by Mia Garcia
“Hush.” Her mother teased Lee’s nose with her finger. “It fits her.”
The camera rumbled as her father came on-screen by his wife’s side, and neither of them spoke. In her mother’s arms Lee shifted and fell asleep, the safest baby in the world.
“HOLA, MI VIDA.” Her mother came on the screen once again.
“Hi, Mami,” Lee whispered.
“I’m going to say this in English, so your dad doesn’t think I’m conspiring behind his back, though he really needs to work on his Spanish, you can tell him I said that. I don’t know how old you will be when you watch this, but by now you know your mami is sick and it’s not something that can be cured, though we continue to pray for miracles. I want you to know que te amo. I love you and I’m proud of you, and I hope to give you as many good memories as I can. I know I will take with me some of the best memories of all time.” Her mother stared off-screen, unsure of what to say next. “Your dad and I decided not to get you tested, we thought that decision should be yours, whether you decide to take it or not.” She paused, a moment of anger then sadness passing over her face in a matter of seconds. “It never gets easier to know, but you can’t let it stop you, Mija. My life is so much more que esta mierda, and yours will be too. I wish this message could be longer—I have so much to say, but I do have the years. Not all I wanted, but I won’t waste them, I promise you. Take care of each other, mi vida. Te amo.”
The silence after the video ended should’ve been worse. It should’ve sent her retreating into the darkest corners, but it didn’t. The image of her mother looking straight at her through that camera steadied her heart.
She squeezed Jess’s hand. “I’m going to take the test,” she said. Jess nodded and squeezed back.
Her mother was not her disease. She’d lived every last second of her life with as much love and compassion as she could manage. She did not let the shadow of it drain away one second that belonged to her, and neither would Lee.
“DOOR STAYS OPEN, Francheska Lee,” her father warned her, then he eyed David entering the room. “And I’m going to be popping in here at odd intervals, you hear me? So keep it PG.”
“PG-13?” Lee replied, already seeing the hint of a smile on her father’s face. It was well hidden, but it was there.
“Don’t make me knock it down to a G,” he replied.
“PG it is.”
Her father made sure the door was as open as possible before leaving, giving David one final long look as well.
“When I thought about everyone knowing about us,” David said, “I may have glossed over your dad’s reaction to all of this. On a scale of one to ten, how soon am I going to need a new identity?”
Lee tugged at his shirt until he was much closer. “Maybe like a five.”
“A five is good.” David brought his lips to hers. “How does it feel?”
“The kiss? Good.”
He shook his head. “Now that the world knows about us.”
“A little bit new, a little bit of the same. Still great. You?”
“I’m going to miss our unsupervised Spanish lessons.” He placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her again. “I’m incredibly happy.”
“Did you get my message?” She kept her eyes level on his. “About the test?”
David nodded, pulling her closer. “I’ll be there.”
He would be there, for the test, for whichever fork in the road she went down, no matter how bumpy it got. They would all be there.
Nora
NORA WAS NOT expecting a giant Tupperware container to slide across the counter toward her as she neared the end of her shift. But there it was, and there was Jess coming around the counter to give Nora a quick hug. “I brought you some Turkey Day leftovers. Since I know you guys didn’t really have time to do anything this year.”
Jess was being kind. Between her mother’s silent treatment and La Islita’s busy schedule, they’d chosen to simply work through Thanksgiving. They celebrated by pretending her mother still wasn’t hurt by Nora’s revelation and passing out early.
“Thanks.”
Jess pulled one more item out of her bag: a ziplock full of chocolate chip cookies. “Not Nora quality, but still pretty good. I’m sure you can find ways of making them better.”
“The secret is that the cookie batter is just a conduit for more chocolate.”
She placed the cookies in her backpack as Jess put her arms around her. “Is she still angry at you?”
Nora slumped against her friend. “Yeah. She just walks around me like I’m not even here.”
“Have you tried talking to her again?”
She sighed, turning to face Jess. “Can you do it?”
That made Jess laugh and Nora’s mood brighten just a bit.
“You know I would,” Jess said. “But why don’t you tell me what you would say if you could? Like a practice run. Maybe that will help.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I tend to have those once in a while,” she said with a smirk.
“Okay, let me think,” Nora said, going through everything she wanted to say to her mother. “I should probably start with I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Jess asked, making Nora pause. “Why are you sorry?”
For breaking her heart. For shattering the vision she had of La Islita. For not wanting what she wanted.
“I guess for no longer wanting the same thing? For messing everything up and making her hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Nora.” Her mother stood by the doorway. “How could you think that?”
Nora’s heart stopped for a moment before remembering to start up again. How long had she been standing there? Jess moved closer to Nora as her mother walked up to the counter.
“It’s not that hard,” Nora replied. “We haven’t talked in forever, Mami.”
Her mother nodded, turning to Jess. “Jessica, can you give Nora and me some time to talk?”
Jess met Nora’s eyes and waited for her to nod. “Call me,” she said, and gave Nora another hug. “You can do this. I know you can,” she whispered before pulling away.
