Never Too Real

by Carmen Rita

  “Emeli, are you okay?”

  This was the first time the girl had come here, too. Luz wondered which of them was more scared and put off.

  “I’m fine.” Emeli was a tough cookie, Luz would give her that.

  They both turned toward the doors as inmates filed in. Luz wasn’t sure whom her eyes were searching for—Emeli had shown her some photos on her phone of her father, but she still felt lost.

  “Papi!” Emeli popped up to embrace her father, tall and olive-brown, his too-big orange jumpsuit wrinkling under her hug. A guard was stationed right by them. He watched them embrace, glancing up and down, watching their hands.

  “Ay, mi linda, dejame verte.” His voice was rough, that of a smoker. He took his daughter’s face in his hands, admired it, and kissed her forehead. She was beaming. Luz had yet to see her so happy. “Ju look beautiful. Beautiful.” He dropped his hands to hold hers, and called out to his right, “Rico, mira! Es m’ija!” The guard, a dark-skinned Latino with a cerveza belly, shook his chin up with a “S’up.”

  So, Luz thought, he’s a charmer. Dominican all right.

  This was her father, her biological father. He was probably sixty years old. Hair cut into that almost skull-cap wave that was popular uptown, his eyes were Caribbean blue—how fitting—and his smile wide and warm, his chest and arms broad and sturdy like a beisbol player. He loved his daughter, it seemed. More importantly, she clearly loved him. Luz needed to know where Emeli’s soft spots were so she could be sensitive to them going forward. It would get Luz out of her own head.

  “And dis . . .” he said as he swung around to his side of the table. “Dis must be Luz.” He didn’t hug her or even offer a hand to shake. He just looked at her, nearly through her, with intense curiosity. “Well. Ju are much prettier in person.” A backhanded compliment, Luz thought, though his smile was one of relief, not sarcasm.

  “Thanks.”

  All three members of a shared gene pool breathed each other in for a few seconds, the noise of the rest of the room (arguments, crying, laughter) well to the background.

  Emeli then gave Luz a side-eye and started speaking Spanish to her father. Their body language helped Luz keep up.

  What happened with TT?

  Are you eating enough?

  Nah, nah, gotta lose weight when you’re old—it’s a diet!

  Milagros sent Belkys away.

  Again?

  Yeah, but then Belkys ran from the new place so now they don’ know where she is.

  Coño.

  “So, can I ask you some questions?” Luz interjected. They only had ten minutes or so left.

  Eugenio moved his eyes slowly over to her. He took her in and leaned back. “Sure.”

  “Tell me about your time with my mother,” she said.

  The father raised his brows.

  “Do you want me to leave?” Emeli asked deferentially.

  “Oh no.” Eugenio moved forward, putting both arms on the table. “This is a family conversation and we, we three, are family.”

  The women looked at each other.

  “Luz. I loved your mother,” Eugenio said.

  Luz breathed in deeply. She knew this was going to get very real, but the reality of his feelings, she was not ready for.

  “I loved your mother so much. So so much. But she made de right decision, marrying dat guy.”

  “My father,” Luz said.

  “Right. Jor father. Da one who raised you. Roger.”

  Luz nodded in approval. Gotta give the man respect.

  “Why did you let it happen? Let me be raised by someone else.”

  “Aiii, listen.” He ran his hands from the front of his head to the back. “Look at me here. I’m no good. And jor mother was so good. So white. She didn’t belong wit me and my family, she belonged with da best people.” He leaned back a bit.

  Luz’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t even look at her new younger sibling. So much to process.

  “How did you know to contact my brother?”

  “Oh, heem? C’mon, I’m a smart guy—stupid in some ways, in my choices—but I am a resourceful man. I’ve been keeping up on you, just knowing a bit how you were doing.”

  “How did you do that?” Was he a stalker, spying on her?

  “Jor mother would forward me da news on you and sometimes pictures of de kids.”

  “The kids? My kids?”

  “Ya ya, nothing too crazy. Don’ worry, okay?”

