UnConventional

by Chie Alemán

  The doctor is tall and thin, like a marathon runner. The shadow of dark stubble colors his chin and neck, and he looks exhausted, but he offers his hand, which I shake quickly so I don’t have to leave Santiago’s long.

  His handshake is firm. “Mrs. Durán?” My stomach clenches to hear it.

  I nod, force a shade of a smile.

  He leans back on his heels, glances over at Santiago briefly, inhales. “The good news is the preliminary blood tests show his kidneys should be okay; it looks like you got him here early enough.” He exhales slowly. “The bad news is we’re not sure yet how much muscle damage he may have experienced and how that’ll affect his ambulation. But I do want to admit him overnight so we can continue to regulate his electrolytes and monitor his renal function. If he does okay, he should be able to go home tomorrow.”

  I grip Santiago’s hand tightly. “Will he wake up soon?”

  The doctor nods. “As his body stabilizes, yes. We’ll get him upstairs.” He pats me on the arm. “He’ll be okay.” And offers a faint smile before he’s through the curtain, probably on to his next patient.

  * * * *

  I wait until we’re upstairs, Santiago settled in bed, IV’d up and connected to monitors for his blood pressure, heart, and more. I don’t honestly know. I’ve brought his wheelchair up with me, and even though there are seats in the double room, the beds divided by a curtain, I sit in it, pulling my legs up in lotus position. It feels strange and yet oddly comforting, almost as if he’s hugging me. He still hasn’t woken, but I’m not worried because the doctor said he’d be okay. That’s the important part.

  I reach into the pouch suspended between the bars to the footrest and find his cell phone. I hit the Home button, grateful he doesn’t have a pass-code lock like I do, and unlock it, navigating immediately to his contacts. I scroll quickly to the “D’s” before I realize Genie is married and probably has a different last name. So I find the search option and type Genie as rapidly as I can.

  The search yields a few names, but not her. He must have her listed under her real name. What was it? Something vowely. I try to think. Genie, Genia. Ah, Eugenia. I start to type it, and she pops up, with three numbers. Home, Cell, Other. I take a deep breath and hit Cell; it immediately starts dialing, so I place the phone to my ear.

  I watch Santiago sleeping. His color has returned a little, which is relieving. The phone rings several times, then I hear it answer. Before I can say anything, Genie’s speaking a mile a minute, assuming, of course, that I’m her brother.

  “You ready to tell me what happened yesterday? I talked to Mamí, but of course all she complained about was how rude it was of us to leave early. And Amélia is refusing to take my calls. Are you okay?”

  “Genie…”

  “Huh? Who is this?”

  I smooth Santiago’s arm with my thumb, holding the phone in my other hand. “Di. We met the other day.”

  The line’s silent as everything sinks in.

  “OhmyGod,” Genie says, slurring the phrase so it comes out as one word. “Is Diego okay?”

  I’ve managed not to cry, not a single tear, since we left the apartment, but now, listening to Genie’s panicked voice on the line, I can’t hold them back anymore. Tears definitely come through in my voice when I speak again. “No. We’re at St. Luke’s in the Medical Center. They want to keep him overnight.”

  I hear a sound I can’t distinguish. A choked sob? A strangled gasp? “Thank you for calling me. I’ll leave now.” I hear her scrambling, grabbing her purse, throwing things into it, searching for her car keys. “At this hour, it may take me forty-five minutes at least to get there, but I’ll hurry.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s asleep, and I’m not leaving him.”