The seconds after Jess left felt endless as her mother hadn’t said anything else. Was she waiting for Nora to say something? Or putting together her own thoughts? Finally she turned and sat by the tiny table. “Siéntate, please.”
“I’m not angry,” her mother said, then placed her hands on her temples. “No, you’re right, I was angry and confused. You can see why, sí?”
“I rejected your dream.”
“Not my dream, Nora, our dream. Or at least that’s what I thought it was.”
“In a way it was.”
“In what way? Dime.” Already her voice was so much calmer than it had been that night. Maybe today she would listen?
“I . . .” How to say this and not break her heart? “I didn’t know I could have my own.”
“Your own what?”
“Dream.”
Her mother paused, she imagined that she was running through all the years Nora had dutifully stood by her side, the perfect partner, and Nora’s current words painting a completely different picture. “Keep going. I need to understand this more.”
“You built La Islita from the ground up.”
Her mother shook her head. “No sola.”
“I was there, I know, but the soul of La Islita is you,” Nora said. “So I know it’s hard to understand when I say I want to move away from it.”
“I always love watching you create in the kitchen. You look as happy as you do when you’re with Beth.”
“I still love to bake.” Even now her fingernails hid traces of sugar. “But there’s more outside of La Islita, and I want to be a part of it. I want to go to California or New York, I want to learn new things and try new recipes. And maybe one day I’ll build something from the ground up too, or even come back to La Islita, I don’t know! But it would be nice to have the option.”
“You said you’ve been thinking about this
for months. Why not tell me then?”
“I was still tied to your dream, thinking it was the only path I could have. Then when I did think it could be an option, the expansion happened and you were so happy, and I didn’t want to disappoint you—”
Her mom reached for her hand until Nora was looking directly into her eyes. “No te atrevas a decir esa palabra otra vez, Nora. You could never disappoint me.” She slumped back in her chair. “I may be disappointed in myself.”
Her mother’s eyes drifted to the papers poking out of her purse, blueprints, her shoulders sagging. She was probably thinking about the expansion and what this meant for her.
“Just because it’s not my dream, it doesn’t mean it still can’t be yours,” Nora said gently.
“Is there still time?”
“Time?”
“To apply for the culinary schools,” her mother said. A rush of happiness flooded over Nora.
“Are you saying I should apply?”
“There’s still more to talk about, like financials and responsibilities to La Islita. I can’t promise you a yes yet, Nora. But let’s just start there.”
DURING HER NEXT day off Nora and Beth pored over each culinary school option, downloading applications and marking down deadlines. Nora still had time, but not a lot with Navidades coming around the corner.
She and her mother had talked again. Nora could still see the hesitation and hurt in her eyes, but she was trying at the very least. And Nora helped with that as well by promising to look at the culinary school options in Colorado.
“I can do this,” she repeated to herself as she printed out her list of essays to write.
“You can,” Beth agreed. “I also added those deadlines into my own phone, so you can count on me to annoy you about them.”
“You can never annoy me.”
“Sounds like a challenge.” A quick peck on the lips from Beth was all Nora needed to blush, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Let’s take a break,” Nora said. “I’ll teach you how to make palmiers with store-bought puff pastry.”
Beth gasped. “Store bought? I’m not sure culinary school would approve.” She laced her fingers through the loops on Nora’s jeans, tugging them just before resting her hands there.
Nora relished the feel of Beth against her. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”
Beth snuggled into Nora’s neck, watching her roll out the sheets of pastry.
“You know you did it, right?”
Nora twisted to face her. “Did what?”
“You chose your own adventure.” Beth’s smile took up her whole face.
“I did, didn’t I?” Nora stared into Beth’s eyes, the happiness there echoed in her own. Beth watched as she rolled out the puff pastry, then let the sugar fall like rain. She snuck her hand in, catching the grains on her fingers and bringing them to her lips, delighting in the sweetness. “Now if that first one was just as easy.”
Beth snorted. “Yeah, not unless we drove to California.”
Nora stilled. Would that be possible? In the grand scheme of things, next to Nora maybe having her own future, it didn’t sound so impossible. “What if we did?”
“Did what?”
“Drive to California.”
“Isn’t that pretty far?” Beth said. “I mean I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure there’s another state in between.”
“Yes. More than one actually.” But Nora was already looping around Beth and typing on her laptop, finding routes and figuring out logistics that would make Jess proud.
“Huh,” she said when she was done. “This might just work.”
Fa La La La La
Nora: Happy Christmas the first!
Lee: God, Nora, I can hear you from here.
Nora: Feliz Navidad, bitches!
Ryan: I’m going to need you to bring the holiday cheer down to an 8, we just got into December.
Nora: NO. Fa la la la la LA LA LA LA!
Ryan: She must be stopped.
Nora: Feliz Navidad y Prospero Año y felicidad . . . (pause for beat)
Lee: Stop.
Nora: I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas. . . .
Jess: So, I know the trip isn’t till after Ryan’s show, but I’m making a list of things we might need, like extra flip-flops for the hotel room, because you never know.