  “Okay.” Calm down, girl, Luz told herself. He’s your father, not some guy off the street. But he is a guy off the street. He feels like a guy . . . who happens to be my father. Shit. Mami has been communicating with him this whole time? Oh God, the lies, the deceptions, the double life. I can’t take this.

  “I was always so proud of you, Luz. So proud.”

  Luz tried to swallow the acid of anxiety rising in her throat and instead focus on the agenda at hand, which was to get as much information out of this man as possible before their time ran out. She didn’t want to have to come here again. “Did the rest of your family know about me?”

  “Oh no.” He looked at Emeli. “Did you know about Luz?”

  “Nope.” She kept her head down.

  “No, see?”

  Eugenio seemed miffed. Luz had questioned him, and as a fairly senior abuelo—one in prison, no less—he obviously wasn’t accustomed to that. Interrogation from authority, yes. But from a woman in the family, no.

  “Two minutes!” a guard shouted.

  “Look. Luz. I know dis is all a big surprise to you. But ju gotta know dat was the past and now I need you to take care of Emeli, okay?”

  She looked at her much younger sister, a teen going on thirty. “Right.”

  “You can be angry at all de secrets, but what jor mother did for you and what I did for you and jor father even, it all helped get ju where you are today. And jor mother was the one who made everything happen. I loved her, but she loved you the most. She gave you the greatest opportunities by doing what she did.”

  Luz was still looking at him sideways. But she was listening. It was compelling. And there was so much more she wanted to know and understand.

  “I’m so proud of you, even if I can’t take a lot of credit. But, but!” His finger pointed to the sky. “Now I need you to do the same for your sister.” He pointed at Emeli. “She needs the same chances as you, and unfortunately . . . Well, she’s also in a very tough circumstance.” He gestured around the room. “With no mother now, can you do for her what your mother did for you?”

  Bzzzzzt. Time was up.

  Startled, Luz moved quickly up and out of her chair as everyone else did the same. Emeli embraced her father. Eugenio kissed her cheeks over and over as if she were four years old. When he turned to Luz, she held out her hand. He looked down at it.

  “I’ll take care of her. Thank you,” she said.

  Looking a bit dejected, but moving his chin up, above it, he shook her hand.

  “No. Gracias a ti,” he said sadly.

  As everyone filed out, Luz was slightly embarrassed at the handshake and her palm burned with its memory. Had it been insulting to him? Should she care? Why did it linger and feel so bad? What about Emeli? Had Luz hurt her feelings? Ugh, she could be so snotty sometimes.

  After the inmates left and Eugenio had blown a kiss to his girl, the visitors filed out. Luz really didn’t want to come up here again. But something told her she’d be back soon.

  “So, I thought it better that the kids weren’t here after that,” Luz said to Emeli as she turned the lock and opened the door. “I’m sure this is pretty overwhelming, and adding a bunch of screaming kids . . . to coming back from where we were . . . well . . .” She gestured for her much-younger half sibling to enter.

  The light in the loft-like townhouse was almost as strong as on a beach, and the girl tipped her head back to see where it was coming from. Luz saw her jaw go slack and her grip on her bags loosen a bit. She stood very still, clearly very int
imidated.

  “It’s nice,” she said in the flat affect of a teenager, wrapped in the accent of an American-born Dominican who almost never left her neighborhood.

  Until that moment, Luz hadn’t realized just how much she wanted this girl to accept her. She had thought of acceptance as a one-way street: I’d better like this kid or she’s out. But that was her tough side talkin’, the side that did the deals, that did the work. Luz’s other side, the loving den mother and family advocate, was there, too, and she needed approval.

  “Let me take those for you.”

  Emeli hesitated, seemingly unable to believe she was awake right now, and alive.

  “Okay,” she said finally, though her face showed concern for where her few belongings would go.

  “I’ll just put them down right here in the kitchen, okay? We can set you up in your room after I give you a tour, sí?”

  “Sí, okay.” As her bags were set down within her sight, she relaxed.

