Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around

by Pagán, Camille

  She smiled. “Then try again.”

  A nurse had just appeared in the doorway. “Visiting hours are almost over. We’re going to run some tests, so I’ll have to ask you to wrap this up.”

  My face crumpled as I met Milagros’ eyes. “I can’t believe we have to say goodbye tomorrow. This wasn’t how this trip was supposed to go.”

  “Even so, how good it was to spend time together,” she said, patting my hand. “To see your wonderful daughters and spend time with the four of you, and for you to get to know my Hector. Things worked out just like they were supposed to.”

  I kissed her cheek. “I meant what I said when I thought you were dead,” I said, and she laughed. “I love you. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

  “No, thank you. The doctor said I would have died if I’d stayed on the island. If you hadn’t been in Vieques and made me come to Fajardo . . . Well, it’s a good thing you were there.”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling at her. “I guess it was.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The girls were lounging on the bed when Shiloh and I returned to the hotel. I didn’t even tell them to put their phones down; I just jumped between them, scooped them into my arms, and kissed their faces over and over until they squirmed away from me.

  “My babies!” I said. “I can’t tell you how hard it was to be away from you. Are you both okay?”

  “Mom, we’re fine,” said Charlotte. “We have food. Electricity. Insulin,” she said pointedly. “What else could we possibly want?”

  “Well, your mother, for starters,” I joked. “But I’m glad to hear that gratitude. How are you feeling? How’s your blood sugar? I really think it’s time we talk to your endocrinologist about a continuous glucose monitor and an insulin pump. Because I can’t help that I’m always going to be concerned about you, but I can do something about the way we monitor your health.”

  She was looking at me like I’d sprouted a horn. “Um, whoa. Papi got me everything I needed from the hospital pharmacy. No biggie.”

  I almost said nothing. In fact, a day earlier, I probably would have bitten my tongue. But Milagros’ comment about repression was fresh in my mind. “Actually, it was a big deal,” I told her. “I know you didn’t choose this, and that living with it is not fun. But you can’t keep blowing this off, and I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t scare the living daylights out of me anymore. What happened in San Juan was preventable.”

  “I can’t believe you’re talking about that after what happened on Vieques,” she said, glancing away from me. “I mean, hello. I didn’t ask for the electricity to go out.”

  “You’re right, and there’s a lot about that trip that I should have done differently. Still, that’s not my point.” I could feel Shiloh’s eyes on me, but I kept going. “Charlotte, maybe hearing how much your father and I love you and want to keep you healthy isn’t that important. But at least think about Isa. Your sister was terrified in San Juan, and from what I heard, when you guys got off the boat in Fajardo. This affects her, too. A lot.”

  “Oh, you finally noticed?” remarked Isa, who was lying on her back on the bed.

  “That’s fair. I owe you a big apology. Your father and I—but especially me,” I clarified, shooting him a look that I hoped conveyed solidarity, “have been paying so much attention to Charlotte’s health that you’ve gotten the short end of the stick. That’s not how it should be, and it ends here and now.”

  “Hmph,” she said, but she’d sat up. After a moment she added, “Thanks.”

  I put my arm around her shoulder. “You’re welcome. Listen, you two,” I said, glancing back and forth between them, “I know you’re just twelve—”

  “Practically thirteen,” interjected Charlotte.

  “Exactly,” I agreed, even though they were still six months from their next birthday. “My point is, you’re active participants in this family. If you need something from me or Papi, or feel like we’re glossing over stuff, or—well, anything—then I want you to tell us.”

  “Okay . . . ,” said Isa.

  “Is that a sincere okay, or a ‘yeah right’ okay?” I asked.

  She frowned. “It means that you don’t like when we tell you things aren’t good. You’re always telling us to look on the bright side, blah blah blah.”

