is you?”

I nodded. “I’m an only child.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Excuse me?” I asked with mock-offense. “It’s my birthday. I will not be put down on my birthday.”

“My apologies, Dr. Ramirez. I meant nothing by it.”

So, we were back to Dr. Ramirez. Okay. That was fine. “None taken, Dr. Medina,” I said pointedly.

Next, he picked up a photo from my quinceañera, my coming-of-age party, when I turned fifteen. I winced, and my pride couldn’t take it. I nearly snatched the photo from his hands, but it was too late. There I was, standing next to Dad, in the monster of a dress engulfing me in pink tulle.

Under different circumstances, I would have died before having the classical Mexican coming-of-age party. I would have opted for hell before agreeing to wear the Pepto-Bismol pink monstrosity, but as it was, I couldn’t find it in my heart to say no to Dad.

“That’s, um, a pretty dress—” my boss started to say. He tried to hold back a chortle but failed, and I couldn’t help but smack his arm playfully.

“I did it for my father, okay?”

“No, really, really,” he said between the laughter, “you were a very pretty cotton-candy.”

“Where is your mother in the photo?”

And just like that, all the laughter went out of me. He sensed the clouds behind my eyes and started to apologize.

“It’s okay,” I said. I brought a hand up in a friendly gesture. “She had been gone a while by the time I turned fifteen. It’s been my Dad and me ever since.”

“I’m sorry, Carolina. That must have been very hard.”

We were back to Carolina, and I offered him a weak smile. “It was, though it would have been much worse if my father had been anyone other than the one I got. He really is amazing.”

“He must be,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“To have a daughter like you, he must be pretty amazing.”

“Well, that’s it. The house, as you can see, is pretty small. Not much else to see.”

“Isn’t there an upstairs?”

“Yes, but—” and just like that, he was off toward the stairwell.

I’d forgotten Sara was resting in my room but exhaled when I opened the door and she was gone. The sneaky little twat—she’d get it later. Instead, I found myself in my childhood bedroom with a very tall, very handsome man who was also my boss, barely fitting in the tiny space.

I froze when I realized what he was staring at on the wall next to my bed. It could only be one of three things. He was likely not a fan of Jane Eyre, so it wasn’t that poster. He would certainly get points for being an Industrial November fan, so it could be the enlarged Metal Red Day album cover thatdrew him to the wall. Even if that were the case, that’s not what he was staring at now. Sandwiched between the two was the first page of the abstract to his first published paper in a journal of medicine.

I forced my legs to move next to him. His mouth was parted slightly, and he swallowed. He was trying and failing to speak, and I couldn’t find what to say in my defense.

If the earth could have swallowed me whole in that moment, I would have dived in head-first.

“Okay, please don’t freak out. It really is not what it looks like.”

He nodded but said nothing as he stared at his name printed on the page so carefully taped to my wall.

“Dr. Medina, I’m sure this must seem really inappropriate, but I swear, I’m not some stalker or anything like that.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve known I wanted to do cancer research since I was ten. I was in high school when I first heard of your work, and at the time, I had no idea you would one day be my boss. I never thought I’d meet you.”

The silence stretched as I allowed him a moment to answer, but he seemed incapable, so I, unfortunately, continued with the verbal diarrhea.

“I’m not in this room much, or I would have taken it down now that I know you.” Everything I said after that sounded weak even to my own ears.

“It’s okay, not a big deal,” he said, finally putting me out of my misery. “Why don’t we go back out, join the party? They must be missing you.”

Once back outside, Ramiro’s gaze latched on to us. I ignored it and introduced Dr. Medina to the neighbors. Merengue blared from a sound system that hadn’t been in the yard before. Hector grabbed my hand. “May I have this dance?”

I laughed so hard, Hector frowned. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just, I have two left feet. I don’t dance. And this song,” I kept talking between fits of laughter as I listened to Esa Muchacha by Los Hermanos Rosario, “is about a girl who can dance really well.”

“Everyone can dance—”

“Mija, can you do me a favor?” my neighbor Mrs. Garcia called out to me.

“Sure, señora.”

I shrugged at Hector but was glad to be called away. It warmed me to my core when he took off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves, so he could pass a soccer ball around with the two Garcia boys from next door. I sat with the boys’ grandmother.

