Thicker Than Water

by Dylan Allen

  My mother puts her taco down and smiles broadly. I haven’t seen that smile in fifteen years. “He’s a movie producer? Is he rich?” she asks excitedly.

  “Yes, Mama. Very,” I respond. “And famous,” I add.

  Her smile slips a little. This probably gives her the same pause that it gives me. Fame means exposure.

  “When I met him, he told me that he’d read the whole book. But I found out last week that he’d only gotten half way through.” I close my eyes as I remember him standing on my deck telling me his story.

  My mother leans over. “Is this why you’re having a problem? Because he didn’t finish the book?” she asks looking a little confused. “That’s not a life altering situation. You’ve gotta loosen up, Ana.”

  I stand up and I walk over to the railing that runs along our patio and with my back to her, I tell her.

  “I wish that was all, Mama. He’s the ‘witness’ who identified Julian in that line up. The one that sent him to jail, and then detention.”

  My mother’s “Dios Mio” has me turning around to face her. Her horror is apparent.

  “So, yes. I was falling for a man I can never be with.” My mother’s face goes from horrified to confused.

  “Why? What else? Why can’t you be with him?” she asks me, stuttering over her questions.

  I look at her, surprise and annoyance dripping from my words. “Did you not hear what I said? How could I be with him after that?”

  My mother walks over and puts an arm around me. I’m shorter than her and my head fits perfectly into the crook of her neck. I nestle it there and the ball that’s been in the middle of my chest expands. I haven’t had my mother’s comfort for so long and I’ve forgotten how good it feels to be in her arms.

  “Ana, you’re so young. It’s easy to be dismissive of people when you think you’ve got your whole life stretched out in front of you.”

  “I’m not so young, Mama. And I’m not being dismissive. I’ve thought about this all week.”

  Her dry, humorless laugh punctuates the air.

  “A week? You’re going to be grappling with this for the rest of your life. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to overcome.” She runs a caressing hand up and down my arm. It’s an absentminded motion, but so comforting.

  “Ana Maria.” I lift my head at her use of my full name. She only said it when she really wanted me to pay attention as a child. “Maybe it’s my fault, I didn’t show you how to be forgiving when you were a child. I held so much anger inside of me that you never saw me be gracious.”

  I start to protest and she cuts me off by putting a finger to my lips. “This young man, Reece? He pulled Julian out of a lineup. He looked like someone he thought he’d seen committing a crime, right?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my sadness clogging my throat. My mother grabs my chin and forces me to look her in the eye. Her expression is stern, determined.

  “I’ve had years to weigh this, Ana. Right after it happened, I used to fantasize about confronting the man who sent Julian to prison. But I soon realized that my anger was directed at the wrong person. He’s not the one who arrested Julian. He wasn’t the one who charged him based on the words of one witness. He didn’t hand him over to the authorities to be sent to detention. He didn’t kill Julian. And if anyone is responsible for his death, it’s your father and me,” She says quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears and regret.

  I pull out of her grasp, her words shocking me out of my melancholy.

  “What are you saying? How are you to blame?” I ask vehemently.

  She looks at me, her lips pursed, her eyes glassy and wide. “Your father and I decided to leave Mexico when you were born. We’re not well-educated people, our parents didn’t have any connections. Your father was working at a tire factory in Mazatlán. He worked fourteen-hour days and I worked at a resort there, as a housekeeper.” She sits back down at the table and picks up a napkin that she begins to shred as she speaks. “We were scraping out a living, and your Uncle Jorge told us that one of his friends was looking for someone to work as a landscaper. The pay was almost ten times what we were earning and so we came to see. We applied for visas and they were granted. We knew that if we liked what we found, we probably wouldn’t go back home. It was wrong, but we thought we were doing the right thing. Your brother was almost nine, we wanted him to get a good education. You were just a baby and we wanted the same for you. So, we made a decision. You and your brother have paid for it.”

  I blink in shock. I’ve spent many nights resenting them for taking away my chance to be a productive citizen of this country. But I’ve never blamed them for what happened to Julian. I know they loved him. I know that they did what they did because they wanted to give us a better life.

  I shake my head. “No. You can’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.” I try to reassure her.

  “How is it Reece’s?” she shoots back. “You should be angry at me, at your father, at the court system, at the immigration laws. Reece only did his civic duty.”

  “Civic duty? Julian was my brother,” I say, my voice clogged by a ball of emotion that makes getting words out painful.

  “It is the greatest tragedy of my life that your brother was misidentified. But I also know that under normal circumstances, they might have charged him and let him sit and wait for trial. But because —” Her voice cracks as she starts to cry. “your father and I brought him here. He was turned over to the Immigration people. He was gone.” She composes herself and wipes her tears and puts an arm around my shoulder. She speaks softly into my ear.

  “Ana, there are plenty of reasons why you and Reece may not be able to work things out, but this should not be one of them. Not if you really care for each other. He told you the truth as soon as he knew it. He didn’t do anything malicious or dishonest.”

  That only makes me feel more miserable, because she’s right. Reece is such a wonderful man. “Aren’t I betraying Julian? He’s my blood,” I say through a sob.