  “So, this is the kitchen—the epicenter of our family madness.”

  Emeli’s face was flat, unchanged. Luz told herself, Tone down the thesaurus words there, sister. You’re gonna freak her out even more.

  “The kids are running around here all the time.”

  “Oh, right.” Emeli’s eyes were darting between the fancy chef’s stove, the stainless-steel fridge, and the kitchen island that was probably as big as her bed.

  “Please be at home here. Want something to drink?”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Well, please help yourself while you’re here or just ask one of us, okay? Now, this is the living room-slash-big room filled with toys and screens.” Luz turned them around to face a space that was likely larger than Emeli’s entire apartment. They had two more floors to go. The girl didn’t speak, just nodded. Stunned.

  “We have parental blocks on the cable so the kids don’t accidentally turn on anything they shouldn’t see. But if there’s something you want to watch, just ask. Are there shows you like to watch?”

  “Not really.”

  Jesus, Maria, Jose, caramba. Such a tough nut to crack, this girl.

  Luz clapped her hands together. “Okay, then. Let’s head upstairs.” As Emeli followed her, Luz had to remind herself: She’s a kid. She’s scared. She’s not being a sullen, disrespectful brat. She probably has no idea what to do, how to feel. Be nice, Luz!

  As they climbed the stairs, Luz felt the urge to fill the silence, even if it just made her feel better. Though she couldn’t imagine how it could make Emeli feel worse, unless it was just annoying. And in that case, too bad. Get used to it, sister! We’re a chatty, noisy, loving bunch.

  “So I moved some things around in my old office to give you privacy. I still have my bookcases in there, so you’ll never run out of things to read.”

  Nope, she didn’t lighten up at that.

  “It’s small, but it has a door.” Luz welcomed her into a room about twelve by fourteen feet. Not small for this teenager. She was used to living in a room about half this size.

  “This is where I am?” Emeli’s voice was tentative.

  “Yes!” Luz was so happy to detect emotion, any emotion. “This is your room.” She didn’t add out loud “for now.” It still hadn’t sunk in fully that she had another child to take care of—although they were siblings, Luz thought of Emeli as a child and was, for now, inclined to treat her as such. Luz would much rather be her mother—it seemed she needed one. I’ll figure it out, Luz told herself.

  Emeli walked in slowly. She felt the carpet under her feet.

  “Sorry about that carpet. I hate carpet. We just haven’t gotten to yanking it out yet.”

  “Uh-huh,” Emeli mumbled. Unbothered, instead, comfortable.

  Luz leaned against the doorway as the girl fingered the bookcases. “I got those at ABC warehouse in the Bronx. I’d been eyeing them for years.”

  At the mention of the Bronx Emeli cracked a smile. “I know that place. My cousin lives up there.”

  Luz lit up at the mention of family. “Really? On your mom’s side or your dad’s?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh.” She led the girl around the stairwell. “This will be the bathroom you can use.”

  They walked in. It was fairly narrow but long, and nearly all cream-colored: cream marble backsplash, cream mirrored tiles, ecru tub with a rich teak wraparound frame. Emeli took it in but was stuck staring at one item.

  “Um, what’s dis?”

  “Oh! That’s a bidet.” As if naming it helped. “It’s one of those things that, see, you turn it on like this.” Luz bent down to turn on the spout.

  The girl looked at her quizzically.

  “It’s for, uh, cleaning yourself after you use the toilet.”

  The girl raised her brows. “Oh!”

  “I mean, it can take some getting used to, but I’m sure the girls will be more than happy to show you how to use it!” Luz pictured her twins taking turns on the bidet, showing their new sister—cousin?—wait, auntie? Tía?—how to use the appliance. She chuckled at the thought. But thinking of them suddenly snapped her into Mama-play.

  “Actually, let’s rip through the girls’ room and I can show you the master bedroom later—not like you’ll need to go up there. I thought maybe we could make some cookies for the kids before they get home. Ya know, the smell of fresh-baked cookies and all . . . ?”

  The teen shook her head, not understanding the reference.