  I winced, because it was true. “Also fair,” I said. “I do like focusing on what’s good—that’s always been my go-to for dealing with hard stuff. But I’m also starting to see that sometimes I go overboard on it when I’m struggling, and I’m going to stop trying to do that, okay? I can handle whatever it is you need to tell me.”

  Shiloh arched an eyebrow. “Well put, Libby,” he said after a moment.

  “Thank you,” I said. As soon as we had a moment alone, I intended to ask him about that phone call.

  Then I kissed both girls’ foreheads again. “I love you both so much,” I repeated. “I don’t know if I tell you that nearly enough.”

  “Oh, you do,” said Charlotte, but she wasn’t scowling anymore.

  “Ditto,” said Isa. “But Mom?”

  “What is it, love?” I asked.

  “You’re still acting really weird.”

  I smiled at her. “Get used to it, sweetheart, because this is my new normal.”

  “Well, isn’t this nice,” said Paul. The five of us—or perhaps I should say six, as Pedro, newly leashed, was at Shiloh’s feet—were having dinner on the patio of a nearby restaurant. The tropical storm hadn’t hit the mainland as hard as Vieques, but there had been some flooding. Now all signs of the storm were already gone, and the night was still and clear.

  “Isn’t it?” I smiled at him from across the table. “Just think—if you hadn’t come to get me, Pedro and I might still be stranded.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said.

  Shiloh cleared his throat. “No, it isn’t. Paul, I can’t thank you enough for going to Vieques to get Libby. And then booking a hotel room for us . . . Well, you really shouldn’t have.”

  Paul smiled to himself. “I help where I can.”

  “Too bad Toby and Max aren’t here,” said Charlotte. “They’d love this place.”

  “I bet they would. Maybe we can join you the next time you head to Puerto Rico for vacation.”

  “With Charlie?” I said pointedly.

  “I was thinking of the three of us.” There was an edge in his voice, and Shiloh glanced at me nervously.

  “Is there anything you want to discuss?” I said. “Because you can. You don’t have to hold it back. The girls know you’re talking about getting a divorce.”

  “We don’t want you to,” said Charlotte, who was seated beside me.

  “Oh honey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “Uncle Paul doesn’t want to, either. But we’re going to support him no matter what, right?”

  “Libby,” said Paul pointedly. He leaned in toward me over the table, and in a stage whisper said, “I know you’ve just been through a lot, so I’m going to forgive you, but it’s time to stop talking.”

  “How do you know he doesn’t want to?” said Isa, ignoring Shiloh, who was shaking his head at her.

  I shrugged. “I’m his twin sister. You two know how that goes.”

  “Again: not the time or place,” said Paul, waving down a server.

  Now Shiloh’s eyes were darting back and forth between us, and the girls were stealing glances at each other.

  “Anytime you’re ready,” I said as the server appeared beside our table.

  After we’d ordered, Paul, who was clearly trying to redirect the conversation, asked if we were ready to leave the island; our flight left the following afternoon.

  I reached down and scratched Pedro, who responded by thumping his tail against my leg. “Not even a little bit,” I admitted.

  “Really, Mom?” said Charlotte. “Because I am. I miss my friends. I want to be somewhere where the electricity isn’t going to go out, and I don’t have to worry about my insulin getting all won
ky.”

  “I know, sweetheart. We had a few nice moments—like now,” I said, looking around the table before glancing at Pedro. I knew I’d told the girls we could get a dog; it was a shame that Pedro wouldn’t be the one. “But on the whole, I’ll be the first to admit this vacation was kind of a bummer. When my oncologist told me to celebrate, I’m pretty sure getting stranded in a storm wasn’t what she had in mind.”

  “What?” said Charlotte, sitting up suddenly. “An oncologist is a cancer doctor, right?”

  “Yep! But it’s just a routine thing. I go every couple of years now. The day we went to the bay? That was ten years cancer free for me.”

  “You didn’t tell us?” said Isa, pushing away from the table. “Like, did you think we weren’t grown up enough to handle it?”

