How to Make Friends with the Sea

by Tanya Guerrero

  I wondered if she was scared.

  Of course she was.

  Sigh.

  Meanwhile, it was just me and the myriad floating viruses. Thankfully, I had on my sunglasses; they made the place seem less gross, less germy. Like maybe the shiny lenses had the ability to zap the viruses in their path. Even the people surrounding me seemed easier to dismiss. I kind of just stared at my lap, twiddling my fingers and fidgeting my feet. Every time the linoleum squeaked or the loudspeaker crackled, I’d jump from my seat.

  After an hour or so, Mamá came back. She slid into the seat next to me. “It’s going to be a while,” she said.

  Maybe it was the crappy hospital lighting, but suddenly, she looked drained. Her skin was sallow. Her eyes were tinged with red. Her lips were cracked and dry. Even her freckles had somehow faded.

  Screech! Screech! Screech!

  It was her parrot ringtone. She reached into her bag and grabbed her phone.

  “Hello?”

  I couldn’t tell who it was, but there was a muffled voice on the other end.

  Mamá exhaled. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to be late again … I won’t get to the sanctuary until this afternoon … You’ll have to call the vet and have him take a look. I know. I know. I wish I could help. But I’m tied up at the moment. Keep me updated, okay? Thanks.” She hung up.

  It was a work emergency. Usually when that happened, she would run off and take care of whatever it was. This time, though, she couldn’t. She smoothed her hair and put her phone away, and then finally, she cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you, Pablo. You’ve been so patient with Chiqui. It’s been really helpful.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  She placed her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “So. I was wondering about something … Has Chiqui talked to you? Has she said anything at all?” she asked.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  My heartbeat was so loud. Could Mamá hear it? Could she feel it? I stared at my shoes. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to betray Chiqui either.

  She trusted me.

  I looked up and met Mamá’s gaze. “Why?”

  Answering a question with a question wasn’t lying, right?

  “It’s just, well, the child psychologist thinks Chiqui might have what’s called selective mutism … Because of the trauma, because of the change of environment, because she might be shy about not speaking English. She feels Chiqui can speak … She’s just choosing not to.”

  “She’s seeing a child psychologist?” I already knew Chiqui was seeing one because of my eavesdropping. But Mamá had no idea I knew what I knew, so I had to pretend to be surprised.

  “Yes. Doctor Reyes came highly recommended.”

  “And? What else did this doctor have to say?” I asked.

  Mamá fidgeted in her seat. “Well, she’s only had an assessment thus far. But for now, Doctor Reyes thinks we shouldn’t make a big deal of Chiqui not speaking. We need to shift the focus from the negative to the positive.”

  I shrugged. “Huh.”

  “The doctors want to schedule her corrective surgery next month. Before that happens, though, she’s going to have to adjust to all the changes, physically and mentally. That’s why it’s important she sees a child psychologist besides her regular doctors. We need to figure out what’s going on with her. If you know something … anything…”

  I didn’t move a muscle. I went back to staring at my shoes. Hard.

  Mamá let go of my shoulder. She leaned her face closer to mine. So close I could smell the coffee on her breath. “Pablo … mi amor. I’d really be grateful if you told me the truth. Knowing some of Chiqui’s past history … If she’s ever seen doctors. If she can speak normally. If she has a speech impediment … All that information could be crucial to her recovery. It’s not just the one surgery. There’s also the dental procedures. To be honest, I’m not really sure how many of those she’ll need … Hopefully, the family that adopts her can manage … Miguel is pretty optimistic. He’s already got some potential leads, people looking to adopt children like her.” Mamá exhaled and reached for my hand.

  But I didn’t want to be touched. Not at that moment. I was afraid she would feel me twitching.

  Family. Potential leads. Adopt. Children like her.

  I didn’t want to hear any of those words.

  I didn’t even care about lying to her anymore. Because Mamá didn’t care about me; she didn’t care about Chiqui. Not one bit. All she cared about was her stupid work. It felt like hundreds of bees were stinging me all at once. I was nauseated except I couldn’t even puke, because there was this glob of something lodged in my throat. I coughed. My face and neck burned. I must have turned bright scarlet red.