Ryan: Yes, Mom. Also, I told you not to mention the show.
Lee: Which show? Is it the gallery show at the end of the week where all your art will be on display and the world will finally know that Ryan Wang Mercado is in fact a genius? Is it that one?
Ryan: No the other one.
Lee: Oh, OK, cool.
Jess: 1. Ryan, you’ll be amazing. 2. I can’t figure out if we can build a fire, we should buy some firewood just in case.
Lee: On a scale of 1 to 10, how hipster is buying your own firewood?
Ryan: Is it locally sourced artisanal firewood?
Jess: So that’s a yes.
Lee: We’re meeting you at the show, right? Do we get to go in early because we know the artist?
Ryan: Yes and no. I don’t make the rules.
Lee: Fine. I guess I’ll enter with the rest of the peasants.
Nora: Ohhhhh I don’t . . .
Lee: DON’T YOU DARE PUT THAT IN MY HEAD.
Nora: Just one thing I need.
Ryan: ha.
Nora: UNDERNEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE.
Lee: I’m out.
Ryan: Leeeeee, don’t leave us!!!
Nora: *drum solo*
Jess: I hear my parents . . .
Ryan: Uh, yeah, I hear my parents too. I have to go paint . . . something.
Nora: You guys are no fun. I’ll just save my singing for the road trip. You’ll see.
Lee: You know what? I forgot I have something to do that day.
Nora: Too late. Mwahahahaha.
Lee: This new Nora is mean . . . I like her.
Ryan
HE SHOULD’VE BACKED out, he should’ve backed out. Was it too late to run? His eyes searched for the exit sign, but it was too late, they were opening the doors now. People started to trickle in. He recognized many faces from TAA, along with complete strangers coming to judge his work and sneer while holding free wine.
“You look so handsome!” His grandmother flooded his view, bringing him in for a hug. Did she notice how frazzled he was?
“Xièxie,” he replied, fiddling with his tie, thinking for the hundredth time that he should’ve worn the matching blue blazer.
Behind her came his parents with Katie. “I’ve never seen your grandmother so pushy, we lost her in half a second.”
“You’re just slow. Plus I wanted to be the first to see his paintings!” his grandmother said. He crouched down so she could place a hand on his cheek. She turned to his parents. “Let’s walk around, I want to see the other work.”
His father sighed and offered her his arm, giving his son an apologetic glance and promising to be quick. Then it was his mother’s turn to engulf him in a dual hug with Katie. When they separated her eyes were wet with tears.
While his family walked around the show, Ryan hid behind a wall, trying to get his nervousness under control. He hopped on the tips of his toes, shaking off the cold from the outside, though he was still sweating in spite of the chill. He saw a couple gingerly making their way toward his paintings and almost fainted.
“Nervous?” Blake came around the wall, wearing a bold sapphire-blue blazer with a black tie.
Ryan almost collapsed from relief that it wasn’t Candace coming to tell him to stop hiding. Though Blake might be coming to say the same thing. “Can you tell?”
“Well, I’m practically shitting my pants too.” Blake laughed. Ryan felt better already.
“Didn’t peg you for the nervous type.” Ryan ran a hand through his hair.
“I talk a big game, it hides the insecurities.”
Ryan wanted to say that he doubted that, but after this year he knew
even the calmest exterior could hide many things.
“Well, if it helps I think your sculptures are badass.”
Blake smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets as he danced on the heels of his feet. “Thank you. And I hope you still aren’t feeling like you aren’t an artist, because those paintings are brilliant.”
“Really?” His heart fluttered, reminding him of the question he’d asked himself not long ago. Was he ready?
“Absolutely, I might be jealous. Might be.” Blake moved a bit closer, eyes level with Ryan’s. His smile was so open and lovely.
Are you ready for this?
He liked Blake. He felt like himself around him, and his kiss still lingered after all this time, asking him to give it a chance. Yes, a part of him wanted to be with Blake, but another wanted more time. Time to himself. Time to shape himself after heartbreak and before another relationship.
“What are you doing after this?”
Blake shrugged. “What am I doing after this?”
“There’s a family-and-friends dinner at my house, please come.”
“Friends dinner, huh?” He raised his brow.
Ryan nodded, hoping that friendship was still enough for now.
Blake smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
AT THE END of the evening, Ryan linked arms with the ladies and walked around, taking a closer look at some of his classmates’ work. When he made it back to his corner, it took a beat to remember these were his pieces.
There was a swell in his chest, and it took him a moment to realize it was pride. Though he could find one thing or another he’d still tweak about each piece, he was proud of them. He could see himself in each frame. How each piece unlocked something inside him, sometimes old, and sometimes new, reminding him he was still there. Broken. Healing. Ryan.
He broke down each element of his self-portrait, pointing out the pieces of torn sketches to Jess and making sure he mentioned his grandmother’s influence in all of it. And for the first time, it didn’t matter to him whether anyone else thought he was good enough—if they would consider him an artist. He knew he was.