Page 50 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

When we get home from the hospital the next morning, both Abuela’s and Dona Violeta’s cars are parked on the curb. I try to

gauge my mom’s reaction without being too obvious, but she doesn’t seem fazed. Did she plan this?

When we come inside, Abuela and Dona Violeta stand from their spots on the couch, but my mom stops them.

“No, no, we’ll all sit,” she says as she ushers us all into the living room. It almost feels like an intervention. Part of

me is bummed that Moni’s not here to ease the tension, since apparently she’s spending another weekend trip with her dad and

won’t be back until tomorrow. Then again, something tells me this is an immediate-family kind of conversation, whatever that

means for us.

I sit next to Abuela, with the rest on the other couch. “We need to clear the air. Life is too precious to hold it all in

and live with regrets, and I know I’m not the only one who needs to get something off my chest. I want us to be able to hash

things out as a family. I’ll go first.”

Mami closes her eyes as her mouth moves like she’s saying a quick prayer to herself. We all just kind of sit there in silent anticipation with no idea what’s about to happen. Eventually she gives herself the sign of the cross and continues.

“I have some apologies I need to share. First of all, to you, Mami.”

“To me?” Abuela looks at my mom like she’s trying to solve an impossible math equation in her head. “Mija, you don’t have

to—”

“No, I do. Just let me say this, okay, Mami? I can’t pretend to understand everything that’s happened, but I know it’s not

as simple as I used to think. I know you’re trying now, and I know calling you crazy instead of trying to understand didn’t

help our situation.” She turns to me at that. “And, Cesar, I’m so sorry for anything I might have said about your abuela that

you ended up internalizing. I don’t think either of you are crazy, okay?”

My heart gets heavy. It’s true that every time I heard my mom call my grandma crazy, it made it a little harder to breathe.

Like if she hated her mom so much for being crazy, was that how she felt about me?

“I am crazy, though,” I admit.

“Okay, then I’ll say this.” Mami looks at me with tears in her eyes. “I’m not ashamed of you. Not for being bisexual, and

not for being bipolar. Either of you.”

Abuela smiles, her eyes also getting a bit misty. “Thank you, mija.”

I want to say something too, but my words are stuck in my throat. Mami doesn’t seem to be done yet, though, so maybe that’s

all right.

“And, Yami.” She turns to face Yami, who’s sitting next to her.

Both of them are already getting choked up.

“I love you more than I can put into words, and I’m so, so sorry for everything I’ve said or done to make you feel otherwise.

You’ve carried so much on your shoulders over the years, and I need you to know that it’s enough. You are enough.”

By the time Mami’s done with all her apologies, at least half the room is in tears, and she and Yami are holding hands like

their lives depend on it. Then Mami starts looking around at the rest of us, as if to say “Who’s next?”

I won’t lie, the idea of apologizing for everything I’ve done to all these people right now scares the shit out of me, so

I’m relieved when Abuela volunteers herself next.

“I need to apologize too, mija,” she says to my mom. “I know I didn’t make things easy on you growing up. Now that you’ve

given me the chance to be in your life again, I promise to be a better mother and grandmother for the rest of mine. I don’t

take this gift for granted. And... I also want to apologize to you, Viva.” She shifts her gaze to Dona Violeta, who smiles,

not at all fazed by the play on her name. “I made a choice, all those years ago, and I can admit now that it was the wrong

one. Even if I suffered more for it, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Dona Violeta says. “I should have kept in touch then. I was so glad to hear you’ve been doing better recently,

but I regret that I wasn’t a part of that journey.” Dona Violeta’s apology makes me think about how I’ve felt about Jamal

lately. About how much I’ve missed.

Not being a part of his journey with coming out and all his performances was one of the hardest parts about pushing him away. I need to fix that.

“And I’m sorry to you too, Cesar.” Dona Violeta turns to me now. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“I wouldn’t have gone with you to Abuela’s if you told the truth,” I admit. “But don’t do it again.”

“Promise, mijo,” she says with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll go next,” Yami says with a shaky breath, and I know what she’s about to say before she gets it out. Even though

she has nothing to apologize for, it must be scary bringing this up to our mom. I give her an encouraging nod so she knows

I have her back. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you, Mami. I didn’t say anything because I haven’t really decided yet, but...”