“I had a little accident in the kitchen. You mind taking a look?” She brought up an arm to display a burn on her inner forearm.

“Hay, Mamá!” Francisca, her daughter, and the mother of the boys now playing soccer with Dr. Medina, said. “I told you, she is not that kind of doctor anymore.” She turned to me. “Sorry, Caro. I wanted to take her to the doctor, but she refused.”

“Don’t talk for me like I’m a child,” Mrs. Garcia said as she glared at her with a fire I wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of. “Why would I go to a doctor,” she continued, “when I know it’s so minor and that Carolina would be happy to look at it?”

“I’m so sorry, Carolina,” said Francisca, completely flustered.

“Don’t worry, Francisca, I’m happy to help. Let me go inside and wash my hands. I’ll be right back to take a look.”

The burn was barely an inch in length, and only superficial.

“The good news is, you don’t have to go to the doctor,” I said to her with a smile.

“And the bad news?” Mrs. Garcia said, her brows furrowed.

I laughed. “No bad news. You just need to keep it clean and covered until it heals. If it’s nice and pink, it’s good. Once it scabs, it’s good. But if it turns any other funny color, or gets any type of smell, we’ll have to take a look at it again.”

Mrs. Garcia stuck her tongue out at her daughter, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “See?” she said. “I told you it would be nothing.”

“Ramiro!” I called for my friend. “Do you mind grabbing my first aid kit from the upstairs bathroom? I also need a notepad and a pen.”

He nodded and ran inside. I followed, leading Mrs. Garcia into the kitchen, where I washed her forearm with soap and water. Ramiro came back with the supplies, and I applied antibacterial ointment to her burn and bandaged it. I wrote down the name of a cream to use to treat it on a piece of paper and took it outside.

Ramiro and I walked Mrs. Garcia back to her chair. She wasn’t too old or frail yet, but we knew she’d been dipping into the beers as usual. We sat her down, and I handed Francisca the piece of paper.

“It’s really no trouble,” I reassured her. “I’m always happy to help your mom. She feeds me when Dad is busy working.”

It had been true once, though not so much since I’d moved out to my own apartment. But I still had a lot of love for the woman next door who had kept an eye out for us after Mom died. Like many at the party, she was more family than neighbor.

Not much longer after fixing up her mom, Francisca caught my attention as she chatted it up with Dr. Medina. And no, I was not jealous. Not one little bit. I loved Francisca almost as much as I loved her mom. Francisca was a single mom, sure, but she was a super-hot single mom. Not that I was jealous.

And because I wasn’t jealous, I walked up to them to see what they were chatting about.

“It was great to see you,” Dr. Medina said, “but I have to get going. Happy birthday.” He said his goodbyes to Francisca then found Dad to do the same before parting.

“He is very handsome,” Francisca said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Sure. If that’s your type,” I said dismissively.

“What? The tall, dark, and handsome type? Or is it the hot doctor type? Or the sexy Spanish accent type?”

I said nothing.

“So, you are not into him?”

“No! He is my boss.” I was getting tired of having to tell everybody that.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I gave him my number?”

My head snapped to her so quickly, she threw her head back with laughter and walked back to her mom, who was seated alone and happily kept company by a nice cold one.

Dad wentto bed shortly after the last guests left at one in the morning, with promises he would pick up tomorrow. I remained to, at the very least, throw out the leftover food.

Grabbing my last beer of the night, I laid down on the hammock under the tree, looking up at the lights Ramiro had hung. The smell of the citronella candles had diminished now but was still detected by my strong sense of smell.

It had been a good night, as much as I had fought it. I liked seeing my dad so happy; he was in his element cooking for his friends. It still hurt that Sara couldn’t be a part of it, but Dr. Medina showing up when I hadn’t imagined he would made up for any shortfalls of the evening.

It was in this reverie that I found myself when the sound of a chair being dragged across the grass, and landing next to me, distracted me. I turned to meet Ramiro’s handsome face.

He clinked my beer with his.

“Salud,” he said.

“Salud.”

“Was it a good birthday?”

“Yeah. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

I shrugged. “Just some drama with Sara. I’ll talk with her about it tomorrow—err . . . today, I guess.”

“I noticed she wasn’t here. Was surprised.”

