“Me too, Mom.”
She beams.
“I go by Ri now, by the way,” I add. “I have for a long time.” Since sometime after she left, that’s been my nickname. Nina is the one who gave it to me, actually.
Mom nods. “Got it. Reeeee”—she draws the sound out with a grin—“it is.”
I smile tentatively, trying to forget about the thoughts of being a stranger to everyone in my life, because I have a chance here, with Mom, to change that.
I pass her a pencil. Open the Spanish book to the section we’re studying in class, and then my workbook to the homework assignment. I push the book toward her and tilt it so she can see. “These are some of the vocabulary words we’re working on. Quise, toqué, hablé, comí, dormí, vi, dije.” I watch Mom’s expression as I pronounce the words badly. I know I don’t sound like Señora Almanza or Grandma would. But Mom’s face remains blank.
She grabs the book and pulls it closer. “I’ll read them, and you translate. I’ll tell you if it’s right or wrong, or help you get the answer, and you write it down. Sound good?” She reads, “¿Qué viste en las noticias?”
I close my eyes. “What did you see on the news?”
Mom grins as I peek at her. “Very good, mija!” She pushes my workbook toward me. “Write.”
I smile at the word mija and write the translation. We move on to the next question. “Yo toqué el gato,” she reads, her voice making the words sound so fluid, so natural.
“I touch the cat,” I say.
Mom tilts her head at me.
“I mean, I touched the cat. That was past tense, right?”
Mom nods. She flips the page to another section. “Okay, now how about you read one?”
I hesitate.
Mom’s deep brown eyes hold my gaze, unfaltering. “It’s okay, I’m here to help,” she says.
I pull the book closer and read the words in my head. I know how they should sound. And sometimes, when I’m practicing alone, I can almost speak like Grandma or our neighbors. But when I’m around other people, I get nervous and I choke. It feels like I’m terrible at something that should come naturally, like I’m an imposter and it’s only a matter of time before everyone in class and—it’s hard to admit this part—even Mom realizes it and laughs at me. Feeling frustrated and like we’ve covered enough of this part anyway, I flip to another section of the book.
“¿Tienes familia?” I ask.
Mom nods for me to read the answer from the book.
“Tengo una familia grande,” I say.
“Very good!” she exclaims. “What does it mean?”
“It asked if I have a family.” I point to the question box that has the words and an illustration. “And I answered ‘I have a big family’ like it says over here.” I point to the answer box.
Mom smiles at me and nods.
I look down. I don’t have a big family. For years, all I’ve had is Grandma. And now, in this moment with my mom, all I can think about is the time we’ve lost.
Mom must read my expression. She tilts my chin up. “What’s wrong, baby?”
I stare at the book in front of me, but don’t read a word. “I’ve really missed you is all.”
Mom lets my chin go and leans toward me. “I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea. So, so much.”
And here, with Mom, feeling emotional and out of sorts, I blurt out the words I’ve been afraid to say, to even think.
“Not like I’ve missed you, because if you had, you would have come. Whether you were afraid of Grandma or not, you would have come.”
Mom inhales audibly. I brave a glance up to see my mother’s lip quivering. “Baby, I know. You can’t help but feel abandoned.”
Mom looks at me straight in the eye and without blinking she says, “I will do whatever I can to prove to you how much, to show you how much I love you.”
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I smile at my mom. “I love you too.”
I laugh softly and look around to make sure no one is paying attention to us. The other library visitors go about their business, typing and reading as though everything is normal. For them, it might be, but here at this table, I’m with my mom. Something I’ve wished for and dreamed of for years. I don’t want to waste our time together mourning the past. I close the book. “I think that’s enough studying for today. But, um, we can do something else . . . if you want to?”
Mom perks up in her seat. “Do you want some ice cream? You used to love rocky road. Do you still?” Mom’s eyes are wide and hopeful.
“My favorite.” I don’t even remember liking rocky road, but I must have been a toddler, if my mom is remembering it. Chocolate is my favorite now.