  “They say it lowers stress levels.”

  The girl nodded, chin up. Okay. Whatever you say.

  Luz was tired already. And she hadn’t even been through one night with this new girl. Sister. Auntie. And who am I?

  Chapter 24

  Waiting backstage, Cat popped another mint into her mouth. Her stomach was roiling and she was sweating. C’mon, girl, she told herself. Breathe.

  She deliberately pulled air into her lungs, concentrating on the sensation, in and out. Her fight-or-flight programming was on full alert. There might as well have been a hungry grizzly bear in front of her, Cat felt so terrified.

  “A water, please? I’m so dehydrated,” Cat stage-whispered to a producer.

  There were two reasons for the smidge of confidence Cat retained: First, she had managed to board the next flight following her scheduled departure, though it meant arriving with very little time to spare before her presentation, so she was running on adrenaline. And second, what Gabi had said to her about having nothing to lose. With her new speech, produced in a frenzy on the plane, Cat could tank completely, thereby losing all future speaking gigs and getting skewered on social media—maybe they’d say she had lost her mind and she could ride that to a comeback? Or she could be crazy-like-a-fox enough to start a whole new line of work.

  The idea of this speech as an opportunity to focus-group was keeping Cat upright. That, and the potential for happiness. For launching herself into a new space, one that didn’t depend on whether she was “Latin enough,” one that didn’t make her eyes glaze over in boredom and abject ennui. One with room to grow, one that she loved. There was no question in her mind that she was going to step through the door before her, even though it wouldn’t be possible to go back. Step into the light . . .

  “Here you go.” The producer proffered a bottle of water, chilly to the touch. “So, we should start.”

  “Yes, thank you. Start.” You’ll have to be more eloquent than that, chica, Cat told herself.

  Cat’s host strode onto the stage and into the lights. From behind the two-story-high curtain, she could barely hear but she could see. A packed house of women looking for business inspiration were waiting for her, this brown woman, to tell them they could do it. Okay. But did it have to be so cut and dried? Did it have to be about business exclusively? No. More than half of success was psychological. Get the business stuff from books, Cat said silently to herself. I’m here, goddammit, to get you off your ass. And me as well.

  “. . . Let’s wel
come, Cat!”

  Here you go, girl. Just feel it.

  As Cat walked onstage, her Spanx did its usual mild roll down her middle. She paid it no mind. She just focused. She felt as if she were about to bungee jump down a cliff. But this cliff dive—well, this cliff dive led somewhere. It would have to. Cat had no choice.

  “Hello! Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for having me here. It’s a real honor.”

  Cat paused, but it wasn’t for effect. She was gathering her internal forces. Some members of the audience shifted. Some peered closer. Some, she felt, were already impatient. But she had their attention. Now or never.

  Leaving the podium and putting her notes aside, Cat leaped into the abyss.

  “So, I missed my plane. I missed my plane here. On purpose.”

  There were murmurs from the audience.

  “Yup, on purpose! And you’re going: Uh, whyyy? Why would someone like me miss a flight on purpose? How could I be so irresponsible . . . ?

  Because I was afraid. And I was afraid because I had just been dumped by my agent. At the airport.

  Yup, dumped.

  Now I’m sure you all remember how it feels to be dumped. And if you have never been dumped, well, odds are you may not be the dumpER forever.”

  Some light chuckles.

  “Being dumped is hard—it sucks! He dumped me, he said, because. . .”

  She mimicked his voice and tone.

  “‘I’ve done everything I can for you, Cat. I think we’ve come to the end of the line, Cat.’

  And you know what? He was right. He had done all he could for me. I’ve done maybe six pilots. More meetings with more studios than I can count. Web sites, radio, everything—but there were also things that I couldn’t do for him. I couldn’t take another TV job out of desperation. I couldn’t take another TV job at a place I knew was sincerely toxic. And I couldn’t take another TV job where I would be a puppet. Saying and doing what my producers wanted, regardless of my feelings on what I was talking about—regardless of the facts!