BORROWED HEARTBEATS

Chapter 5: Familiar Faces

As soon as we got home, I headed to the bathroom, desperate to shake off the haze of emotions still clinging to me. The conversation with my mother had been a relief, but the thoughts still pressed at the edges of my mind, refusing to let go. I turned the shower dial until the water was steaming hot and stepped under the flow, letting the warmth sink into my skin. The steady beat of the water against my back was calming, like it could wash away the weight of everything. For a few moments, it almost did.

I dried off and slipped into my favorite white pajamas, the fabric soft against my skin, and headed to the window. Settling myself at the windowsill, I peered outside. The sun was setting, casting a soft, amber light over the street. I watched as kids played in front yards or rode bikes back home, laughing, carefree. It made me wonder if I had done the right thing, if telling my mother how I felt had been selfish or if it had lifted even a tiny bit of the burden she bore for both of us.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw headlights cut through the dusk. A car rolled slowly into our driveway, coming to a stop. I squinted, trying to make out the figures as a boy stepped out, followed by a woman. She was dressed in a long, flowing gray dress decorated with soft, floral patterns, her movements familiar yet distant, like a memory I couldn’t quite grasp. The boy beside her was taller, dressed entirely in black, which made his silhouette stand out against the evening light. I felt a flicker of recognition but couldn’t put my finger on it.

The doorbell rang, pulling me from my thoughts, and I quickly tucked myself away, hoping my mother would answer. After a few moments, I heard her voice from downstairs, full of surprise and warmth as she greeted the visitors.

“It’s been so long!” my mother exclaimed. “He’s grown so much; I can hardly believe it!”

They laughed together, their voices mingling with nostalgia, and I suddenly heard her call my name.

“Diego!”

I froze, the sound of my name catching me off guard. Not wanting to face anyone, not like this, I scrambled back to my bed, pulling the covers up and pretending to sleep. Footsteps approached, soft and familiar, and a moment later, my mother’s gentle presence filled the room. She carefully tucked the blanket around me and pressed a light kiss to my forehead before switching off the lights and slipping out.

“He’s asleep,” I heard her say quietly to our guests downstairs.

“Could I see him, just for a moment?” The woman’s voice was softer now, almost tentative.

They came back into my room, their figures silhouetted in the dim light as they looked down at me. I kept my breathing slow and steady, fighting the urge to peek. The woman whispered something kind, wishing me well, and they soon left. As they went back downstairs, their voices grew faint, the comforting sound of laughter filling the air. My mother and her friend shared stories over dinner, catching up on years of separation. I didn’t hear much else before sleep finally overtook me, a heavy, deep slumber that felt like a rare gift.

The next morning, sunlight filtered in through the window, nudging me awake. I stretched, feeling slightly refreshed but still weighed down. I moved toward the bathroom, rubbing my eyes, only to find the door slightly ajar. Just as I was about to step back, I saw it open fully, and there he was—the boy from last night.

He stepped out, his hair still damp and tousled, droplets of water running down his neck and onto his bare chest. His skin was fair, with intricate tattoos marking his arms and chest. A large design on his chest caught my eye—a pair of hands, almost touching but frozen just inches apart, a design that seemed to hold some meaning.

He caught my gaze and smiled, his blue eyes warm and surprisingly kind. “Hey,” he said, his voice casual yet friendly.

“Uh… hey,” I replied, feeling my cheeks grow warm as I quickly looked away, a little embarrassed to have caught him fresh out of the shower. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a striking contrast to the last time I’d seen him.

“You must be Diego. I’m Mark,” he said, studying me for a reaction. “Do you remember me?”

It took a second, but then it clicked. “Mark?” I asked, the memory finally coming back. “Yeah… but you’ve changed a lot.”

He chuckled. “Guess that happens. It’s been a while.”

Mark was almost unrecognizable compared to the last time I saw him. Back then, he was a quiet, scrawny kid, more interested in comic books than anything else. Now, he looked like someone you’d see in a movie, confident and cool, with a hint of mystery.

“Aight, let’s catch up later,” he said, stepping aside to let me pass.

I took my turn in the bathroom, unable to shake the surprise of seeing him. It felt surreal. Mark had been like an older brother to me once, but after he and his mother left for the city, we lost touch. Seeing him now, so changed, felt like a small spark in the fog of my current reality.

After getting dressed in a simple t-shirt and khaki pants, I went downstairs, where my mother greeted me with a warm smile. “Diego!” called a familiar voice from the dining area.

It was Mark’s mother, Mrs. Addams, dressed in a short-sleeved blue dress, her hand wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. Her eyes softened as she looked at me, and she set her cup down, wrapping me in a gentle hug. “My, you’ve grown up,” she said, pulling back to look at me.

I smiled back, the memories flooding in. My mother and Mrs. Addams had been best friends since high school, practically inseparable. They met on the first day of freshman year, bonding over their shared love of literature and art. Over the years, they became like sisters, supporting each other through every twist and turn life threw their way. After college, they even shared an apartment together, a cozy little place where they made countless memories.

When Mrs. Addams had Mark, she moved into a small house close to ours, and soon after, my mother had me. Those early years felt like a blur of shared birthday parties, family dinners, and summer days at the park. Mark and I grew up side by side, almost like siblings. But everything changed when Mrs. Addams got a big job offer in the city. She couldn’t pass it up, and so she and Mark left, promising to visit whenever they could. Over time, the visits became less frequent, and eventually, they stopped altogether.

But now, after all these years, here they were.

We gathered at the dining table, Mark sitting across from me, dressed in a black shirt and jeans. He seemed at ease, glancing around, probably taking in how much had changed since he was last here. He looked over at me, his blue eyes thoughtful, as if he was remembering those old days too.

“So,” he said, his voice pulling me from my thoughts, “how’ve you been?”

I managed a faint “okay,” before looking back down at my phone, not quite ready to go deep. He nodded, seeming to understand, and didn’t press further.

Breakfast passed quietly, and I felt a strange sense of comfort just having them here, even if I hadn’t fully adjusted to seeing Mark like this.

As my mother began clearing plates, Mrs. Addams’ phone chimed, and she quickly glanced at the message, sighing as she got to her feet. “I hate to leave so soon,” she said, her voice tinged with regret. “But I have a meeting I can’t miss. Work calls.”

“Do you really have to go?” my mother asked, her disappointment clear.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mrs. Addams replied, her smile apologetic. She turned to Mark. “You be good for Mrs. Martinez, alright?” she said, giving him a quick hug before heading toward the door.

Mark and I followed them outside, and as his mother climbed into the car, I saw her lean over to say something quietly to him. He nodded, giving her a small smile, and waved as she drove off.

The car disappeared down the street, and the three of us stood there in the quiet for a moment before heading back inside. I felt a strange mix of emotions—grateful to have them here, but also a little overwhelmed, unsure of how to navigate this new version of our old life. Mark’s presence felt like a bridge to a time when things were easier, before the weight of my illness became so all-consuming. And even though he looked different, more grown-up, there was something comforting in knowing that, deep down, he was still the same Mark I’d once known.