  Genie hangs up, and the silence suddenly overwhelms me. The monitoring machine is on mute, and the other bed is empty, so the only sound is the faint whisper of his breathing and my own. I can’t stand it, so I fish my earbuds out of my bag, planning to listen to my music, when I realize I still have Santiago’s phone in my hand. I scroll to his MP3 player and browse through his selection. Not bad, I think, plugging in my headphones and slipping them on. I flip to his recently added playlist and see it’s filled with punk—and not just any punk, but the songs from the CD I gave him. Setting the list to play at random, I turn the volume up as loud as it’s safe and listen as Hoobastank’s “The Reason” surges into my ears. Closing my eyes, gripping Santiago’s hand with one of mine and his phone with the other, I wait for Genie, fighting tears and guilt.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I’m not sure how long it’s been since we arrived in the ER, since we came upstairs, since I spoke to Genie. Once more, time has transformed into this strange, unfamiliar being. Even though the doctor downstairs assured me Santiago would be okay, not long after I hung up with Genie his heart rate became irregular, so they pumped him full of even more fluids and meds to try to stabilize his body without having to do dialysis. So I’ve been sitting here, holding his hand, staring at the heart monitor, terrified, refusing to read anything else on the Internet, afraid of what I’ll find.

  My phone buzzes suddenly in my pocket, making me jump and barely suppress a scream, I’m so on edge. I manage to take a few deep, steadying breaths and pull it out. Glancing at the time, it seems late for a call; I doubt it’s Stephen, and Genie doesn’t have my number. One voice mail, the text informs me.

  I never heard it ring, but the past few hours I’ve been a little preoccupied. I sigh, glancing over at Santiago, whose chest rises and falls gently with each breath.

  “I’m calling with the results of your amniocentesis,” the voice says as I listen to the message, relieved they actually did leave a message instead of asking me to call back during business hours. I hold my breath. “The baby is male, with no evident chromosomal or genetic abnormalities. And the DNA test shows Mr. Durán is the father. If you have any questions about your results—” I drop the phone before I can hear the rest of the message.

  My eyes fill; my chest feels like a wrecking ball just crashed into it, my stomach, like it’s being tied into an intricate knot for a merit badge. I can hardly breathe as tears overflow. Stephen hasn’t tried to call or text me, Genie still hasn’t arrived, and Santiago sleeps on. I sob into my hands, feeling loneliness crash down onto me, all the strength I’ve tried to maintain this entire evening seeping out of me as if I were a bucket pierced with dozens of pinprick holes.

  * * * *

  I’m not crying, though my face is puffy, my cheeks still damp, laying my head on the bed beside him, gripping his hand. He seems stable, but he hasn’t woken, and I’m trying desperately not to worry. The vague feeling of hunger washes over me, but I ignore it. I said I wouldn’t leave him, and I mean it. I’m trying to keep it together, because I know Genie will be here any minute, but when Matchbook Romance’s “Promise” starts up, I lose it again. I squeeze his hand and allow myself to cry, my shoulders shaking.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumble through my tears, even though I know he can’t hear me, guilt gripping my throat. I want to say more, but my words are trapped inside me, and all I can manage is a sob.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up. Genie. She’s still beautiful, but her face is lined with worry, and she looks closer to her true age than she did that day I met her at Santiago’s. Her hair is pulled back into a makeshift ponytail, strands too short to stay tied falling out around her face. I pull the headphones out of my ears, shove everything off my lap, and stand up to greet her.

  She envelops me in a tight hug, as if we were sisters instead of mere acquaintances. We cry together, clinging to each other, as she mumbles thank-yous into my hair. I feel like a child in her arms, she’s so tall, and her perfume smells pleasant, like potpourri, comforting and floral without being overbearing.

  She finally pulls away, holding on to my forearms, almost as if we were twirling each other around and need the supportive grip to keep us upright. We’ve both managed to
stop crying, and she’s forced a smile, but her cheeks are wet.

  “I spoke to his doctor,” Genie says. “Diego’s latest blood tests show he’s stabilizing, and it doesn’t look like he’ll need dialysis this time.” This time? I think back to what Santiago said when we checked in, his mention of kidney failure, and even though Genie’s words are reassuring, my stomach tangles on itself.

  She pulls away from me gracefully, almost as if she were performing a dance, crossing to his bedside. She pets his cheek, kisses him lightly. Mutters something in quiet, rapid Spanish—far too fast for me to decipher any of it. She kisses him again, then turns back to me.

  “Thank you. He’ll be okay because of you. Thank you.”

  It’s too much; fresh tears seep out of my eyes, and I hold my stomach and blubber like an idiot. I hate myself for breaking down—again, and in front of Genie—but she embraces me, muttering assurances.