  My mother puts a hand under my chin again. Her eyes are angry as she lifts my face to hers.

  “Look at your life. Where has your blood been? Where are your aunt and uncle? Where was I? Don’t be a fool. Your grandmother, God rest her soul, used to say love is thicker than water. Blood means nothing without love.”

  Each word, so harsh and yet, so healing. It’s true. Look at the family I’ve built. Jessica, Sol . . . Reece. Blood had nothing to do with it.

  She sags into her seat and says, “I’m tired. I should go home. I have to be up at six tomorrow morning.”

  Jessica steps out on the patio just then. She’s wearing a pretty pink dress. It’s short, but otherwise demure. With her blond hair caught in clips on the sides and her flawless makeup, she looks like a walking advertisement for Ms. All American.

  “Oh, you’re leaving? I can give you a ride, if you’d like. I’m heading out in about ten minutes,” she says as she breezes in. If she notices the heavy mood, she doesn’t pay it any heed.

  “Okay, that would be nice,” my mother says quietly. I can tell she wants to keep talking. But, I’m glad our conversation’s been cut short. It was a lot. And as glad as I am that we’re talking again, I’m not used to all of this openness with her.

  We move to our seats around the table and sit down. I’m lost in my thoughts, mulling over what my mother said and knowing in my heart that she’s right.

  “So, have you talked to him?” Jessica repeats the question that got this conversation started. I twirl my wine glass in between my fingers.

  “No. His dad’s been sick, he’s been working . . . and I’ve been avoiding him,” I say, feeling miserable and ashamed of myself.

  “Well, stop doing that. You know where he lives, right? Go there. Get it over with before you have to see him when you give your presentation. That would be all sorts of awkward. It’s Monday night, I’m sure he’s home.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? I put my fork down and look
at her. “Yes.” I clap my hands together. That’s a great idea.

  Jessica whoops in delight. I laugh, too. I’d forgotten what a shit stirrer she is. She lives for drama. She’s probably hoping Reece and I will get into a fight and it’ll be on TMZ. But after two glasses of wine it sounds like a great idea to me, too.

  So, I turn to my mother and say, “What do you think?”

  “Go and get your answers. I’m going to finish my tacos and then let Jessica take me home.” I kiss her cheek. I open my Uber app and order a ride to Reece’s place in Calabasas. My fingers tremble as I press Request Ride. I hope I’m doing the right thing.

  “Wish me luck ladies,” I call as I stick my head outside the patio’s sliding doors. We see the sweep of headlights as my car pulls into the driveway.

  “Go get your man.” She calls after me as I speed to the door.

  I text Reece, afraid showing up unannounced might be a bad idea. All I write is: I’m coming to your house, be there in thirty. I just hope he’ll see me.

  20

  Reece

  It’s later than usual as I pull onto my street. I’ve been in a meeting with my father all evening and I’m exhausted. This week has been one of the most difficult of my life. One of our projects is seriously over budget because our lead has missed days of work, which cost us hundreds of thousands of dollars each time. My father’s recuperating, but he’s still very weak and my mother’s been a nightmare. And then, there’s Lucía.

  I need to figure out what I’m going to do make things right with her.

  I pull into my driveway, tired but resolved. I’m heading back out as soon as I change. After our confrontation, I called, texted and emailed Lucía every day. I even went by her house once to see if I could get her to talk to me. She wouldn’t speak to me or see me. Not that I blame her.

  The conversation we had last time I saw her got out of control so fast.

  I think back to that night and how angry I was on the drive to her house. I thought maybe Fabienne gave her the story. The scenario I imagined ended with her confessing to misleading me. These thoughts, played over and over again in my head and were fuel for my anger.

  And in one sentence, she blew that all to bits. Her brother. I’d sent him to jail.

  It took me years to get to a place where I could forgive myself after finding out what I’d done.

  When the police asked me to come in, I didn’t think twice about it. When I picked her brother out of the lineup, he was just the guy I’d seen the night before. I thought I’d done something heroic. But, I hadn’t. Not only did my actions cause the police to halt an investigation that left a real rapist out on the streets, they ruined an entire family.

  My guilt has always been overwhelming. The foundation, the legal defense fund, and the advocacy made me feel like I was making a difference. But, Lucía brought the real-life consequences into sharp relief in a way it hadn’t been before. Seeing the living, breathing consequences of my actions has been nearly debilitating.

  Now, I don’t know how to look at her and ask her to forgive me for something so utterly unforgivable.

  I told her I was developing feelings for her that night. I didn’t even know the half of it. This week, after coming so close to losing her, I know that what I feel is real. The thought that I might have to let her go terrifies me. If she can’t stomach the thought of being with me, I won’t have a choice. But I’m going to fight with every ounce of strength I have. I’ve never been so sure about my feelings for someone as I am with Lucia.

  I know she’s in town. I heard she was at the office, but I couldn’t risk approaching her there. I didn’t know if she’d ignore me or throw things at me. They have a big day on Wednesday, I don’t want to be the reason that she’s distracted or upset. So, I’ve left her alone.

