Angel (Fuenciado)

Chapter 38: The Selfish Mistake

Tw; Major warning for self-harm/suicide. Please read with discretion.

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"Hello?"

My heart actually lurches at the sound of the gravelly voice. It has a Spanish tint to it, interspersed with years of California living, and it sounds just like home. A warm feeing follows the lurch, and I smile and close my eyes.

"Hi Dad."

This lazy afternoon sees me alone in the music room, surrounded by instruments and boxes that I'd stored in various spaces around the house. I'm in the process of going through them for important items that Mike will need to have, or memories to send to my parents, or tokens for Jaime. As I pull some objects wrapped in newspaper out of one of the boxes, I hear my father brighten considerably on the other end of the line.

"Vic! It's good to hear from you, boy."

"It's great to hear you too, dad," I say brightly. I mean it. With the rest of the world quiet and surrounded by boxes of memories, it almost feels like I could be sitting in my old room back home right now. My old room has a single bed with a mattress that broke years ago but nobody ever got around to fixing, the sheets are plain white with a grey throw, the walls are green with splashes of blue and the light fitting is ancient with a flickering bulb. I'm willing to bet that the blinds are still broken and won't pull up and down, and the curtains (plain white with the odd stain) are used instead, pulled across them at night. I've always wondered why my parents ever kept mine and Mike's rooms the way they were when we moved out as teens. They could have turned them into guest bedrooms or storage - but my parents have always been sentimental. So the rooms stayed.

"What can I do for you?" My father continues, and I huff with amusement.

"Nothing much, Dad. Actually, I was just checking up on you. How are you getting on?"

"Me?" He sounds surprised I ask. "Well, I'm just fine, Vic. My hip is starting to get more painful. Your mother is pushing me to get a replacement but I'm not having that."

"Maybe you should. Better to do it now than put it off and let it worsen, right?"

"That's exactly what your mother said," he grumbles, and I laugh.

"Right. Sorry. How is Mom?"

"As she ever is. Worries about you two every day and cleans too much."

"You tell her about me and Jaime?"

"Yep. She was ridiculously smug about it and said she knew all along. Very uppity about it all."

"Ah, but she's the love of your life."

A short, affectionate chuckle. "Yes, I suppose she is, the mad hatter."

"You know," I start, "she doesn't need to worry about us. We're okay, I swear."

"You don't think I keep telling her that? The woman has cloth ears when it comes to you two. She won't believe it till she sees it with her own eyes. It's only because she loves you so much, though."

"And don't I know it."

I finish unwrapping the newspaper swaddled items to reveal three crystal champagne flutes my parents left to me, and I put them to the set of items on my left. Mike will have these. They should stay in the family.

"So how's life in San Diego, Vic?"

"Not so bad," I chirp. And I mean that too. "I'm...I'm sorting some things out. I'm sure you'll be glad to know I've stopped seeing things."