“I wouldn’t want to impose on your busy life,” I choke on the words.
He nods his head without saying another word. Then he walks out, remembering to touch the altar before leaving. Just then, the timer goes off. I pull the dish out of the oven and angrily plop it down on the counter. Stupid chicken, it’s your entire fault. Why did I have to say that? I know he has a life. I know he has to get back to work.
“What’s up with him?” I ask, hurt. I walk over to the kitchen table, pulling back the cellophane on a Bundt cake.
She laughs. “Seriously? You really don’t know?”
“No. I mean he just got all serious and left. I thought we could all share this cake and watch some Tim Burton movies like old times. But he left,” I say, taking a huge bite of cake.
“Of course he did. You trampled over his feelings. What man would stay around for that?”
I roll my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“She thinks we’re fated for destiny, isn’t that ridiculous,” Vanessa says, mocking me.
“It is ridiculous!”
“Not for him.” She starts in on the cake.
“I don’t get it.”
“He loves you, you idiot. God only knows why,” she says, smiling wirily.
“Wow. It only takes a few bites of cake for your real feelings to come to the surface huh.” I smack her hand away from the cake.
“I love you Cris. I do. But you are oblivious to that man’s feelings. Think about it. When you see him, think about it. Okay?”
“Okay,” I tell her, so she can stop hounding me. But I think she’s way off base here. A man and woman can be friends without the other being in love. “So chicken?” I ask, pushing the dish to her.
“I like living, thanks,” she laughs, and my face falls, not missing another beat. She immediately regrets it, waving her hands around frantically. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. Agh. I’m so sorry!”
“No, no. You didn’t mean it. I know you were joking.” I force a smile to cover up my hurt. I really do know she didn’t mean it, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
“It slipped out,” she says on the defensive.
“Nessa, really I get it.” I lay my fork down and cover the cake back up. “I’m exhausted. I should go upstairs and check on them.”
“Oh yeah, of course. I should probably go too. My parents…” she stops herself, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. Like it’ll physically stop her words from escaping.
“I’m fine. Really–really fine. Your parents are expecting you. Go be with them,” I say, hugging her. “I’m really fine. Just fine.” A tear slides down my nose, and I wipe it before she turns her head.
“Okay. I’ll call you.”
“Drive safe,” I tell her, closing the door.
I put away the leftovers. And my cooking was all a wasted effort because at the end of the night no one eats any of my damn chicken. Ingrates the lot of them!
After cleaning up, I walk up to check on the boys, and I see them fast asleep slouched over the bottom bunk. Their legs are too long, hanging over the edge. I grab a throw blanket from the closet and cover them both, then push their beanbags underneath their feet for support.
I lean against the frame, looking around their room. Trophies and medals are scattered in every nook and cranny, constant reminders of how we really grew apart these last few years.
Their bathroom door has the etchings I engraved for them when they were growing up. I glide my fingers over the rough markings; they continued doing it even after I left for college. Heck I didn’t even think they still did this when I was in high school, but these markings don’t lie. I see the big jump in height from this past summer, when they grew five inches in such little time.
I pat the doorframe and turn around to leave. However, something is keeping me here longer. I hang back, leaning against their bedroom door, watching them sleep. They aren’t little boys anymore, they are growing up, and I missed it all.
I exhale, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry we don’t know each other better. I should have been a better sister, but I can still fix this. Fix us,” I whisper, closing the door and walking into my parents’ room.
Chapter 4
I cook migas in the morning, which next to grilled cheese and frozen burritos are my specialty. Except the boys hardly touch the food. After they finish ignoring each other and me, I drop them off at school, making sure to wait for the first bell, so we have privacy in the attendance office.
Jeremy and Jeremiah haven’t talked too much since I’ve been here and I’m starting to get worried. I keep telling myself its normal, but is it? I know I shouldn’t be worrying myself because how often do teenage boys talk about their feelings. But I can’t shake the feeling something else is bothering them.
I look at their solemn faces, and I wish their annoying twinness would come back.
“What time should I pick you up?” I ask them, fixing their shirts.
“We get out of practice at six,” Jeremy answers without picking up his head.
“Right, practice, okay. I can do that.” I smile.
“Yeah whatever,” Jeremy says, walking off.
I stand there stunned for a minute before composing myself. “So I guess I’ll see you after practice,” I tell Jeremiah, grateful he didn’t walk off too.
“Don’t forget about us,” he shrugs and walks off.
When I get home, I really attempt to put what happened at the school behind me. They need time. So I spend the few hours I have applying online for jobs. Jobs I know I'll hate. Jobs that will pay me measly change for dealing with customers all day. At least I'll be paid.
I’m starting to get a migraine from worrying about how I’m going to do all of it. Mom always had it so together. She would know what to do in this moment—how to take care of them. I let out a sigh.
How do parents work and take their children to school? What if I have to get two jobs? Can they take the bus? Should they take the bus? Ay dios mío. My head is going to explode. I slap myself a few times to become alert, when Vanessa comes back in the room.
“How’s it hanging chica?” she asks, sitting across from me.