  I was starting to feel like a stalker. So tonight, I confided in my father. He knew something was off. I hadn’t planned on telling any of it, but when he asked, the story poured out me.

  He listened, he even took a few notes. When I was done, he’d said, “Reece, it’s not going to be easy.”

  I’d agreed with him, “Yeah . . . I don’t know if she’ll even give me a chance to explain.”

  He shook his head at me and said, “That’s not what I mean. That, son, will be the easiest part of this. She’ll talk to you. She’ll understand that you made a mistake. But once you’re together, that’s when things will become hard. You’re going to get a lot of press attention and for someone like her, that’s very risky. What are you going to do about her status? You can’t marry her. She can’t travel. She can’t drive. If you did get married, she could be deported at any time and then what would you do?”

  I’d forgotten that my father was a pragmatist. He’s more laid-back than my mother, but he’s very rarely emotional about things. I should have known he’d say the equivalent of “So what if you love her?”

  When he meets her, he’ll understand. He’ll love her. He won’t have a choice. She’s special. The bright, shiny goodness that lives inside her is obvious the instant you meet her. And courage is her super power. She feels fear, but never lets it stop her.

  My father’s declarations of doom felt damning. And I didn’t have any answers for him. But I’m certain that if I can get her to forgive me, we can handle anything else life throws at us. I’m going to convince her of that. Tonight. I want a chance. I pray she’ll give me one.

  I hop out of my car, new purpose lengthening my stride. As I approach my front door, my steps falter.

  She’s there. Sitting on my doorstep illuminated by the security light. I can see the highlights in her dark, chocolate colored hair as it spills down her shoulders. Her lips are painted that red I’ve been seeing in my sleep. She’s wearing a pair of tiny white shorts and a black tank top, and she’s got a sweater bunched up in her lap. Her toes flex and arch in her red flip-flops as she watches me approach.

  She tips her face up and looks at me. Her eyes are clear, and angry.

  Shit.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  In what I take as a good sign, she accepts my proffered hand. I let her walk ahead of me into the house.

  I hit the switch on the panel to the left of the door and the whole house comes to life. So does Lucía. She whirls on me, her hair still moving even after she’s stopped. Her eyes dart around the house, taking it in.

  “We need to talk, Reece. It’s long overdue.” Her eyes finally land on me and I can see the anxiety in them. “You look terrible. Did you stop shaving?”

  I laugh in disbelief. That’s the last thing I was expecting to hear. After a week of holding my breath, of thinking that we’d gone past the point of no return, her observation, so casual and familiar, makes me inexplicably angry.

  I take a step toward her. My eyes narrowing as hers widen in surprise.

  “We had an epic confrontation last week. I called you, texted you, emailed, stood outside your house for days.” She looks down.

  “You ignored me. I understood why. I decided to give you your space, because you clearly needed it. And no, I haven’t been shaving. I’ve been a little preoccupied,” I snap at her.

  She takes a step back at my raised voice, but she looks concerned and says, “Is your dad okay? Is it working?”

  “Lucía, am I in the Twilight Zone?” I ask her incredulously.

  “What do you mean?” she asks sounding genuinely perplexed.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re not slightly psychotic,” I say, frustration now mingling with my confusion. I lean in close to her face, so she can see my eyes. “You threw me out of your house last week. You’ve basically gone into hiding to avoid me. And now, suddenly, you’re here saying our talk is overdue and asking what’s wrong. Luc, it’s not my dad that has me stressed the fuck out. It’s you.”

  She starts to respond and then seems to think better of it. I can hear her counting to ten under her breath.

  Fuck, I’ve missed her. I want to stop talking
and kiss that plump bottom lip of hers.

  She sighs and looks down at her hands.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right, I was avoiding you. I didn’t know what to say. We both dropped bombs on each other. Mine was a grenade, yours was nuclear. I had to think. I needed to process . . .” She looks up at me through her lashes, a tear dangling from the tip and I feel her pain deep in my gut. It has been a lot. Almost, too much.

  A lot was said the other night. And even though I don’t understand where this change of heart has come from, I’m glad. I’d hoped she would get here eventually. I prayed that her reaction was driven by surprise and hurt, but that she’d see her way to at least talking to me. It happened faster than I expected and apparently without any help from me.

  “I told you how I felt before everything went crazy. My feelings are unchanged.” She’s still looking at her hands. “I understood your reaction the other night. I even welcomed it, felt like I deserved it. Do you feel differently now?”

  Her eyes come slowly to mine, she looks unbearably sad.

  “Yes. I feel differently. I . . . won’t apologize for my reaction the night you told me. It was like . . . a tsunami of pain and anger overtook me. I couldn’t control it, Reece. Everything hurt so much. All at once.” She wraps her arms around herself like she’s cold. I want to pull her to me and be the one to comfort her.

  “But, I’ve had time to think and I talked to my mother.”

  My stomach drops. Her mother. I’d forgotten she has other family members I’ll have to face. She’s not looking at me as she speaks, her eyes seem glued to her feet. But, I’m watching her. I can see that she’s struggling to keep her composure. She amazes me.