Everything Within and In Between

by Nikki Barthelmess

  Nina laughs. “Guessing Carlos told you about them.” She rolls her eyes. “Cassie isn’t still into him, if that’s what you’re getting at. She’s talking to some girl from San Marcos that she’s all about now. But yeah, Cassie and Carlos were a thing for a while. And I told her to be careful, too, but you know, she didn’t listen. Carlos is just . . .” Nina hesitates. “He’s not someone I’d recommend any of my friends getting too serious about.”

  I purse my lips. Now we’re friends? Now that Nina wants to give me dating advice. But where was she before? All these years when I really needed her. It sounds like Cassie and Carlos ended on bad terms and now Nina just wants to get in my business. But I don’t say that. Instead, I mutter, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Silence hangs awkwardly between us. “Well, I guess I should get going, then,” Nina says. “My mom wants me to help with some chores.”

  I stand with her and freeze as she hugs me.

  “See you at school, Ri.”

  I watch her walk away and my stomach drops. We’d been sitting here talking for a while, and it was confusing but still nice to be with her. But now it’s over and I can’t ignore the fact that I haven’t heard a peep from my mother.

  I call her and get voicemail. Her raspy voice, just hearing it, hearing her, almost breaks me. I hold back tears and hang up.

  I flop facedown on my bed. I think about screaming into a pillow like I’ve seen in movies, but what would that get me? I flip over and put my feet on the bed, sneakers on and everything. Like Grandma hates. To spite her, as though this little action could hurt her at all, no less than the way she’s hurt me. If Grandma hadn’t kept Mom being in Oxnard a secret this whole time, I wouldn’t even be in this situation of getting blown off. Because Mom asked to see me two years ago. She wanted me then.

  I swallow the huge lump in my throat, my chin twitching like it sometimes does when I try not to cry. I don’t know what’s changed.

  I jump as my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Mom. Relief floods through me quickly, dramatically, and I let go of the pain in my chest with an exhale.

  I’m so sorry I didn’t meet you today, baby. We will make it work some other time, I promise.

  She’s not blowing me off. She wants to see me. She wants me.

  I reread the message. The words start to sink in.

  That’s it? No explanation.

  I stare at my phone as unease slowly creeps back in, dread filling my gut.

  I wait to see if she’s going to text more. Maybe she’ll give a date and time for that rain check.

  But she doesn’t.

  Instead of going back to being pissed at Grandma, I ask myself, is there more to why Mom left than what Grandma has said? What kind of bad decisions did Mom make that Grandma hints at but never tells me?

  I didn’t want to pay attention to Grandma’s digs before. I thought maybe it was just her way of making me feel like I was better off without Mom or a way for her to ignore how she could be at fault for Mom leaving. But now, how could I not wonder?

  Even though I’m hurt and sad and confused, I answer my mom. I hope so.

  Chapter

  Seven

  It’s early evening but it feels like the middle of the night, with the day I’ve had. I head outside my room to get a snack. Grandma’s sitting at the dining room table, reading the newspaper.

  Grandma turns and once she sees my face, she sits up straighter. “Is something wrong, Ri?”

  Mom didn’t show. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t want me.

  I blink a few times. I’m okay. I have to be.

  “No, I think I . . . uh . . . I think I’m just a little tired.” I head toward the kitchen. “I ran harder than I meant to.”

  I fill a glass of water and gulp some down before grabbing a banana.

  Grandma looks at the wooden clock on the wall. “Oh! I need to make us dinner.”

  Grandma pushes her seat back and stands, and since the kitchen is so small and she never wants my help cooking anyway, I walk around her to make space.

  I consider taking the banana to my room but instead plop into a dining room chair. My stomach gurgles before I can take a bite. Is it possible to be so sad that it makes me sick?

  I felt like everything was going to change once I saw that letter. But my mom has known where I’ve been this whole time and never came. And now I went and found her, and we’re still no closer to being together. What if her reason for leaving was never about Grandma? What if I’m not enough?

  In front of the open fridge, Grandma tsks. “Not much food in here. I better go to the mercado to pick up some things.”

