The door to Cesar’s room is wide open. There’s a stranger in scrubs sitting in the corner of the room. She looks tired, but not as tired as Cesar. The room is completely empty besides the bed and her chair. Cesar’s eyes are puffy, with bags under them that tell me he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in days. How could I have missed the signs? He doesn’t say anything when we walk in, just stares up at the ceiling instead of looking at either of us. The only noise in the room is Mami crying. She’s clutching her rosary and whispering prayers in Spanish through her sobs.
“Mami, please stop crying,” is all Cesar says before closing his eyes again. She doesn’t.
I want to say something, but how can I comfort him right now? I want to ask if he’s okay, but obviously he’s not.
Two men walk in. One looks a lot younger than the other.
“Mrs. Flores, can we borrow you for a minute?” the older guy says without acknowledging Cesar or me at all.
“Don’t worry, mijo, it’s gonna be okay.” Mom wipes her eyes. I think she’s trying to convince herself more than anyone else. She steps out with the two men, leaving me, Cesar, and the rando lady in the corner. I glance over at her. I guess privacy is a luxury we can’t afford.
“Hey,” I say when Mom leaves. What else is there to say?
“Hey.” It’s not much, but at least he’s talking.
“Who were those guys?”
“The mental health worker and his intern.”
“Oh, cool.” I’ve never had such a forced conversation with him. I feel so stiff and unnatural. It’s not supposed to be like this. Not with Cesar.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I shouldn’t ask, not now, but it slips out.
He doesn’t answer.
“I talked to Jamal . . . ,” I say, hoping that’ll get him talking.
“I like how you’re still using him as your beard even though we broke up. That’s real cool, Yami.” His tone is cold.
“What? I’m not—he just told me you called him.”
Cesar doesn’t say anything.
“You know you can talk to me, right?”
Nothing.
“I’m serious. I’m here for you. Always . . .”
He clenches his jaw.
“Cesar, talk to me, please.” My voice catches in my throat, and the “please” comes out like a whimper.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re obviously not fine, Cesar!” I don’t mean to raise my voice.
“Oh, so now you notice?” he snaps back.
“How can I notice when you won’t talk to me?”
“Seriously? You’re the one who hasn’t been talking to me!”
“You two need to calm down, please.” The woman’s tone is kind, but it has an edge to it—a warning.
“Sorry,” we both mumble.
“I didn’t call you because you wouldn’t have answered. You never answer. You’re always busy. And Mom, too. Jamal’s always there. . . . You and Mom can’t help me.” The words cut deep and hollow me out.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Maybe he’s right. I’ve been so busy with work and school and Bo that I barely had a chance to worry about Cesar. I think about all the times recently that I blew him off. I had one job: look out for Cesar. And I didn’t. I wipe my eyes before any tears get the chance to fall.