  “He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Both of you. All of you.”

  I don’t pull away, but I mumble, “What?”

  “I know you’re pregnant; Diego told me yesterday.”

  I step back, forgetting about Santiago’s chair and almost falling into it. Normally, I’d be furious that something I’d kept secret even from my husband until today is apparently common knowledge, but after that voice mail, I’m grateful. I don’t have to be alone; Genie can be the big sister I never had, the mother I no longer have.

  “He did?”

  She nods. “Don’t be angry. No one else knows. He insisted we keep it quiet because you weren’t sure if the baby was his.”

  I feel sick. Faint. “So you know I’m married.”

  She nods again.

  I cradle my stomach, glance over at Santiago. “I’m not… I mean, this isn’t…” I struggle to explain myself. I know I look like a user and a whore, but that’s not who I am. I promise. But I can’t manage to say that, my shoulders shaking.

  Genie suddenly squeezes me, a tight, reassuring hug. “It’s okay. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care about him, and I know how he feels about you.”

  I’m shocked by how accepting she’s being. Not that I’m an expert on sibling relationships, but I would have expected Genie, being so protective of her little brother, to judge me more hostilely. I cradle my neck with one hand, my other supporting my elbow, draped across my stomach. I breathe in and out a few times. Blink.

  “Genie… I just…I just found out…” I swallow. “It’s Santiago’s.”

  Genie smiles, but it’s a nervous, cautious smile, as her eyes dart to Santiago. “It might be better to wait to tell him.”

  I nod, not sure if I’m ready to share the news just yet anyway. Today has been too much to process as it is. “Can I… I mean, is it okay with you if I stay with him? Because I can go, if you’d prefer.” I’m blubbering.

  Genie places a firm hand on my arm; she’s awfully touchy-feely. Is it just due to the situation, or is she always like this? “Of course you should stay. If you can. If you want. It would mean a lot to Dieguito if you were here when he woke up.”

  “Is this what happened three years ago? Why he stopped being a lawyer?”

  Genie hesitates a moment, then nods. She has her back to me, stroking Santiago’s hair. “He was pushing himself too hard. Our parents—our father—put a lot of pressure on him, especially since Papí’s one of the founders of the firm. Diego’d just made partner.” Genie pauses, her breath hitches, but she’s still otherwise. “I thought things would get better. But he ended up working even more. That last year, I think he billed over 3000 hours.” Her shoulders shake, as if she were crying, but her voice is calm when she continues. “He wasn’t taking care of himself. Barely sleeping. He’d been feeling sick, but he ignored it.” She turns to face me. Her expression is a blend of intense sadness mixed with shock and fear. “I’m so glad I went to check on him. I found him passed out on the floor of his bathroom, barely breathing, his heart racing…” Genie’s strong demeanor starts to shatter, her voice barely audible. “We almost lost him. We almost lost him, and all Papí cared about was the stupid case Diego’d been working on.” Genie has her arms wrapped around herself, crying now. “When you called me…I was so scared…”

  I embrace her, not knowing what to say, not sure if anything needs to be said.

  Genie hugs me tighter. “He spent weeks in the hospital because his kidneys had shut down. Neither of us talked to our parents for months after that. I still barely speak to our father. I don’t know if—until yesterday—Dieguito’s said more than a couple words to him in years.”

  Fuck. I realize now how much I must mean to Santiago, that he’d subject himself willingly to his parents—to his father—because of me. And our baby.

  I close my eyes momentarily, feeling weak-kneed, even worse than I did already, guilt and shame pumping through my veins as if they were a component of my blood.

  Wait. Does Genie know what happened? If she did, how did she not see this coming? I’m suddenly angry. I push her away.

  “Where were you today? Why didn’t you make him go to the doctor if you knew what could happen?”

  Genie’s face transforms into saddened confusion. “What?”

  “You don’t…know? Weren’t you there?”

  Genie shakes her head. “My husband got an emergency page. We had to leave dinner early.” Her brow furrows deeply. “What did Papí do?” She glances back at Santiago. “What didn’t he tell me?”