  Say something, Pablo. SAY SOMETHING!

  I coughed again and then again. The glob wouldn’t budge, so I croaked out my reply. “Does Chiqui know? Does she know she’s not staying with us?”

  The glob bulged to double its size. I could barely breathe.

  Mamá’s brow furrowed. “Well, no. Not yet. Chiqui has been through a lot, Pablo. I think it’s best we let her heal first. Of course she’s going to be upset … It’s only natural. But she’s young. In the long run, she’ll be better off in a more stable family situation.”

  I heaved.

  My insides were on fire. Even the glob in my throat sizzled. I was angry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so mad at Mamá. She squeezed my hand. I squirmed and pulled away.

  “Pablo?”

  I stood.

  “Pablo? What’s the matter?”

  I said nothing. All I could do was walk it off. I dodged nurses and doctors and visitors and patients in wheelchairs and gurneys. I counted the linoleum tiles, reaching twenty-five before they changed from lemon yellow to lime green. Then I started all over again, counting and counting and counting until I was too dizzy to continue. I stopped, leaned on a wall, and hyperventilated.

  “In the long run, she’ll be better off in a more stable family situation.”

  What did she know about stability anyway?

  Mamá had this alarm in her brain. The second we got settled in a new city, country, whatever, the alarm would go off.

  Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

  Then it was time to move again, and again, and again, and again.

  I was so sick of it.

  But I was too scared to tell her. I’d already lost my father. What if I lost her too? What if she sent me to live with Abuelita in Spain? Or shipped me off to some boarding school?

  I kicked the wall.

  Ugh.

  Why was I such a coward? I mean, what was the worst that could happen? She’d probably get pissed off. Her hair would lash out like a bunch of snakes. Her arms would swing and pound and jab the air. Her words would spew out in English and Spanish. That’s exactly how she was when my father left. That version of Mamá—I didn’t want to see it anymore. All I wanted was for her to be happy, even if I wasn’t.

  But Chiqui—she deserved better.

  Tears dribbled down my cheeks. I felt so helpless. So tired. My back slid. I landed on the floor. There was nothing more I could do but hug my knees and cry.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  I was in no mood for dinner much less a dinner party at Miguel’s house. But Mamá had already accepted the invitation. “It would be awfully rude,” she’d said to me after I asked if I could stay home.

  Clearly, she didn’t care that I was still upset.

  Whatever.

  I begrudgingly agreed. Then I moped off to change into my good jeans and a button-down shirt. I combed my hair, making sure the part was nice and straight. The final touch was my sunglasses, hung at the collar. Just in case.

  By the time I was done, nobody was even ready yet. So I sat in the living room and stared out the window. Against the darkness I could see Happy’s house. It almost looked like it was trapped in a snow globe, except it was covered in falling leaves instead of snow.
There were lights shining inside and a flickering TV. Every so often, a shadow of someone would walk past the curtains. I imagined they were getting ready to eat soon. Happy’s dad was probably drinking a beer and watching a basketball game while Jem and Happy helped cook the meal. The twins, Bing and Lito, were sitting on the floor somewhere, making a mess with their toys.

  Their house was small and old and far from perfect. But it was their home. Mine wasn’t even a home, just a crappy motel masquerading as a house. I sighed. But then I saw a set of curtains ruffle. I sat up and craned my neck. First a forehead, then a nose, then some lips and a chin, and then Happy’s entire face peeked through. I could tell she was gazing at my bedroom window. For a moment she seemed kind of disappointed until her eyes moved sideways and found mine. She grinned. Even from all the way across the road, I could see her white teeth and the dimple on her cheek.

  She stuck her hand out and waved.

  I waved back.

  Then she disappeared through the curtains. They ruffled for a split second before hanging still again.

  “Ready!”