“I have some money.” She grins. “We can go to Rite Aid and get a double scoop!”
“That would be great, Mom.”
I pack up my bag, and we walk out of the library together.
As we stroll down State Street, I think about how normal this could feel. How normal I wish this felt. Walking around with Mom after studying, about to get ice cream, no one around giving us a second glance. We’re just a mother and daughter hanging out after school. This could have been my life. I shake my head. I don’t want to go down that rabbit hole again, at least not today. Now I’m with my mom, and we’re having fun.
Mom pushes the door to Rite Aid open and the bell tings, letting the clerk inside know he has customers. We head for the ice cream counter.
“Hello, lovely ladies!” the elderly man says. “What can I get for you?”
“Two double scoop rocky roads, please.” Mom claps her hands together with excitement.
“Cone or cup?”
“Cone! Cone for sure, right, mija?” Mom looks down at me hopefully.
“I love cones.”
The man scoops up the first cone and hands it to Mom, who quickly gives it to me. And then he serves her the second. We follow the man to the register and Mom opens her wallet and pays.
Seeing her grin as she watches me eat my ice cream, I feel a pang in my chest. Maybe with time, this won’t feel so strange. We’ll be a normal, regular, happy family.
Mom and me.
Chapter
Eleven
Señora Almanza tells us that we have an oral presentation next Wednesday. Things have been going better in class because I’ve been seeing Mom once a week at the library to study for Spanish, but most of it is written stuff with the occasional rehearsed answer.
An oral presentation means that Señora Almanza is going to ask each of us different questions from the unit we’re studying, like usual, and she’ll call on us at random, in Spanish, like usual. And we’re to answer in Spanish, like usual. Except this time, we’re supposed to stand in front of the entire class and hold a conversation. We’ll be graded for accuracy and delivery. And with all eyes on me, everyone will really see how bad I am at this.
Finally, the bell rings and the panic in my chest starts to creep down into my stomach, a cold, slimy kind of fear. I look at Carlos to get his attention. Since we’ve been seeing each other—which is how I decide to categorize what we’re doing in my head, anyway—Carlos hasn’t asked me on a date or shown interest in defining our relationship. And I won’t drop any hints about it—wouldn’t want to scare him off.
I don’t want to seem needy either, so when he doesn’t look up from his phone, I turn to Edgar. “Study buddies?”
“Sounds good to me.”
On my other side, Carlos perks up. “I could do Saturday afternoon.”
“Awesome,” I say. “Want to do it at my place?”
Edgar stands and reaches for his backpack. “That works. Can you text me your address?” He takes his phone out of his pocket.
Carlos stands. “You can just come with me. I know where she lives.” Carlos grins with bravado, his meaning crystal clear.
Edgar reaches for my hand. I jump before realizing that he’s grabbing for my phone. I swallow. Edgar quickly saves his number and hands it bac
k to me. “Just in case.” He nods at Carlos. “See you later.”
Carlos puts his arm around me as Edgar walks out the door.
“What’s his hurry?” I ask.
Carlos shrugs and leans in to whisper into my ear. “After he leaves Saturday, I don’t have to.” His lips graze my earlobe, his warm breath tickling it.
I’m light-headed, high with excitement, and giggle like an idiot. “That would be great.”
Friday after school, Carlos walks me home like he usually does now. Outside my doorstep, I lean into him and kiss him deeply. Then, before he can get any ideas, I pull away and watch his eyes go dazed as I quickly twist my key into the lock and open the door behind me. “See you tomorrow!” I call cheerfully. Leaving him outside.
I lean my back against the closed door and smile. It feels good to be the one to make him wait.
Grandma is working late again. About a half hour after the door clangs shut, announcing her return, she calls me from my room to join her in the kitchen.
The smell of warm chocolate fills my nostrils once I’m in the hallway. Grandma’s been baking.
She sets the pan of chocolate brownies on the counter to cool. “For your girlfriends tomorrow, when you’re studying.”