“I’m losing it already and it hasn’t even been a week.” I feel my chest tightening.
“Okay, breathe.” She rubs my back. “You’ll figure this out. The boys at school?”
“Uh huh,” I reply.
“Did you apply to jobs?”
“Uh huh,” I say again.
“Well aren’t you a bevy of information today. Why don’t you go do a walk around the neighborhood to see if anyone is looking for help? I’ll make dinner.” She gently pats my back.
Her usual red hair looks bristly from the hard water in the bath. Nessa’s staying one more day but has to leave in the morning. Then I won’t have anyone to help me or anywhere to hide from my newfound responsibilities.
I groan aloud. “I’ll be back then.” I try my best to pick up my slouched shoulders.
Downtown may have improved, but the city didn’t bother fixing up the west side. I kind of like it like this though—except the roads, those are dreadful. The shops and restaurants on the other hand are vibrant colors, decorated with murals. The street smells faintly of beer, weed, and probably pee. Man it’s good to be home.
I’ve been to all the shops in the surrounding blocks. My feet are throbbing, and I can feel disappointment starting to set in. Oh no, the river of tears is about to come when I remember my parents and the michoacana.
I drive a few blocks and park my car, then roam around until I stop in front of an old shop my parents would take us to when we were younger. My dad was friends with the owner; surely he would take pity on God’s cruel joke.
I open the door and scan behind the counter for the gentle man I knew growing up. Instead I see some kid who should be in school behind the counter.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Maldonado,” I tell him.
The new owner is a portly man. His skin looks like aged leather. He must be adopted because he doesn’t look like a gentle soul like his brother.
“So you looking for job sí?” he asks, wiping his dirty hands with a rag.
“Yes, I’ll do anything. I’m flexible during the day, but I have boys in school,” I tell him, awkwardly avoiding his heated gaze. I don’t like it. His eyes are sizing me up, and I want to gouge them out. I have a bad feeling.
“Follow me. We talk about job,” he walks to the back. “Anything,” he says slyly. I can hear the click of the door in the background. “You’ve grown up well chiquita,” he says, moving closer.
“You know, I totally forgot my boyfriend was picking me up. I didn’t know I would take so long, he must be worried,” I say, trying to maneuver around him.
“Nah, chiquita no worry,” he steps in front.
I should trust my gut every time I have a bad feeling—even if I eat a bad burrito. I step back to go around. “He really has a temper that one,” I laugh nervously.
“I feel like we should hug,” he says, stepping closer.
“Then you should fight the urge,” I tell him, putting my hand up to stop him.
“Such a shame. I thought you wanted the job,” he snarls between his crooked, disgusting teeth.
“I would rather lick the pavement out front than hug an urchin like you. Actually, you give urchins a bad name.” I back away.
“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to work so hard, eh,” he grabs my arms and backs me up. Then puts his grimy stubs on my shirt.
I’m going to be blocked into a corner. In a moment like this, would Dirty Dancing be an inappropriate response? Nobody backs baby in a corner—yeah probably.
Without hesitating, I pick up my right foot and bring it down hard on his foot. I kick his shin and then elbow him in the chest. Pushing myself off him, I grab the stapler, rushing it towards his face. It collides with his already crooked nose, blood dripping down the side of his face. He screams out in response. I don’t stick around; I get the hell out of the room.
I don’t look back. I run until I stop in front of a taquería near my car. I sit down on the curb, but instead of crying, I laugh. Now I’m the maniac laughing on the curb.
Sure, others would be in shock, but this is the west side. Women learn to live with much worse. Cops tend to ignore us on this side; hell, they ignore us globally. Ignore the ‘did not’s’ and ‘what was,’ because if there’s no evidence, there’s no crime.
It’s a sad reality. But why cloud my thoughts with ‘what ifs’ and ‘should haves’? I was lucky. I won’t spoil that by ignoring my gut in the future.
I look at the time inside; it’s blinking 6:30. Shit. The boys. I run to my parked car. By the time I get to school, it’s almost seven o’clock and they aren’t there. Jeremy and Jeremiah aren’t standing in their usual spot by the front.
I drive around the school, hoping they walked somewhere else, but I don’t see them. Panicking, I drive around the neighborhood, then double back to drive the path they would take home.
My phone starts ringing, and I lunge across the passenger seat to reach in my purse. “Hello,” I say, still looking around the street.
“I thought you should know I picked up the twins.” Charlie’s voice is stern. I’ve never been the recipient of his stern voice, even in my dumbest moments.
“Oh thank you! I was so worried,” I let a sigh of relief out.
“Apparently, so worried you forgot to pick them up.”
I ignore his chide remarks and tell him, “I’ll be there soon,” before throwing my phone down.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I pull the car up to the house knowing what I have to do: tell him. I open the door and all I see are extended limbs and open containers. Everyone is watching some reality show.
I sit down between Jeremy and Jeremiah and pull them into a hug. Charlie looks over at me and I see his features relaxing.
“What happened?” he asks, concerned.
My hair is disheveled with mangled strings going in every direction. I smell meat and sweat clinging to every hair and thread; my shirt is stained with blood splatter. But hey, silver lining, I’ve looked worse.