She pauses, running her hands over her braid nervously. “I didn’t just get into ASU. Bo and I both got into the art program

at NAU.” She avoids my mom’s gaze.

I can’t help but smile. She said it out loud, which tells me how bad she wants this. She’s never been super sure of what she

wanted to do after high school, so this is clearly a bigger deal than she’s letting on.

The few seconds of silence waiting to see Mami’s reaction feels like forever. She eventually wipes a tear and clears her throat.

“I’m so proud of you, mija. That’s really great news.”

“Really?” Yami looks more confused than relieved. “If you need me to stay to help with the business, I can. And, Cesar, literally,

if you tell me you need me here, I’ll go to ASU instead. I don’t want to abandon you guys.”

“Yami, stop,” I say, my voice coming out softer than she’s used to from me lately. “You want to go to NAU, right? When have you ever considered your own needs before mine? For once in your life, do what you want to do.”

“But are you gonna be okay if I leave?”

I hate that I can’t confidently say I will. But if I’m not, it’s not on her. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But I definitely

won’t be okay if you don’t go to the college you want because of me. You should go.”

Yami opens her mouth like she’s about to protest, but Mami stops her. “Mija, I want you to do what is best for you and your

future. I’ll be here with your brother, and so will Violeta and your abuela. We’ve got plenty of support to go around. You’ve

done more than enough for all of us. It’s time you do something for yourself.”

Mami’s barely finished her sentence before Yami throws herself into a hug. “Thank you, Mami. I’ll call all the time, and we

can all visit whenever.” She pulls away. “I love you guys so much, but... I do really want to go.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mami says, squeezing Yami’s hand.

It’s quiet for a bit before I realize I’m the only one who hasn’t apologized yet. And probably the one who has the most apologizing

to do, even if they probably don’t expect me to say anything.

I feel almost like I’m going to confession, but this time it’s not God I need forgiveness from. Instead of waiting for someone

to change the subject and let me off the hook, I just start blurting out all of it.

I apologize for everything I can remember doing.

Hooking up with Bianca, lashing out at everyone, yelling at Yami and my mom, being so mean to everyone else and myself, and even not following through with making Sunday dinners.

I basically get it all out without stopping for air, but I’m still holding my breath when I’m done.

I still can’t breathe until Yami gets up and pulls me into a hug. Then everyone else joins in, and before I know it, I’m wrapped

up like a cinnamon roll, and I can’t tell if I’m laughing or crying. Maybe both.

After the emotional roller coaster that was that whole conversation, I’m probably exhausted enough to sleep for several days.

Dona Violeta and Abuela promise to come back for dinner tomorrow, but they all keep hanging out for a bit while I let myself

go take a nap. For the first time in a long time, sleep comes easily and peacefully.

When I wake up again, I check my phone to see it’s already eleven at night. My throat is dry as hell—I might be dehydrated

from the crying—so I get up for some water. When I get to the end of the hallway, I’m surprised to hear Abuela and Dona Violeta

still awake and having a quiet conversation.

It feels intimate, so I try to be discreet as I sneak past them and into the kitchen to give them some privacy. It isn’t until

I turn back around with my water that it all makes sense.

Dona Violeta is sitting on the couch with Abuela on the floor, head between Violeta’s knees.

There’s a relaxed smile on Abuela’s lips as she closes her eyes while Dona Violeta gently braids her hair.

They must have just started, because the braid is still only a few inches off Abuela’s scalp.

Dona Violeta hums softly as her hands weave effortlessly through my abuela’s hair like she’s done it a million times before.

Because she has.

It wasn’t my abuelo who braided Abuela’s hair all those years ago, but Dona Violeta. She’s the one Abuela called “her love” in all the stories she told me and Moni. The person she had to learn how to sleep without.

Was my grandpa the “choice” Abuela was talking about when she apologized? It doesn’t take long to get my confirmation in the

form of a snore.

She’s already asleep.

It may have been years since this was normal for them, but right now it looks like the most natural thing in the world. If

I’m right—and I know I am—it’s been ages since they’ve been able to be intimate like this.

But looking at them now, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think they never stopped.