Contusion

by Ofelia Martinez

  Mom finally comes and crouches over me, placing a hand on each of my cheeks. I’m smothered, but I don’t protest. “Mijita, when you get through this, I’m going to give you the spanking of a lifetime,” she says. Her tears are dripping onto my face, but I don’t wince. Now, in a span of twenty-four hours, Pilar, Chema, Dad, and now Mom all shed tears for me.

  I wonder what it’s like for them. Do they feel defeated, like this cancer will consume me? I’m still in fight mode, and I refuse to switch to flight until I know there is nothing else I can do. I’m not dead yet.

  “Mom, stop. Please. I’m alive. Save your tears.”

  “Until you’re dead? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  She always exaggerates. “Yeah, Mom. But it won’t be today or anytime soon.”

  She smiles weakly and dries up her tears. I know she’s trying to keep them in, but she fails miserably.

  “Okay,” says Dad. “I’ll take her to the hotel. We just had to see you. Make sure you’re okay. You understand?”

  “I do. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry about how you found out. I wanted to tell you myself, if it came to it.”

  “You’ve always been so strong, Valentina. I never realized you would use that strength to pull something like this. But we’ll talk more tomorrow. Okay?”

  They both kiss me and walk away, though they glance back as they walk out the door. I take a deep breath. Okay. We can do this in small bites. We’ve ripped off the Band-Aid, and tomorrow we can do the rest.

  Rory gets to my room before my parents. He wears his scrubs and doctor’s coat. Being hospital staff provides him the liberty to avoid visiting hours.

  “How are you?” I ask and smile at him.

  His face brightens when he sees my smile. “Good. How about you?”

  “Feeling a bit stronger. But it won’t last. I get chemo tomorrow, and that usually knocks me out for a few days.”

  “Think of it this way,” he says. “You’re almost halfway there.”

  He is right. I know this. The trial is a five-week treatment plan, and I’m entering week three. I hadn’t let myself search for the light at the end of the tunnel, but there it is, reflected in Rory’s bright green eyes.

  Rory places a vase of yellow and pink tulips on the counter by the window.

  “I love tulips,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Do you? Or are you just saying that?”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  “You have lied to me. And you seem to lie to a lot of people.”

  A kick to the jaw would have been less painful.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m new to being on the other side of this. Usually, I’m the doctor. Navigating everything else . . . that’s harder,” he says.

  “I understand.”

  Rory takes a seat next to my bed and takes my hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb in circles.

  “I hate that you see me like this,” I admit.

  “Like what?”

  “Sick. I look awful.”

  “Valentina, you have no idea how beautiful you are. I don’t think you’ll believe me, but I have to say it anyway. When I look at you, I don’t see a sick person. I see you. And you are strong, and yes, beautiful. I don’t care if you think I’m superficial.”

  My eyes mist over for the first time because Rory Dennis says the only words I want to hear. He hasn’t let this disease alter his perception of me.

  “Hey, don’t cry,” he coos.

  “I’m not crying. You’re crying.” I shake my head to center myself and smile at him again.

  I squeeze his hand, and he leans forward to land the sweetest and softest peck on my lips. It’s not a passionate kiss like what we shared before, but the tenderness and rawness of it plunges us into a different level of intimacy. I place my hand on his cheek as our lips pull away, and he presses his forehead to mine. We’re sharing this tender moment when a booming voice has us jumping and pulling away from each other.

  “What is this?”

  As he turns to face the door, Rory keeps my hand tight in his.

  My father glares at him, his nostrils flaring, and his hands at his sides bunch into fists. His body shakes with fury, and my heart races.

  “Dad, hi. Good morning.”

  He says nothing and takes a step toward us.

  Rory lets go of my hand to stand and adjust his posture as he faces my father. “Mr. Almonte, it is a pleasure to meet you. Rory Dennis.” He stretches out his hand, but my father doesn’t take it, never breaking his glare from Rory’s face.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Dad asks.