  “Not at all! I mean, initially, yes—I didn’t bring it up before I got the results back because I didn’t want you to worry. Then I found out I had an all clear, and I meant to tell you,” I said. “But it’s kind of been one catastrophe after another, and I just hadn’t gotten around to it.”

  “Ugh, I can’t believe this,” said Charlotte.

  “Right?” said Isa. “She thinks we’re babies.”

  “You guys, don’t give your mother a hard time,” said Shiloh. “Keep in mind I didn’t think telling you in advance was a good idea, either.”

  “It’s okay. They can be honest with me,” I told him. “I messed up.”

  “Sure, but there’s a difference between honest and rude,” he said.

  “Let’s just worry about honest for now,” I said.

  He met my gaze, and I could tell he was trying to figure out what to think. “Okay,” he said after a minute. “Let’s start with honest.”

  “So, speaking of honesty . . . ,” I said.

  Paul and I were standing in the leafy green courtyard between the hotel and the beach, taking Pedro on a quick walk. The sun was just beginning to set, and Shiloh and the girls were squeezing in a quick swim at the pool (because, as Isa had reminded us yet again, there were no jellyfish there).

  “Oh boy. I’m afraid to know what you’re about to ask me,” he said, taking a sip of the cocktail he’d fetched from the bar on the way over. It was the kind of drink that begs to be photographed—pale yellow, with a pink paper umbrella—but after the island elixirs I’d had at Milagros’, the smell of alcohol wafting at me made my stomach recoil.

  “Now that it’s just the two of us, I want to know: Do you actually want to divorce?”

  “What I want doesn’t matter,” he said, looking away. “See also: my husband being in Fire Island without me.”

  “Is he there with someone?”

  Paul’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, this smug-faced prick named Trevor.”

  I whistled. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “He looks like a mole rat who’s been injected with high doses of steroids,” said Paul indignantly. “Worse, he’s seemingly incapable of using words containing more than two syllables, and”—he shuddered—“he’s a mouth breather.”

  “Maybe he has a deviated septum,” I suggested.

  “Ahem. Whose team are you on, again?”

  I threw my arm over his shoulder. “Yours, Paul. Always and forever. Which is why I want you to tell your husband you don’t want to split up.”

  “Why bother? It’s not like Charlie said at any point that he wanted to stay together. I mean, do you know what his response was when I suggested we consider separating?”

  I unlatched my arm and waited for him to continue.

  “‘Okay.’ That’s literally all he said, Libby,” said Paul. His eyes were kind of misty, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the alcohol.

  “I’m sorry, Paul. I really think you should tell him how you feel, though.”

  “Like you’ve been doing?”

  My cheeks got warm. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you? Because I was going to suggest Imodium for your raging case of verbal diarrhea. I’m guessing it has to do with some sort of breakthrough in Vieques?”

  “There was no breakthrough,” I said, but his expression was so dubious that I had to laugh. “Okay, I had a minor epiphany or two, compliments of this guy,” I said, smiling at Pedro.

  “Aha. Well, I’m glad. But epiphany or no, you should know that Charlie and I are moving forward with our divorce. It’s not something we can be talked out of.”

  “Because you cheated?” I said frankly. “I wish you’d told me when you were thinking about it so I could have talked you out of that.”

  We’d just reached the beach, and he set his drink on one of the small wood tables the hotel had placed beside lounge chairs along the perimeter.

  “Libby, don’t take this the wrong way, but I tried to. Remember all those nights when I kept you on the phone way too late because I couldn’t sleep?”

  My eyes smarted as I thought about what I’d said to him. “And I told you to try and be grateful and think about all the good times with Dad.”

  He nodded. “I know you were trying to help me, and it wasn’t the worst advice. But I needed to talk about the bad feelings as well.”