  She looks at me and I shrug, putting my banana down.

  Grandma’s brow furrows as she stares at me. She hesitates but then asks, “Would you like to join me?”

  My head jerks back, surprised. “Sure,” I stammer. Grandma never brings me to the neighborhood market with her anymore. Usually, it seems like Grandma doesn’t want me with her when she runs errands. Most of the time it’s like our lives are completely separate. Mine is at school and hers is at work.

  The drive to the market is short. Inside, there are aisles full of foods from Grandma’s home country. As we walk, she piles tortillas, cilantro, jalapeños, tomatillos, and beef for carne asada, but shakes her head when I reach for a Jarritos fruit punch.

  “Too much sugar,” Grandma says, before pushing the cart on.

  A young woman with long black hair in pigtail smiles as she passes us.

  Grandma smiles curtly and then keeps walking. I wonder what it would be like to stop and chat in Spanish, like the woman does with someone else, as we walk away.

  Once we’re checking out, I load the conveyer belt with groceries behind a family of four ahead of us. The woman bounces a toddler in her arms as the father and young son load their items to be scanned.

  “Hola,” the man says to the smiling clerk, who, though I can’t place her, looks familiar. “¿Cómo estás, Adriana?”

  “Estoy bien. ¿Y tu familia?” she answers, grinning at the little boy and girl.

  “¡Estamos bien!” the little boy answers happily. He bounces on the balls of his feet, eyeing the pack of Jarritos his dad is loading. Figures.

  They finish their exchange and Adriana starts ringing up our groceries. A piece of her salt-and-pepper hair falls from her bun and she tucks it behind her ear. The gesture is what brings the memory back. I knew I recognized that messy bun—Adriana was always at mass when we used to go, years ago. One of the neighborhood boys who Nina hung out with, Diego, had a crush on Adriana’s niece, Isabella, and talked about what big chichis she had. I’d forgotten about that until now.

  I’m about to say something when Adriana greets Grandma with an awkward “hello.” Her lips pull into what seems like a forced smile.

  I blink, taken aback. Where did all the warmth go that she gave the family ahead of us?

  Grandma replies, “Hello.”

  And that’s it. No friendly “¿Cómo estás?”—no talk at all—as Grandma slides her credit card. As soon as Grandma looks away, Adriana’s smile falls off her face. She makes quick work of bagging the groceries silently, without making eye contact with Grandma. And though it’s tense, I’m able to get her attention. She returns my small smile.

  Grandma shops here every week, and this store is tiny. I bet she sees Adriana all the time. But their interactions are strange and I wonder what happened between Grandma and her. I grab the groceries in my arms as Grandma begins to push the cart to the side of the store where the others go, without so much as a goodbye. Unease fills my belly as I get a sense that this is how all of Grandma’s visits to the mercado go.

  I turn to Adriana and rack my brain for something nice to say in Spanish. “Mucho gusto,” I offer. Even though we’ve already met and by the way she’s looking at me, Adriana remembers. She grins. “Que bueno verte, bonita,” she replies warmly. She hesitates and then adds, “Maria.”

  I wave until I see that Gr
andma is already leaving. I rush to catch up with her, and after unloading the bags, I ask. “Grandma, that was Adriana from mass, right?”

  Grandma starts the car. “I’m surprised you remember. It was so long ago, but yes, that was her.”

  “Why . . . ?” I pause, trying to think of how I want to ask this. “You both got along fine back then. Why didn’t you talk to her now?”

  Grandma reverses the car out of the parking spot, replying all nonchalant. “We said hello. What more is there to say?”

  A lot, I think. Sure, Grandma doesn’t have to be best friends with the people who work at or shop at the mercado. But, coming from Grandma, this chilly interaction seems deliberate. Like she wants it that way. It wasn’t that they didn’t exchange pleasantries like the family Adriana saw before us—that’s not abnormal in and of itself. But Adriana knows us and it’s like Grandma went out of her way not to talk to her. And it seemed that Adriana was used to it.