Making these is probably her way of sucking up since I’ve been giving her the cold shoulder. Seeing Mom in secret, getting to know her, has made me feel closer to my past, but more distant from Grandma at home . . . but that’s Grandma’s fault. It’s not like I can forget what she did to Mom.
Her offering softens me, though, so I’ll make a stab at conversation. “Thanks, Grandma.” I shuffle from foot to foot. I didn’t tell her I’d be studying with girls, but I’m not going to correct her. “How was work today?”
“Work is work,” Grandma replies, smoothing her hands over her apron before she takes it off. Neither of us have brought up when I dropped off the shawl, and it feels like Grandma prefers it that way.
Guilt slinks down in my belly. Seeing her sweat in a hot kitchen, cooking and cleaning and working nonstop, for us. For me.
“Grandma,” I begin, “I know your job is hard.”
Grandma looks at me, her lips pursed.
I blink several times. “I . . . I know you work long hours.”
Grandma appraises me with a stern look. “Yes, I do. So I expect you to work hard too.” She sits at the table. “How was school?”
“School is school.”
Grandma gives me an annoyed look.
“I like being in Spanish class,” I offer as I sit across from her. “I’m making some new friends.”
“That is a positive.”
“Well, not all of them are new. You remember Nina? She’s in Spanish, and it’s been great getting to hang out with her again.”
Grandma’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh? I thought . . .”
I stare at her. “What is it?”
Grandma shrugs, averting her eyes. “I thought you two found other friends.” She looks back at me. “I hope Nina is staying out of trouble.”
My eyes narrow. Nina was never trouble when we hung out. We rode our bikes, braided each other’s hair while we watched movies, strolled around the Art Walk, and hung out at the park with some other neighborhood kids. Those are the kinds of things we did together.
My words come out cool and menacing. “Nina’s great. She always has been. I’m really happy we’re friends again.”
Grandma stands and makes her way to the kitchen. She pours a glass of orange juice and sets it in front of me, though I didn’t ask for it, before busying herself in the kitchen making decaf coffee.
“Well, as long as these new friends don’t keep you from paying attention in Spanish class. You promised to keep your grades up, remember?”
I lift my eyes to the ceiling in frustration. “Yes, Grandma, I remember.”
The coffee maker beeps, and Grandma grabs a mug from the cupboard. “You need excellent grades so that when you apply to Yale, Harvard, and Stanford, along with the other good universities, they will accept you.”
Not this again.
“I am not going to get into Yale or Harvard or Stanford, even if I wanted to, which I don’t! I want to go to UCSB, where they have a good writing program and in-state tuition.” I pause and lower my voice. “I can even live at home and save money.”
Grandma’s eyebrows furrow into a deep V. “But UCSB—”
“Is a good school, Grandma! And I don’t want to be a doctor or an engineer or follow whatever grand life plan for me you have. Why can’t you give me a chance?”
Grandma’s face falls as she watches me struggle to catch my breath.
My eyes prickle but I don’t want to cry, so instead I glare in the other direction.
“You know, I had dreams once. I didn’t always think I’d be an assistant.”
I blink several times, tear my gaze from the wall and bring it back to Grandma.
She walks toward her knitting basket in the living room and slowly lifts a needle. “I love crafting. Not just knitting and crocheting, but other activities. Sometimes we make stained glass in Bible study—have I told you that?”
I shake my head. “You’ve never brought anything like that home.”
Grandma waves the hand not holding the needle. “Oh, you know, I just donate it to the church thrift store, because they can sell it and use the money for the needy. I don’t need to display everything I make. It’s more about the act of creating.”
I stare at Grandma. She likes making things. I knew about the knitting and the occasional crocheting, but I thought those were just old lady hobbies. I take a long drink of my orange juice and set the cup down before heading for the living room, Grandma’s words drawing me in.