Shrugging again, I took another swig of beer and placed my hand behind my head, looking up at the sky. I was definitely downplaying what had happened with Sara, but I wasn’t sure how much she would want Ramiro to know.

“I was also surprised,” Ramiro said, “that you brought someone else from work. That was a first.” I glanced at him. We both knew what he was dancing around.

“You know Sara and her big mouth. She mentioned the party, and he heard. It was rude of her not to invite him, so she did. Trust me, I was just as surprised when he actually showed.”

A small noise that sounded almost like an “uhuh,” escaped him.

“You like him?” he asked.

“No,” I said automatically. This was starting to sound rehearsed, it was asked so often.

“I saw the way you looked at him.”

I sighed. “I looked at him the way you would look at David Beckham. He was my hero when I first started thinking about medicine. Now, I’m over the moon he will be my mentor.” I didn’t even notice when my tone turned. “And, quite frankly, I’m sick and tired of everyone assuming I’m in love with him or something. Maybe I’m in love with his work, but I want mentorship. That’s all. If he were a woman, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

“Okay, okay. I give,” he said with a gesture of surrender.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’ve just been getting a lot of that recently.”

“I bet,” he said.

I sat up on the hammock and dangled my legs off to the side so I could face him. I kicked off my sandals, and he tried to grab my foot and place it on his lap, but I bounced it back toward the ground.

“Ramiro—” I said before he cut me off.

“You know, if he had been a woman, and you were in love with her, I might’ve been into that,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. This was the problem. We knew each other too well. It muddied the waters, and it had to come to an end.

I kicked him playfully, and we both laughed. “Ramiro, we need to talk—”

“Not this again, corazón. Please. Not tonight.”

“It’s never a good time. You never let me talk because you know me so well, you know exactly what I’m going to say.”

His gaze dropped to the ground, and he buried the beer bottle in the grass. “On your birthday. That’s when you want to do this?”

“It’s one in the morning. It’s not my birthday anymore.”

Ramiro gulped a big breath and motioned with his hands for me to lay it on him.

“Ramiro, you need to move on. I’ve never seen you as anything other than my brother. What do I have to do for you to believe that will never change?”

“It’s because of him—”

“No. It’s not because of anyone. This might hurt for you to hear, but I may never end up with anyone. I’m not someone who needs a relationship. I’m not saying it will never happen, but even if it does, there is one thing I am sure of. It will never be with you.”

Because I loved him so much, the look of pain on his face crushed me. He winced as though I had stabbed him in the gut, but he wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t be. He’d known how I felt all along, but he wanted to pretend. I couldn’t let this go on any longer. I wouldn’t let a disease spread because the treatment might cause temporary pain, but somehow, I’d let it go unchecked in Ramiro.

“I want nothing more than for you to be happy,” I continued. “You need to stop distracting yourself with women who aren’t worthy of your love and find someone who is. You need someone who wants to care for you the way I know you will care for the woman you end up with. I wish—I wish with all my heart that woman could be me. It would make things so much easier—for both of us. And I do love you. More than you know, but I love you like a brother. It will kill me if what I’m saying takes you out of my life.”

He didn’t say anything as he let my words sink in. Instead, he stood and offered a hand as he had done earlier in the evening. I stood, and we were about an inch apart. He looked into my eyes, finding the same truth there that had come out of my mouth. He kissed my forehead, and I brought up my hand to his cheek so I could look at him again.

He was too manly to cry, but the glistening glare hurt as much as if he had shed tears.

“You will find someone, Carolina. You are too spectacular not to have a million men fall at your feet.”

“Ramiro—”

“Maybe years from now I won’t feel this way, but right now, the very thought of the man you choose in the end, well, I think it will kill me to watch. Though I have a feeling I just met him tonight.”

“Don’t do this, Ramiro. Please. We are family.”

He shook his head. “No. I mean, yes. I will stay away. For a little while. Please do me a favor, huh?”

“Anything,” I said, and I meant it.

“Don’t reach out until I do? I’ll be in withdrawals from you, and you know my ego can’t take you seeing me as anything other than the virile man that I am.”

We both laughed, but it was forced, and I punched him playfully.

“You’ll come back to us?” I asked.

“You are my family, first and foremost,” he said, reassuring me.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”