  “Dad, Rory is special to me. He helped take care of me when I was alone and has done nothing but help me and be kind to me.”

  Rory’s rejected hand goes into his coat pocket, but he doesn’t let my Dad intimidate him. “Valentina is very special to me too, sir.”

  Dad’s mouth opens to speak, but he is interrupted when Dr. Ramirez walks into the room.

  “Valentina, good morning,” she says brightly. “Oh, hello. I’m Dr. Ramirez,” she shakes my Dad’s hand, but his glare stays frozen on Rory. “Dr. Dennis, good morning,” she says, smiling despite the questioning look on her face.

  “Dr. Dennis?” Dad roars, and his chest rises faster with each breath.

  “Yes, sir. I’m a physician here.”

  Dad turns to Dr. Ramirez, an accusation in his eyes. “Is it common for doctors here to kiss their patients?”

  Dr. Ramirez’s gaze scans the room from Dad’s face, to Rory’s, to mine, finally understanding what’s going on. “Dr. Dennis isn’t one of Valentina’s doctors, Mr. Almonte. I can assure you, no lines have been crossed.”

  “Excuse me?” Dad huffs. “No lines have been crossed? My daughter is sick. He’s clearly taking advantage—”

  “Dad, no one’s taking advantage. Please sit down so we can talk.”

  Dad shakes his head. “What kind of a sick bastard preys on cancer patients?”

  “Dad! He didn’t prey on me. He didn’t even know I was sick when we met.”

  I can tell Dad’s resolve wavers a bit, but he’s also the person I inherited my stubbornness from, so I know he won’t relent so easily. “I will sue,” he hisses. “No one takes advantage of my daughter.”

  “No one took advantage of anyone, Dad. And you are not suing. If anything, you owe a wealth of gratitude to everyone in this hospital, including Rory. They have all made me very welcome knowing I was here alone.”

  “Mr. Almonte, I’m sure you have questions. I’ll be back in an hour when everyone is calmer.” Dr. Ramirez doesn’t let Dad answer her before she is out of the room. I don’t blame her for her quick departure, because the showdown taking place in my room is awkward as fuck. I don’t even want to be in the room myself.

  Dad takes a deep breath. “I need you to leave,” he tells Rory.

  “He’s not leaving,” I say and grab Rory’s hand to make myself perfectly clear.

  Rory never breaks eye-contact with Dad, and Dad’s glare moves from him to me and back to him again.

  “Please,” Dad says. “I have to speak with my daughter and her doctors.” His voice is more placating now, and I’m more receptive to it. Rory looks at me, checking with me it’s okay if he leaves. I nod.

  My eyes widen with horror when Rory bends to kiss my lips one last time before heading out. When he stands, I look at Dad, who is fuming. Rory Dennis is a brave man to have made that move.

  “Mr. Almonte, I’ll be back later. I’m sure you’ll want to chat with me too.”

  Dad looks stunned and frozen in place as Rory leaves the room. He starts pacing, pausing to glare at me every few steps, just as Chema had done. He seems a little better than he did last night when he first arrived. He has shaved, and his clothes are crisp once again, though more casual than what I’m used to seeing him wear. My mother is nowhere to be seen, and I’m not surprised. She’s never handled family situations well. Avoidance being her modus oper
andi, I know she has knocked herself out cold with pills back at their hotel room. I don’t have to ask Dad for confirmation.

  We switch to Spanish for the rest of our conversation. “Dad, can you sit down? You’re making me dizzy.”

  He stills and at last sits, taking the chair Rory vacated only moments ago.

  “What on earth were you thinking?” he asks. “Were you even thinking? Men like that prey on weak—”

  “Dad! Stop. You don’t know him. He didn’t prey on me.”

  “You’re sick. Any man trying to, to . . .” He trails off, not able to finish his thought.

  “Any man trying to be with a sick woman is trying to take advantage? I don’t deserve to be loved if I’m sick?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” he says and runs his hands through his hair, pulling on it with frustration.