“When I was a couple of years younger than you, I learned how to weave from my grandmother. I loved it, and eventually I was able to make my own textiles. After we moved here, my dream was to own my own hobby store. One where other women like me could meet and work together, while also buying and selling our crafts. I used to visit the fabric store downtown and dream. I thought maybe I could get a job there. I wanted to learn what I could and save money to start my own shop one day . . .”
Grandma trails off and sighs, running a finger along the needle. I watch her, transfixed. She’s never mentioned her grandma to me before.
“But God intervened, giving me a much better opportunity for me and our family. I met Mrs. Reynolds’s old assistant at mass. She was looking for someone to replace her and introduced me to Mrs. Reynolds. Your grandfather and I couldn’t believe our luck. The pay was so good, much better than what he made as a janitor and taking the odd furniture assembly side job. I couldn’t turn it down.”
Grandma sets her needle back in the basket. “So, I did the responsible thing, pushed childish dreams away for a more practical career. It isn’t a fun choice to make, Ri, but the right one. When you are financially stable in a good career, then maybe you can write.”
Grandma rests a hand over the yarn in her knitting basket before turning to me. “We all make sacrifices. My job is hard, you’ve seen that for yourself now, and I will never love it, but the work is well worth it because it allows me to take care of you.”
The lump in my throat bobs as I swallow.
Grandma yawns before leaning in to kiss me on the forehead. “I love you, baby. It’s late. Get some rest for tomorrow.” She pats my shoulder and walks around me, heading to her room.
Just like that, our conversation is over, and I’m alone.
Grandma’s already gone to work by the time I wake up on Saturday morning, per usual. I shower and rummage through my closet, settling on a gray sweater dress and black booties, even though I’ll be in my own house and there’s no need to wear shoes. They make my legs look good, though.
I’m curling my hair into soft waves, applying more makeup than strictly necessary for a study session, when my phone dings. A text from Carlos.
Sorry, but something came up. I can’t make it to
day.
I slap the phone down on the bathroom counter.
Carlos is blowing me off. Even after what he said about staying over when Edgar left. Even after the way I kissed him yesterday.
I grab my phone, considering canceling on Edgar, but my fingers don’t move. I really do need the help studying. And I like Edgar. I’m comfortable around him. No need for me to bail on him like Carlos bailed on me. I stab a quick message, my address, and hit send. Edgar quickly replies. See you soon.
I pull my dress down—it has the tendency to ride up—and stomp to the kitchen, pulling out the brownies Grandma made. I set them on the table, kick off my booties, and the doorbell rings.
I open the door to see a bespectacled Edgar looking annoyed as he quickly types a message in his phone. I’ve never seen him wear glasses before now—they’re cute. He looks sophisticated and artistic all at once.
“Thanks for coming.”
I shut the door behind Edgar. He notices a few pairs of Grandma’s shoes at the doorway and my socked feet. “Should I take off my shoes?”
“Only if you want. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
He slips off his shoes and sets them aside, next to Grandma’s on the wall. I glance at my booties, kicked off haphazardly in the middle of the living room. I grab them and set them neatly beside Edgar’s.
Edgar follows me to the kitchen table. I gesture for him to sit, pushing the plate of brownies toward him. “Want some milk to go with these?”
The light from the window catches Edgar’s skin, making it look bronze as he chuckles. “You didn’t need to do all of this.”
I widen my eyes a little impatiently, telling him to answer my question.
He nods quickly. “Milk would be great. Thanks.”
He unzips his backpack as I get the milk. “How’s your Multimedia project going?”
“Oh, um.” I’m surprised he remembered. “It’s fine, I guess. I figured out how to use the school’s fancy video camera, finally.”
Edgar pulls his Nikon out of his backpack and lifts it up for me to see. “You can borrow mine,” he says with a smile. “I should have offered before—this baby, it’s a DSLR and I have a few really good lenses, like a telephoto one, and it shoots great video—but I didn’t think of it. I can show you how to use it.” He pushes the camera over the wooden table to me.
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