  I turned around. Mamá was polished and clean. She wasn’t dressed up or anything, but something about the way she looked told me she’d taken more care than usual. Her wild hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, which made her green eyes stand out even more, especially with the hint of eye makeup she’d applied. She was wearing black leggings, the ones that weren’t as faded, an embroidered tunic shirt from India, and her nice boots. I could even smell a trace of perfumed oil, something citrusy and herby.

  Chiqui tiptoed down the hallway as if she were worried the silvery stars on her dress would fall off. Every time she moved, the stars twinkled. She would stop and admire their shine. But what she didn’t know was that her smile was even brighter. I got up and held her hand, trying to ignore this weird feeling in my gut.

  Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was sadness. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was all of the above.

  After the ordeal at the hospital, Mamá bought Chiqui a double scoop of ice cream, stacked on top of a chocolate-covered waffle cone with rainbow sprinkles. It was bribery. But it worked. Of course it worked. Ice cream was like a magic wand in the form of food. A parent could wave it in front of any sullen kid and boom—tears would vanish, frowns would vanish, pouts would vanish.

  When Mamá smiled and asked me what flavor I wanted, I turned away without a word. I was too old for that kind of bribery. It would take a whole lot more than an ice-cream cone to make the hurt go away.

  * * *

  I expected Miguel to live somewhere in the city, in a mansion with an Olympic-size swimming pool. But I was wrong. His home was about an hour away in a place called Tagaytay, which, according to Zeus, was a town that overlooked a crater lake with an active volcanic island in the middle. It sounded kind of dangerous, if you asked me. Who in their right mind would want to live near a volcano that could blow up at any moment?

  Miguel—that’s who.

  Finally, we arrived at an old wooden gate. There was a canopy of vines over it with flowers the color of raspberry sorbet. Zeus ushered us through the pedestrian entrance. On the other side I saw no house, just a twisty-looking stairway that led down a steep incline.

  “It is eighty steps to the house, Ma’am Carmen. I shall carry Miss Chiqui and lead the way,” said Zeus, scooping Chiqui up on his shoulders. For a second she looked unsure; she wrapped her arms around Zeus’s neck and hunched over his head with bug eyes. But then he held her legs tight and said, “Huwag kang mag-alala, Miss Chiqui. Hindi kita hahayaang mahulog. Promise.”

  Whatever he’d said calmed her. She stopped holding on so tight, and her eyes went back to normal.

  We began our descent. I lagged behind, wanting to confirm that there were indeed eighty steps, or if Zeus was just exaggerating. It was hard keeping a precise count, though, with all our shoes stomping and clomping. In between thirty-seven and thirty-eight, I paused to catch my breath. That’s when the view appeared through the trees. It was breathtaking. A full moon, probably the biggest and yellowest one I’d ever seen, shimmered over the lake. At the center there was a small cone-shaped volcano.

  “Wow,” I gasped. But nobody heard me.

  I scrambled to catch up, trying my hardest to keep count without killing myself.

  Thud.

  The eightieth step was a slab of rock that looked more like the entrance to a cave. In fact, the house did actually remind me of a cave. The exterior was a grayish-blue adobe. There were pieces of old wood that served as doorways and window frames, blending in with the trees and shrubbery.

  The front door opened and out waltzed Miguel, wearing a cream-colored sweater and brown corduroy pants. Anywhere else in the Philippines, that outfit would have made him sweat like a pig. But surprisingly, it was pretty chilly on that mountain.

  “Hey, there you guys are. I’ve got the fireplace all set up, some cheese and wine … and a big surprise for Pablo,” said Miguel with a wink.

  Mamá’s smile turned all wiggly. Obviously she knew what the surprise was. No wonder she’d forced me to go.

  I sort of hesitated, not knowing how to react. But eventually my voice managed to squeak something out. “Surprise? What surprise?”

  “You’ll see. You’ll see.” Miguel nudged me through the doorway, and all of a sudden I was pounced on by a yellow ball of fur.

  “Lucky!”