  I sink into Santiago’s chair, feeling faint, exhausted, drained. I explain what Santiago rambled off to me in the car, about falling because he didn’t have his crutches. Genie breaks; she has to grab the bed to keep from sinking to her knees, so I reach out to try to support her.

  “He told me he took the day off work because he was tired.” Genie shakes her head, starts pacing. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left him. I should have gone to check on him.”

  I push myself up, cross to Genie, put my arms on her, steadying her, our roles reversed. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s your parents.” I take a buoying breath. I’ve never been more grateful for Stephen’s selfishness than I am right now. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have been with Santiago when he needed me. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

  Genie nods, sucks in a breath, wipes her eyes with the side of her hand gracefully, like every action she does. “He left the firm because of our father, because he wasn’t happy there. Realized there was more to life than seventeen-hour days. Started taking better care of himself.” She sniffles. “He loves you, you know,” she says, looking intensely into my eyes. Although hers are darker, differently shaped, I see a hint of that soft, warm compassion I so often find in Santiago’s.

  “I know,” I say, nodding. “I know.”

  * * * *

  Once Genie realizes I haven’t eaten anything in hours, she immediately departs on a quest for caffeine and any kind of nourishment she can acquire at this time of night. I’ve pushed Santiago’s chair as close to the bed as I can, sitting in it, legs pulled up and folded. I’m still listening to my music—Sum 41’s “With Me” right now, feeling as if it’s speaking to me, holding Santiago’s hand, smoothing my fingers over his skin.

  “I…love you,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “I don’t know why I couldn’t tell you before. I just want to see you smile at me again. Please. I love you.”

  I pull his hand closer, kissing it lightly, unable to stop a stray tear from falling. I won’t let go. His fingers twitch, and my heart soars along with the song, hopeful. He’s opening his eyes, slowly, blinking several times. He seems groggy. I hurriedly shut off my music, rip the earbuds from my ear, and stand up so we can see each other better.

  “Hey,” I say, smiling, biting my lip to keep from crying. Strong. It’s so hard. Though his eyes are glazed, tired, it feels good to look into them again, an indescribable, unprecedented feeling of joy and relief powerful enough I want to weep.

  “You’re her
e,” he says with a faint smile, his voice dry and scratchy.

  I’m clenching my teeth to keep the tears at bay. “Of course I am,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Genie is too. She should be back soon.”

  He swallows. Then he turns his head more toward me and frowns. Not that I have a mirror, but I’ve done enough crying tonight that my face must show it. “I’m sorry,” he says finally.

  I shake my head. “You’re okay. That’s what matters.”

  His eyes have cleared; he still seems weary, but he’s more awake, and he’s looking at me with warmth and…love. He swallows again. I wonder if he’s thirsty? If it’d be okay for him to drink some water?

  I pull his hand up and kiss it again, cradling it against my face. I feel my resolve crumbling, so I suck in a breath, lower his hand. I fish a bottle of water out of my bag. “Here. Drink some of this.”

  He takes a few tentative sips, holding the water in his mouth before swallowing and smiling. I recap the bottle, set it aside, then lean forward and kiss his cheek, nuzzling him.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again, his breath hot against my skin.

  When I pull back, we both just stare at each other for a few minutes. His gaze lands on the medal on my chest; I couldn’t bear to tuck it away. A moment of confusion, quickly swept away by relief, passes over his face. I shake my head with a faint smile.

  “I’m sorry too.” I hold his cheek with one hand. “They said you should be okay. You might go home tomorrow.”

  Santiago smiles, closes his eyes, then opens them again slowly. I can see how exhausted he must be.

  I shift, lay a hand on his forehead, absently working my fingers through his hair. He shuts his eyes again, enjoying my touch. I realize, in this moment—despite the circumstances—I’m actually…happy. Content. It’s such a foreign feeling.

  “I’m staying with you,” I say, initially meaning here, by his bedside, since they’re keeping him overnight, but once the words have left my mouth, I realize I mean so much more than just for tonight. I know—now that I came so perilously close to losing him, in more ways than one—I never want to leave Santiago again.