  “I’m sorry, Paul,” I said sadly. “I was feeling dead inside, too, but I didn’t want to. It made me feel like I wasn’t grateful for all the good things in my life—like I didn’t appreciate any of it. I didn’t see how damaging it was to try to plow past my emotions. That’s what I realized when I was stuck in Vieques by myself. As Milagros told me the other day, repression backfired. Instead of feeling better, I felt worse.”

  “I know what you mean.” He managed a smile. “You and I were having yet another parallel experience without even realizing it.”

  A wave of sadness came over me when I thought about Toby and Max, and all the family gatherings that would never be the same if Charlie and Paul split up. “Maybe if I had been honest with you, you never would have sought out Andy.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Libby, as much as I wanted to be able to open up to you, my actions and our divorce—well, that all comes back to me and Charlie. I really needed my partner to be there for me, and he couldn’t be, because he was working all the time. Like, he makes my hours look sane. And because he has a couple months off when he’s not working, he seems to think that’s okay.”

  I knew Charlie’s schedule could be grueling when he was shooting the show. But because he and Paul had always seemed so solid together, I’d never considered that it had the ability to wear away at their marriage.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. It was heartbreaking to see him so crestfallen. “Did you say that to Charlie?”

  He frowned. “I guess not. At a certain point in marriage, you figure your needs should be met without having to post a billboard outside your bedroom window.”

  “As much as I want to tell you I understand, that’s basically backfired on me. But it’s not too late for you to talk, you know,” I said. “Do you still love him?”

  “Andy? I never loved him,” he scoffed.

  For such a smart person, my brother could be incredibly dense sometimes. “Charlie, you dodo.”

  “Oh. Yes, obviously. I always will.”

  “So, do you really want a divorce?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Yes and no? I know you want me to focus on the ‘no’ part of that answer and vow to save my marriage, but I need you to give me the room to work this out. Even if the outcome isn’t what you’re hoping for.”

  He was right—I didn’t want them to get divorced. But he was also right that I owed it to him to let him figure it out. “Okay,” I told him. “I can do that.”

  “That means more to me than you know,” he said with a small smile. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Hey, when you said you were feeling dead inside—”

  “More like not alive,” I clarified.

  “Fair enough. Either way, is that why you haven’t wanted to bury Dad?”

  I glanced out at the ocean, thinking abou
t what Milagros had said about him being with me, even if I hadn’t realized it. “I think so, yeah. I knew it was going to make me feel awful, and I was telling myself that I could somehow avoid that by looking on the bright side. But pretending only made it worse, you know?”

  Paul leaned forward and hugged me. “Of course I do, Mad Libs. I was just waiting for you to figure that out.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  “I wish we didn’t have to leave today,” I said, leaning into the overstuffed pillows lining the back of the bed. Our room was actually a suite with a small living area, where the girls were still asleep, and a balcony overlooking the ocean.

  “Me, too, but maybe we can come back over the holidays,” said Shiloh from behind the newspaper he’d picked up in the lobby. Pedro was dozing at his feet, looking like there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be. I knew it was irrational to wish we could take him with us—he probably needed ten more shots and a mountain of paperwork just to get on a plane, and anyway, he belonged to Puerto Rico, if not Milagros. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but imagine him wandering around our apartment or playing fetch with the girls in Prospect Park.

  “I’d like that,” I said. “Well, provided the weather cooperates.”

  “Definitely. Speaking of which . . .” He peered at me over the edge of the paper.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “The power’s back in Vieques! There’s a story about it on the first page.”

  I exhaled. “What a huge relief.”

  “For sure. And it’ll certainly make life easier for Hector,” said Shiloh. In the hospital the day before, he’d told us that Flor’s parents were ready to return to Vieques, and that he intended to bring them back on her boat as soon as he was able. Pedro would also be making the trip with them. “And Milagros, when she’s ready to go home.”

  “We should get up and ready if we want a chance to say goodbye to her before we leave.”

  “You want to wake the girls?” he asked, glancing toward the pull-out sofa where they were both snoring lightly.

  I smiled at him. “No. Do you?”