  “Then what, Dad? Please. Explain.”

  His head hangs for a moment before he looks back up at me. “I don’t know, Mija. This is all too much of a shock. Seeing you yesterday like this, and then seeing that—” he points to the door in reference to the man who just left. “Love, huh?”

  My eyes widen. “What?”

  “You said he loves you.”

  Did I? “Um, well, I don’t know if he does, I was just—”

  “Do you love him?”

  That takes me aback. I had used the word love, though I’m not sure why. “I don’t know, Dad. I’ve only known him a few weeks. I don’t think we can say we’re in love yet, but he’s special. And I owe him a lot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He took care of me after surgery.”

  Dad shuts his eyes, his brows knitted together in pain. “You had surgery?” he asks as his gaze fixes on me once again.

  I nod. “I’ll let Dr. Ramirez fill you in on anything medical going on, but Rory, he took care of me and brought me to the hospital. If he hadn’t been there—”

  “Don’t finish that sentence. I don’t even want to know what could have happened.”

  I smile. “See? It’s good he’s been around.”

  Dad’s shoulders finally droop with resignation. “I’ll apologize to him later, though I don’t like this. Not one little bit.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  When Dr. Ramirez comes back, I sign paperwork granting her permission to disclose my medical record to Dad. I ask them to leave the room so I can nap because I’m too tired to go through my entire medical history. Besides, I’d rather Dad ask Dr. Ramirez a million questions instead of me, and I’m glad she’s more than willing to take one for the team.

  When I’m awake again, he is in my room, smiling at me, but I can tell he’s been crying from his puffed-up, red eyes, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

  He acts like the strain between us was all in my head, but I know it wasn’t. Dad has never looked at me like this before, at least not in my adult life. It was always disdain and disappointment because I refused to marry the men he lined up for me.

  He told me once that no man would want to marry a professional fighter—a woman who had more muscles than him. I told him that’s exactly the kind of guy I would never end up with. When Pilar married, he finally stopped pushing me toward the destiny he’d drawn out for me since my birth. Since then, we’ve hardly spoken, and if we have, it has been mainly to argue.

  Now, he is here pretending like that history never existed. Like I imagined it all. He is doting and loving like he had been once long ago when I was just a little girl. I bite my lip hard to hold back my emotions. I hate that it’s taken me getting sick for him to care again. Why couldn’t he show me his love before now, when it might very well be too late?

  Chapter 15

  The next day, Mom comes to visit with Dad. I’m feeling a bit stronger and glad they are here together because I have quite a lot to say.

  But first, I let Mom nag and nag about keeping the secret from her.

  “Are you done?” I ask after her tirade.

  “I’m not even close to done, señorita—”

  “Cecilia!” Dad snaps. “That’s enough. This is hardly the time.”

  Mom’s lips disappear into a thin line. Just once, I’d love to see her talk back to Dad. Today would not be that day.

  “I’m angry too, you know,” I say finally.

  Mom glares at me. “You’re angry? After you pulled this?”

  “Mom, calm down. I’m trying to have a conversation with you. I’m angry about a lot, and for once, I wish you would just listen to me before you check out.”

  She looks away from me and shakes her head like I’m talking nonsense.

  “Hear her out, Cecilia,” Dad says, and I’m surprised he’s on my side. Unfortunately for him, I’m angry at him too.

  Mom takes a seat and crosses her arms. She taps her foot as she waits for me to speak.

  I take a deep breath and decide to start with the easier one. “I’m upset you’re never there for Pilar or me. You’re like a ghost, Mom. We’ve never had your support, so I don’t understand how you’d expect me to go to you for something like this when you always avoid hard situations.”

  “That is not an excuse—”

  “Mom, Mom. Please. Just let me finish.”

  Mom glares at me but keeps her mouth shut. “Thank you,” I say. “Neither of you has ever come to see me fight—”

  “We didn’t want to encourage—” Dad starts to say, but I cut him off.