“Not right now. Right now this is nice.” I soak up the warmth of their laughter. They are actually laughing. I’m sure it’s only because I wasn’t here.
Vanessa excuses herself to start packing up. Soon they are both going to leave me and I’m going to have to power through it all.
When the show is over, I walk the boys upstairs. They don’t get mad at me for not picking them up or have any quick retorts for me tonight. They just hug me and kiss a cheek before fighting off the bottom bunk. I quickly change my shirt and put my hair in a bun before going back downstairs.
I take a deep breath and ready myself for telling Charlie.
“Are you doing okay?” Charlie asks, pushing food trays towards me.
“Yeah, I mean, I think the shock has worn off for now.” I pick at the food.
“All packed!” Vanessa says happily, coming into the room, “No luck finding any jobs huh?” she asks, sipping wine.
“Not really,” I shrug, disappointed.
“It’ll get better.” Charlie hands me a glass of wine. I hold the glass in my hand and stare into the red, oaky liquid. The smell of alcohol is wafting upward, making me feel nauseous. I put the glass on the table and sit back, holding my stomach. “You need to eat something before you get sick,” he says, prodding food in my face.
“I deserve to get sick. How could I just not get them?”
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern filling in his features.
“What if something happened to them?” I throw my hands to cover my face.
“Oh honey you got wrapped up in the job search. They’re fine,” Nessa tells me, waving off my worry.
Charlie comes to sit next to me, lightly tapping my wrist. “It’s easy to blame yourself, but the twins are fine.”
“I try and fail, every time.”
He laughs and places his hand on my knee. “You’ve only been doing this for a few days, which is hardly something to beat yourself up about. Your parents had a decade worth of parental mistakes before the twins showed up. And look at how you turned out,” he smiles jokingly.
“But—” I begin to disagree, but Charlie interrupts.
“Relax and have some food.” He waves pita in front of my mouth. I begrudgingly eat because I am way too hungry to resist my favorite restaurant.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks, reaching for more pita.
I tell them both everything that happened. Charlie sat there nodding his head listening intently. He doesn’t say much, just reassures me and apologizes, doing all the things a best friend does when they hear a story like mine. Then he excuses himself, saying he has to make a call.
“Cris, are you really okay? He really didn’t hurt you? You need to report it,” Vanessa says in hushed tones so Charlie doesn’t overhear us.
“No. I’m fine. You can’t report an almost crime. I wish I could or I would be on that phone so fast.” I finish off the wine.
Charlie hangs up the phone. When he comes back into the room, he picks up my hand and kisses it. Gently enough I can feel his lips brush along my skin. And I think back to what Nessa told me. Does he really love me like she’s sure he does?
He doesn’t need to tell me. I already know he did something about it. He always takes care of me and feels my needs before I even know I want anything.
“I need to leave soon. I have an early meeting at the office,” his mouth tells me, but his eyes say a different story.
“Okay. Do you want to grab lunch tomorrow?” I turn around and cross my knees on the couch.
“I wish I could, but I’m going to the home office,” he pokes at the butter chicken, averting my gaze.
“Home office? Oh,” I say with more disappointment than what I was going for. Why am I so disappointed he’s leaving? I knew he had to leave sooner or later. He doesn’t live here anymore.
“I’ll try to be back as soon as I can.” He puts his fork down and turns to me.
I shake my head, “You don’t have to do that. We’ll be fine.” I follow suit.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says softer.
I walk him out, and his strong frame fills my doorway. “Be safe,” I say, not wanting him to leave.
“Be safe.” Charlie touches my cheek, and without hesitating, I kiss his palm. Why did I do that?! The crazy is going to my head.
He smiles nervously—probably wondering why the heck I just did that. I can see it in his face; he wants to say something else but he doesn’t. He waves and gets in his car to leave.
Vanessa jabs me from behind. “Destiny,” she reminds me with bags in hand. “Wake up and smell the comal chica. I’ll start packing your things.” she kisses my cheek.
Chapter 5
I spent the night, as I have for the past two weeks, sleeping in my parents’ old room. I wrap myself in their comforting smell and push all the hurtful thoughts out. I knew this was going to be hard, I just didn’t realize how hard.
I walk to my room. As I stand in front of the closet, I feel the too-empty feeling in the pit of my stomach—an endless reminder of my childhood.
I open up my closet, surveying the next piece of teenage angst I’m going to wear. I don’t know what’s more depressing, leaving on short notice or having to wear clothes from high school on laundry day. I throw on a black dress and a sweater. On the plus side, I’m still the same size.
I knock on the boys’ door, “Fifteen minutes, guys,” I tell them through the opening in the door. I wait for them to answer me or acknowledge me in any way, but they don’t. I nod my head and walk downstairs to start cooking.
Jeremy and Jeremiah hardly talk to me. They haven’t been themselves since it happened. I always knew we weren’t close because of our age difference, but I don’t know, I always thought family was stronger than time—a stronger bond that is able to break any self-bondage—but every day I’m reminded how I really don’t know them at all.
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