  “You don’t really hang out with anyone from our old church, though. Mrs. Sánchez is always asking how you are. She used to come by the house and invite us over.” But stopped after you said no every time.

  “I have plenty of friends,” Grandma replies quickly. “From our current church. I go to Bible study and we make things together.”

  Grandma drives through the parking lot as I turn her words over in my head. She’s dismissing everything I say, like it’s not significant. But it is. I look at Grandma’s face; her cheeks wrinkle as her lips purse under my stare.

  “Is there a reason why we’re completely separated from our—” I stop myself short. I don’t want to say people; that would draw some serious side-eye. “Community,” I finish weakly.

  Grandma scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ri. We have a church, and I am busy with work, and you are too, with school.”

  I swallow. Her wall is up, and once again, I’m on the other side of it.

  Grandma and I spend the rest of the car ride home in silence.

  The next morning, I’m still bothered by that weird trip to the mercado with Grandma and the fact that my mom hasn’t given me a date or time for meeting up. Both things just make me determined as ever to learn Spanish, though. Even if Mom wants nothing to do with me, and Grandma wants to have nothing to do with our heritage—I’m still going to class. I still want to learn, to find some way, any way to connect with my culture. I don’t need either of them for that—I’m doing this for me.

  I head out the door just in time as Brittany pulls up. The fall air dampens my hair, flattening it, I’m sure. The car’s door handle is cold on my fingertips as I open it and hop in.

  As soon as I’m in the car, I realize Brittany turned the ignition off. She turns to face me.

  “What happened with your mom yesterday? I tried to call you last night, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

  I close my eyes. I was so disappointed, and I didn’t want to have to relive that by explaining everything to Brittany.

  “Nothing. She didn’t show.”

  My words are monotone, and I shrug like I don’t care. But the way Brittany’s face falls almost breaks me. I turn away, look out the window.

  She reaches out to my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Ri.”

  I shake my head, fight back tears.

  On the other side of me, I hear Brittany inhale deeply. “Maybe . . . she was just busy.”

  Brittany doesn’t sound like she even believes the words she just said, but I know she only wants to comfort me.

  My thoughts turn to Nina, how the day wasn’t a complete waste.

  “But something interesting did happen at the beach.” I compose myself and look at Brittany. “I ran into Nina. We hung out.”

  Brittany’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Okay, well . . . that’s good.” Brittany’s statement sounds like a question.

  “Yeah,” I say. “It was. I’ve really missed her. Remember when we all used to be friends? We had so much fun.”

  Brittany licks her lip before biting it. “I remember how close you two were when we met. She came over to my house a few times.”

  I think back to the questions I’ve been asking myself about our past and how Nina seemed to think Brittany wouldn’t want to hang out with her.

  “We were all friends, the three of us,” I reply tentatively, now unsure if this was ever actually true.

  Brittany’s exhale sounds breathy. “I don’t know—I never got the feeling she liked me that much.”

  My neck snaps back at the irony. “That’s not true.”

  Brittany shrugs. “She just wasn’t all that nice to me. She wasn’t mean or anything,” Brittany adds quickly at the look I give her. “I just feel like we didn’t have anything in common.”

  Brittany’s words echo what she said about Carlos and Edgar. I think of the way Brittany’s house seemed to me and Nina, like a big, fancy mansion that we didn’t belong in. How her mom told us not to touch anything. How Brittany went around showing me all her toys, while Nina often hung back and chatted with Miss Camila and helped her prepare snacks for us.

  I remind myself that Brittany apologized about being a jerk to Carlos and Edgar. I’ll say something to Brittany when it’s needed now, but I can’t react to something in the past when I’m still trying to figure out if I’m remembering things correctly. “I’m glad that maybe Nina and I can hang out again. She was my best friend.”

  I know I picked the wrong words—best friend—the second I say them because Brittany’s arms shoot to the steering wheel and in the blink of an eye, she turns the car back on and pulls onto the street.

  I search for something to say but Brittany beats me to it. “It’ll be cool to hang out with her again, I guess,” Brittany says, “if you don’t mind that she ghosted you back then. I remember how sad you were. Did she ever say why she did that?”

