groundless

chap. 1- cora

indefinitely (adv)- for an unlimited or unspecified period of time
    Usually in love stories, it takes the duration of the whole book for the main character to realize that they are in love with the secondary character- their "one true love". I never understood (or liked) that plot frankly, because it seems so unrealistic. Authors fail to incorporate the fact that maybe the characters are seventeen years old. Who is going to fall in love and stay in love with someone at such a young age? In reality, there's probably about 10% of people who marry their highschool sweethearts, my parents being one of them. But we all see how that ended up.
Divorce is such a common thing anymore. My abuelita said that divorce was basically prohibited when she was growing up. She loves to share stories about how her parents ended up hating each other after a few years, but stayed true to what their religion said about divorce- don't do it. My abuelita raised my mother with the same rules and when my mom met my dad, my abuelita made sure my father would follow the rules. He swore up and down that he would stay true to my mother indefinitely; he was going to love my mother forever, no matter what would happen in their life. Damn, did he lie.
    That is why, in my opinion, highschool sweethearts do not exist. It is statistically proven that you will not meet your so-called "soulmate" until after the age of twenty-four. Now, I do not remember where I read that statistic, but I never forget a statistic. So if this is true, riddle me this, romance book writers: why does your book end with seventeen year olds falling in love? There are rarely any sequels to romance novels so the continuation of their love story is in the readers' hands. I would like to imagine that everything worked out well between them, but then I remember that stupid statistic.
    This is why I am convinced that true love does not exist. I have had this conversation with my boyfriend many times and every time I mention it, he gets really miserable. I always refresh his mind by stating the facts, but he says that true love isn't something you can write down in a textbook. He says that you've just gotta believe that it's real. Well, Jace. Sorry to burst your bubble (yet again), but I am still not convinced. True love isn't real, especially at such a young age. I swear one of these days Jace will break up with me for saying that, but it's simply just what I believe.
    ---
Tuesday, 4:47 a.m.
    I was abruptly woken up to the sound of constant vibrations coming from my nightstand. Another sleepless night for the books. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in about six days. Another string of vibrations occured as I reached over to turn on my lamp. My phone screen was filled with texts from my mom (in all caps), telling me I need to help her look through Christmas decorations in the garage. At 4:47 in the morning. In October. Of course I ignored her repetitive request, planning on telling her that I slept through her texts if she asked me later at a reasonable time. I turned my lamp back off and resumed my cozy position just to be woken up by a stupidly loud Marimba ringtone. I threw off my covers and answered the phone.
    "Yes mother?" I asked, making sure my voice sounded extra drowsy.
    "Mija. Did you not get my texts? Get down here. I need help." She was clearly in a grumpy mood, so I decided to match her energy.
    "Yes mom. I definitely received your texts seeing as I'm definitely on my phone at 4:50 in the morning." That pissed her off. I could hear her collect her breath and exhale quietly, a thing she does to stop her imminent anxiety attacks.
"I need help, Cora. You can either come quickly help for just a few minutes or I can wake up your abuelita and we can see how that goes down."
    I stayed quiet on my line for a few seconds, hoping my mom would think I'm pondering the thought of waking up my grandmother. Nobody in my family would ever dare do that. "Alright. Hold your horses. I'll be down in a second."
    My mom sighed again. "Love you." She hung up the phone.
    Quickly, I threw on the closest pair of shoes that I could find, which unfortunately was a pair of my younger sister's slippers, and grabbed my coat from my desk chair. I raced down the stairs and made sure to avoid waking up the puppy. That dog does not know how to shut up.
    As I reached the garage door, it was swung open and my mother's distressed face was inches away from mine. "Oh good. You're here."
    I walked through the doorway and shivered. "I knew that it was going to be cold in here, but damn."
    Mom turned around and glared at me. "Palabrotas," she said, clearly disappointed in the fact that I, a seventeen year old, said a bad word.
    "Sorry, sorry. But you do know it's in the Bible, right? God wouldn't have made it a word if he didn't want it to be used."
    "Do not bring Christ into the fact that you say dirty words. Now come on. Help me find the stupid ornament."