  There was a burst of laughter and chatter. For some reason, my eyes were kind of teary, making the room and all the faces inside it blur. I wiped the wetness away with my sleeve. My vision cleared enough to see Zeus and Chiqui and Mamá and Miguel and Sam and Heinz and last but not least Lucky, who was busy rubbing against my legs and whacking me with his tail.

  Miguel was right. It was a surprise.

  A really good one.

  THIRTY-SIX

  I felt warm and tingly. Not just from the blazing fire and the sip of red wine Mamá allowed me to have but also from all the giggling and laughing, and Sam’s corny jokes, and the overlapping conversations, which I sort of got lost in. It was easy relaxing in Miguel’s house. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were in one humongous area, with a panoramic view of the volcano, the moon, and the stars. The walls were a dark cobalt blue and everything else was warm wood and stone, decorated with a bunch of stuff from his travels.

  Not once did I find myself counting the tiles on the floor, or following the zigzag pattern on the sofa, or wondering when the last time something was disinfected, because it was surprisingly squeaky clean. Miguel even showed me the utensil drawer and the bin with napkins in it so I could help myself to as many as I wanted.

  “Dinner is ready, guys. Come and get it!” Miguel finally announced.

  I was starving. Mamá told me once that starving wasn’t an appropriate word to use, considering there really were starving children—not just hungry, but really, really starving—all over the world. But at that moment I did feel starved. My insides practically echoed, they were so hollow.

  When I got to the table, my plate was heaped with a mountain of pasta, salad, and four mini pizzas. Sam took one look at my plate and guffawed. “Ahh, to be so young again … When I was a lad like you, Pablo, I used to eat at least three helpings every meal. At one point I was growing so fast, my dear old mother had to buy me new pants every few months. Now, if I eat like that, the only thing that’ll be growing is my belly!”

  “I suspect the endless pints of beer might have something to do with it,” added Miguel.

  Sam made a face somewhere between a pirate and an ogre. “Oy! You just wait fifteen more years, my friend. Then let’s see how pregnant you look!”

  I cracked up with a mouthful of pasta. So did Mamá, and so did Chiqui, even though I was sure she had no idea what we were laughing at.

  Heinz lifted his bottle of beer and said, “Mabuhay!”

  “Hear, hear!”

  “Salud!”

  “Cheers!”

  Woof! Woof! Luck
y barked.

  We toasted with our glasses of beer and wine and water and lemonade. I was happy—no, I was giddy. It was as if I’d left all my worries at home.

  “So I was wondering, Pablo…,” Miguel said after refilling his wineglass. “If you might be interested in taking another trip.”

  I stopped cutting my pizza. “Another trip? Where?”

  “Anywhere you want. Within reason, of course.”

  “Really? Like all of us? Together?”

  Miguel glanced at Mamá and then Mamá glanced at me. “Well, actually, we were thinking it could be a boys’ trip this time around. With all of Chiqui’s upcoming doctor and dentist visits, I’m just going to be in and out of the hospital. It’s not going to be much fun,” she explained.

  We? Who was “we” supposed to be?

  My temples itched all of a sudden. The tips of my fingers went instantaneously numb. Everyone’s eyes hit me like piercing-hot lasers.

  Why did they want me out of the way?

  Did it have something to do with Chiqui’s adoption?

  Had Mamá finally found the permanent solution she’d been looking for?

  “Um. I don’t know … Maybe I should stay. I mean, you might need my help with something,” I mumbled, staring at my food, which now looked messy and gross.

  “It’s summer, mi amor. You should be out there enjoying yourself, not cooped up at home or in a hospital. Just think about it, okay?” Mamá reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

  I squeezed back with the best pretend smile I could muster. “Okay.”

  “Great!” she replied with a little too much enthusiasm.

  I hadn’t expected Mamá to believe me. Usually she could tell when I was faking it from a mile away. When I was younger, I was convinced she had some sort of warning sound that went off in her head every time I was pulling her leg. She’d give me this squinty-eyed, head-tilted look and say, “Pablito” through her teeth so it sounded more like “Fabito.”