  I look out the window, not wanting Brittany to see how hurt I am by the memory. “No,” I mutter. “She didn’t.”

  We pass a cluster of middle schoolers heading for the nearby bus pickup. I decide to change the subject, be normal. Or at least try to. “So, what do you think?” I wave a hand over my outfit, a navy blue dress with a low scooped neck. “Trying to look good for Spanish class. Key word trying.”

  Brittany raises an eyebrow at me. “That reminds me, how’d the walk go with Carlos?”

  Brittany’s tone is measured. I can tell she’s not excited about Carlos, because her voice isn’t gushy like it is when she talks about Finn or even back when Eric and I were a thing.

  I give her the side-eye. “It was good. A little awkward, but good.”

  We got into an argument about her, but it’s not like I’m telling Brittany that.

  “Hmm.” At the green light, Brittany hits the gas faster than I expect. She changes the subject to French class. No more talk about Carlos, apparently, which shouldn’t be a complete surprise. She clearly has some issue with him, and that bugs me. I listen to her talk about whatever she wants, whenever she wants. And it’s not like I think Finn or any other guy Brittany has ever been interested in is the most awesome person ever. My jaw is clenched for the rest of the car ride and as we walk into school.

  Brittany sees Finn across the hall and grins at me. I think about rolling my eyes or doing something to show her that I’m annoyed but decide against it as the conversation plays out in my head.

  Brittany didn’t do anything wrong, per se. She did ask about Carlos, even. Maybe I’m making too much out of nothing.

  So, instead of calling attention to my annoyance, I wiggle my eyebrows at Brittany, eyeing Finn. She smiles as she leaves me to go talk to him.

  Down the hall, Edgar is walking toward our lockers, so I wave. He smiles as soon as he catches sight of me, his curly hair bouncing slightly atop his head as he makes his way over.

  “We have to stop meeting like this.” Immediately I flush at my attempt to be funny. Edgar gives me an awkward smile. “You look nice today,” he says.

  I look down at my d
ress and back up, not meeting Edgar’s eye. “Thanks. Thought I’d dress up.” Because I’m trying to impress Carlos.

  I grab my stuff and close the locker. I feel someone behind me, and I turn to see Nina.

  “Hey!” My eyes widen at my exuberance, arm flailing in a wave and voice an octave higher than usual. Nina and Edgar share a look, and then when it’s clear they’re both trying not to smile, I laugh. “Okay, hi, yeah. Ri Fernández, most awkward person ever, apparently. Nice to see you.”

  “I like your awkward,” Nina says. “It’s good to see you’re still the same Ri who used to play Ninja Turtles with me.”

  Edgar raises an eyebrow, and I nod. “It’s true. Except instead of the obvious, I always pretended to be Splinter because—”

  I stop talking mid-sentence as I see Brittany looking our way, her nose crinkled as though she smells something bad. She starts walking toward us.

  “Party started without me, it looks like,” Brittany says. She’s smiling, but it’s not a real one. Her lips are upturned but her eyes remain flat, reminding me of what her mom looks like when she’s talking to Brittany and me about something she’s pretending to be interested in but really isn’t.

  I clear my throat. “You know Edgar, and of course Nina.” I move an arm in between everyone by way of unnecessary introduction.

  Nina looks at me quickly and then, as though she senses my distress, she grins at Brittany. Like Brittany’s, Nina’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes.

  “It’s been a while, Brittany. How’ve you been?”

  Brittany shrugs. “Oh, you know. Busy. Ri and I are about to start golf lessons at the club my mom goes to. It’s, like, really stuffy and boring, most of the time. You’d think for how much my parents pay to be members, there would be more to do. But, like, golf should be fun, I guess, and at least Ri will be with me, like always.”

  Well, that was obnoxious.

  Nina and Edgar look at each other and then back to Brittany. Silence.

  “I’ve taken pictures of the school golf team before for an assignment,” Edgar finally says, in his usual genuine way. “I’m gonna be honest and say I don’t get the appeal. But I bet it’s only because I don’t understand the game. Maybe once you get good at it you can explain it to me.”