    I was quizzical. "Ornament?"
    "Yes, mija. The one that your sister made right before we left Argentina after your grandfather's funeral. Y'know. The one with the...the one with the..." She stopped talking. "Carajo! I can't remember."
    I burst out laughing. "Me palabrotas? You're the one who just said fuck!" This did not tickle her fancy. Sometimes I forget that my mother and I are two totally different people.
    "Not funny at all. This is serious. Find the damn ornament so I can go back to sleep." She immediately resumed searching through boxes labeled: Xmas 2014.
    I sighed and started digging through random cardboard boxes that were clearly already looked in. After a few minutes of silently searching, I asked, "Why do you even need to find the ornament? Like why is it so important?"
    She brusquely stopped looking through her box and said, "It's not important. I don't know why I'm doing this." She stood up and started walking towards the door, but I held her back. We may not act the same, but I know when she is stressed out, which frankly is a lot more than your average parent.
    I was holding her arm. "Mami, what's going on?"
She looked at me and hid behind a fake smile. "Nothing baby. I don't know why I woke you up. This is so pointless. You can just go back to bed."
    She tried to release my grip from her arm, but I wouldn't let her.
    "Mom. Tell. Me."
She sighed that anxiety-releasing sigh again and said, "I just needed to see the ornament one last time. It's the only thing that reminds me of your father. Abuelita burned the rest."
Of course it was about dad. It always is.
I tried to talk some sense into her. "Mom, come on. The only reason you should be trying to find that ornament is so that we can destroy it. He is out of our lives forever. You just keep making up these random things that remind you of him that make no sense, even after abuelita burned every last thing. I mean, how does an ornament Lina made when she was five equate to dad?"
Another sigh. "I guess it doesn't. It was just the last time I saw him happy. It was before everything went down."
Ahh. The all-consuming word- everything. That was my mom's way of summing up the catastrophic amount of pain we have all suffered over the past seven years.
Now it was my turn to sigh. "Mommmmm, you gotta just get over him. I get that you were highschool sweethearts. I get that you thought you loved him and that he didn't think that back. But you can't just sit here, imagining him remorsing his actions. That's in the past. Dad is gone. Done. He doesn't love you or us anymore."
"Ha. Way to be sugarcoat it, puta." She was starting to smile. And curse more. I felt bad for being so blunt with her, but she has these mental breakdowns quite often, crying for hours upon hours about how much she misses my dad. Occasionally, if we don't catch her in time, her hysterical state allows her to be vulnerable enough to stuff like buying a plane ticket to Los Angeles to forgive my father. We cannot let that happen.
    "I'm sorry mom, but you really just gotta get over his dumbass. He sucks. He made a PROMISE to you that you were going to be his one and only and he was going to love you forever, through sickness and health, through the ups and downs. He broke that promise. You didn't. You should feel absolutely no guilt for his shitty mistakes. You need to clear your mind of him and move on with your life."
    She wrinkled up her face. "And you,'' she said, bopping my nose, "need to stop saying all these bad words."
    I rolled my eyes and let go of her arm. "I really do love you, mom. It's not healthy for you to miss such a horrible person."
    She pulled me in for a hug, but released the hug quickly and held my shoulders. She looked into my eyes. I couldn't tell if she was going to make a joke or be serious. "You know he's still your father, right? The divorce didn't like, make him not your father anymore. He is still, by law, required to see you twice a year."
    I laughed. "No, I'm fully aware. Although, I would've liked if the divorce removed the 'father' title from my life." She let out a giggle, followed by a small sigh. I've learned over the years that small jokes like that made mom's manic states lessen. I've become a pro at hiding my sadness behind humor.
    Mom looked at me behind a genuine smile and said, "Wouldn't we all?"
    My mother, for instance, is a prime example of why true love is not real. She's living proof that "soulmates" and "highschool sweethearts" do not last indefinitely. She has had her heart shattered into a million pieces by the one person that she thought she was going to love forever. Statistics show that true love is not real, but even if the statistics didn't show that, I still wouldn't believe in it. Love is temporary. It's just a feeling. A feeling that everyone wants, but nobody has the energy to maintain.