  “Dad, I know it’s hard, but let’s pretend for a moment this is the worst-case scenario, and I don’t make it. Aren’t you glad, as short as my life has been, that I got to do the one thing I loved most in the world?”

  The silence hovers over all three of us like a dark cloud. Dad’s eyes turn glassy, and he swallows hard.

  “Wouldn’t you wish, then, that you’d gotten to see my greatness? I know you don’t think it was much compared to your business or Pilar’s marriage, but Dad, I was good. So good. They don’t call mixed martial arts ‘arts’ for no reason. I was an artist with my body. It’s fighting, yes, but it’s also a dance, and it’s so beautiful. I was beautiful. And you never got to see it.”

  “You’re not going to die, Valentina,” he declares like he can somehow control it.

  That’s not what I wanted them to get from what I said, but I’m not surprised. They will never support my dreams unless they are dreams I share with them. I know now that if—when—I beat this thing, they will not change. It’s time for me to move on from the hope that we will ever be close.

  “I’m sorry you’re angry,” Mom says. “But I’ve done the best that I could.”

  “I know, Mom,” I give her a sad smile because I believe her, and knowing that was her best is a bit disheartening.

  Now for the harder one. The one they won’t want to so much as hear me out on.

  “That’s not the only reason I’m angry.”

  Both my parents look at me intently, waiting for me to go on.

  “This cancer is your fault—”

  “Great. You’re going to blame us for this—” Mom says, exasperated.

  “Mom! Please, listen.” I wait a moment, and when she doesn’t speak again, I continue. “You could have prevented this if you had given me the HPV vaccine. I wouldn’t be here right now if you had done that one little thing.”

  “I don’t know about that sort of thing,” Mom says dismissively.

  “My doctor told you about it. I was there. You turned it down. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You have to understand. That vaccine is for young girls who are lost causes.”

  I shake my head, and I’m furious. “No, Mom. It’s for everyone. Men and women. Everyone needs to get it when they’re young—everyone.”

  “Everyone who does . . . things,” she argues, not willing to put it into words.

  “Say it, mom. Say what you mean.”

  She just shakes her head, and Dad’s face is buried in his hands.

  “You want to say it’s only for
whores,” I snap.

  “Watch your language, niña. These are not things we talk about.” Mom stands and takes the small medallion on her gold necklace between her fingers so she can play with it as she paces.

  “Mom, most women get HPV in their lives. It can take years to turn to cancer. Pilar could get this cancer too.”

  “No,” Mom says. “Really, Valentina, I can’t believe you would talk about this and with your father present. You have no shame. Besides, Pilar is married.”

  “Good. I’m glad Dad’s here. He needs to hear this too. Pilar can get this cancer even if she’s married, Mom. She could have gotten it before—”

  “No!” Mom shakes her head. “She didn’t get it before.”

  “She could get it from her husband, Mom! You could get it!”

  Mom stops and blinks at me. She shakes her head. “I can’t believe we are talking about this—especially in front of your father. Valentina Almonte, you were raised better than to talk about this.”

  I’ll never get through to her, but at least Dad displays some form of shame. He hangs his head and pulls on his hair as he listens to me. At least I know he feels somewhat guilty.

  “Mom, I haven’t been a virgin for a long time. Why is that so hard to talk about?”

  Mom turns to Dad, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Benjamin, please take me to the hotel. This conversation is over.” Then she turns to me. “If you want me to come back, missy, none of that talk. No seas cochina.”

  At that moment, and with those words, I give up on my mother. “No, Mom. I don’t want you to come back.”

  “Valentina!”

  “I mean it. Dad, you are welcome back if you’d like, but don’t bring her with you. Not unless she regrets not getting us that vaccine before it was too late.” He nods, and I add, “I know you feel bad about this, Dad.”

  He clears his throat. “Um, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He kisses my forehead for the first time in I don’t know how many years and looks back at me as he leaves the room.