We Did

Chapter Two

a/n: This chapter has been edited [1]. 

Papa is home. He took the day off from work. I know he only did it to make sure that I'm okay and that I'm not home by myself, mourning. I also know that he's swamped with thoughts of tasks that need to be completed, even considering the fact that there's been a death in the family. They already allowed him two weeks off, and in those two weeks Papa managed to inform our family members, call the nearest funeral home, and purchase Mila's casket.

He barely slept during those two weeks. I would wake up and sometimes he would be sitting in the kitchen, catching up on any work he could do from home. For the past seven years, he's been Pineheart's Administrative Assistant at the local community college. He's the reason why my application process for this upcoming fall semester went so smoothly. Papa knows each step and each key to financial aid like the back of his hand, and in a sense he is-- the college's back hand, that is. It must be why they let him take this extra day off.

I linger in bed for a little while longer. The blanket is still warm and if I lie down like this, it will almost feel like yesterday was a dream. But then I hear the click of the stove being turned on in the kitchen and I know that this is unavoidable.

"Come on," I whisper to myself, peeling off the blanket and trudging my feet towards my door. I pull it open, the cool air from the A/C seeping through my thin shirt from summer camp. The girls in my cabin had stained their palms with different colors of paint and stamped the fabric with them.

"Mira? Anak?" Papa calls out. I stare blankly in his direction, wondering if I should go to the bathroom first or to him. I choose him. When I enter the kitchen, he's at the stove, stirring simmering egg yolk in a pan. The sound hits my ears immediately. It seems too loud. Tsss.

"I made you breakfast," he says.

It's not so much a question of my appetite as it is telling me to eat. I didn't eat anything at all yesterday. I take a seat before my usual placemat. In a few minutes, the eggs are in front of me. I don't even remember seeing Papa's hands putting them there, but there they are. My stomach feels hollow, but it doesn't grumble.

He sits across from me, looking at me with eyes that a lot of people had yesterday at the funeral. They're softened, peering at me carefully as if I'm a piece of thin glass ready to hit the floor and break.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

I shrug my shoulders. I don't want to say okay. Not yet, not when I'm not.

"Do you want to do anything today? Go to the bookstore, to the mall? May work bonus ako."

No. I don't want to use his work's sympathy death money to buy myself things, so I shake my head.

His eyes burn into me. "Sigurado ka?"

The yolk of the egg seeps out when I prick it with my fork. I remember how last month, at the cafe down the street, Mila did the same to her egg. She pierced the yolk and we watched the liquid bleed onto the platter.

"This is how my heart feels whenever we're in AP Calc," she'd said, and I'd laughed.

"Mira," Papa says. "I said are you sure?"

I snap out of it, looking up at him. "Yes."

We spend the remainder of breakfast eating in silence, but the tenderness in his eyes doesn't leave. It makes me feel like the yolk: raw and bleeding.

***

I'm online, which I know is a horrible idea even when I'm typing in the site. Mama is already in her room sleeping, and Papa is in the living room typing up one last email before bed. Usually they both go to bed at the same time, but recently they've been sleeping at completely different times. Mama gets tired easily. Once she comes home from her job at the library, she goes straight to her bedroom and barely talks for the rest of the evening. Papa is the busy bee, bringing warmth to our house just by being active and walking around.

None of them have entered my room, and I'm thankful for it. I'm in no mood to hold a conversation or answer questions of any sort. My blinds are drawn. I tried reading a book in the afternoon but lost interest after the fifth page, when the dialogue between the main character and her love interest grew overly corny. I've done nothing all day, until now.

As soon as I log onto Facebook, I'm flooded with notifications. There are 243 of them from multiple different people. Some messages are from school, some are from relatives, and others are from people I don't even know or can no longer remember. A quarter of the notifications are alerts that I've been tagged in posts or pictures from Mila's page.

When someone dies, everyone reaches out. It's like death brings people together. It scares me, but I click on each notification anyway.

A cluster of them are comments on a photo Papa posted a week before the funeral. It's of Mila and me, three summers ago. Mila and I had taken up a job offer at Blue Brenton, the community pool. At fifteen, we'd both been desperate to get money without constantly having to bother Mama or Papa for some. Thankfully, Blue Brenton Splash had been looking for part-time employees. Mila became a lifeguard, while I was the Activities Director for the younger kids who couldn't quite swim yet and whose parents wanted them far from the pool. Mila got a tan that made her look even more golden than she usually did, while I learned how to cut and paste one hundred handmade stencils in under ten minutes.

We look so young in the photo. My hair looks lighter than it is now, not to mention shorter. Mila has bangs, a haircut that she said she deeply regretted and was therefore over-the-moon ecstatic the minute they started to grow out. I take a deep breath before scrolling down and reading the comments.

Rest in peace, Mila.

A true tragedy. She is now in a better place.

My sincerest condolences to the Rivera family, especially her twin.

There I am. In the sea of comments, I've found myself, and it's not even my name. It's "her twin." It's enough to make my eyes fill, not because they haven't put my actual name, but because of the words. For as long as I can remember, Mila and I have been a set. Now that I no longer have her, am I still a twin or just me?