by Shay Bravo
A couple of years ago one of my aunts friended me on social media, which provoked an avalanche of friend requests from cousins and relatives I hadn’t heard of in ages. I was added to many a group chat, and yet I muted most of them.
I missed my call with Mom this morning to go to class, but I promised her that I would call her tonight to make up for it.
“Halo.” Spanglish is my third language and I am very fluent at it.
“Hola, corazón.” Mom is in her living room, the window behind her showcasing the city landscape, her hair is up in a bun, and thick-rimmed glasses are on, which means she was most likely grading papers. “You hadn’t called me, I was getting worried.”
Parents are always worried. We talk for about two hours, catching up. She tells me about the kids she’s tutoring, how some of them remind her of me when I was little and trying to handle two different languages at the same time.
“They are so smart, but at the same time their papers are so bad.” She laughs. “That’s terrible to say, and they’re great, they really are, but it hurts a little when I read their homework.”
“Can you tell when their parents write their homework?”
“Of course! Sometimes it’s worse than when the kids do it.”
It’s strange talking to my mother like she’s a friend who lives far away. We make jokes and think up various vacation places we could all go to from different spots in the world. One day when we all have money we’ll go to Europe, or another day, when it’s calmer in Mexico, we’ll go on a road trip down to Guadalajara. The long distance has made us into something closer to sisters than mother and daughter. I can’t recall the last time we were in a fight like we used to get into when I was younger and wouldn’t pick up my room. She’s gotten more comfortable in Monterrey, and Dad and I are almost like roommates here in Westray.
There are times I look around my home and wonder if she ever lived with us. When we moved from our old house into a smaller apartment, we sold some of the stuff that wasn’t going to fit. It’s a strange feeling, knowing she was here a year ago, and now isn’t. Like I’m forgetting pieces of who she was.
“I wish I could fix your papers already, not at twenty-one . . . or twenty-seven.”
“That’s the way things are, corazón.” She seems sad too.
“I know, and it’s stupid.” I fall back against my bed.
Maybe I’m being selfish. There are thousands of people in the process right now. I know some families have it far worse than I do, but I can’t help how I feel.
Ten years, ten long years I will be waiting.
It won’t be cheap either. A consultation to speak with the immigration lawyer cost us $150, with the lawyer who spoke to us informing us that it would take about $4,000 to get the case rolling. Could be more or less, depending on the entirety of the case.
Part of me wonders where I would be if she was still here. Whether I would have joined the club and met Ethan.
“You’re spacing out,” Mom says, and I snap back. “What were you thinking about?”
“Homework,” I lie, trying not to smile. “Same as usual.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Ethan picks me up at seven thirty in the morning for the festival, I have the feeling we’re getting set up for some sort of trick. The Westray Community College Festival for the Arts is a yearly event. There are food stands, dances, musical events, gallery shows, even theater plays and slam poetry readings. It’s a week-long event that climaxes on Friday when all groups, no matter the background, can set up stands along the student path and promote their clubs—extra points if you give out food.
“What’s wrong?” Ethan asks, turning left at the end of my street.
“Nothing. I just feel uneasy.” Two cups of coffee from a local gas station are resting in the cup holder. “Wow, I didn’t take you as a caffeine freak, Ethan.”
“One of them is for you. French vanilla, right? It’s the one in front.”
“Aww! You remembered my favorite flavor?”
“We’ve gotten coffee a couple of times. It’d be rude if I didn’t.” At the café I usually get an iced vanilla latte, but I admire the hustle for getting gas station coffee, since it really does tastes different. Like early Saturday trips to the lake, or midnight gas station runs with Carlos after a college party he managed to sneak us into.
“I don’t know your favorite type of coffee.”
“I don’t really have one. I’m more of a tea guy.”
“Right. London Fog, then?” The cup is still warm as I take a sip.
“Yes. See, you know me too.” We stop at a red light, morning traffic making the drive to school longer than usual.
“Do I? I’m sure there’s a ton of stuff I don’t know about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
I hesitate. “You said that the night I broke into your house, you were already kind of upset and that I was the cherry on the top that made things worse.”
“Yeah, no one sees an intruder and thinks, I wonder if she’d like to hear about my parents wanting to get back together?”
He brings the car to a stop at a light, although processing his sentence takes me so long that by the time I manage to figure out my follow-up question we’ve begun to move again.
“Back together?” He did mention his family dynamics being complicated at the archive, and that his dad wasn’t in the picture while he lived with his mom in middle school.
“They’ve been split for a while. They’ve been an on-and-off thing for as long as I can remember.”
“But—and I’m sorry if this is too personal—isn’t it a good thing that they’re getting back together?”
Ethan makes a face. “Sometimes you think you find your soul mate because you can’t be apart, but sometimes that person brings out the worst in you. Even if you love them, you fall apart, and as soon as you’re away you crave them. That’s not a good relationship, that kind of love is an addiction. Addictions aren’t good.
“I’m not saying I don’t like my parents—I think they’re both good people on their own—but it’s difficult when they’re together.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice is low.
“No, you’re fine. I’ve lived with my grandparents since I was in eighth grade. I keep in contact with both of my parents and visit them when I can. Mom is always traveling, and I was actually just back from my dad’s place in Sacramento when I caught you. My grandparents were on vacation, so I went to spend the weekend there, and turns out he wants to try it again with Mom.” He puts the car in park and it takes me a moment to realize we’re already at school. “But I think they’d be better off not getting back together. They’re holding each other back from finding someone who truly makes them happy.”
“You’re probably right, I didn’t mean to assume—”
Ethan laughs. “Sol, you’re fine. No family is perfect, is it?”
I think of my broken family. “You’re right.”
“Cheer up, I can’t stand seeing you all gloomy like that.” He taps my cheek, and I want to kiss him. Right here right now, I want to grab his face with both of my hands and kiss his lips. And his hair, his curly hair, I want to feel it with my fingers, and feel his fingers hold my neck softly, then more firmly. I want to rest my forehead against his and breathe out after a kiss, open my eyes to see his, dark brown like mine, before he moves closer and we kiss again.
I want it and at the same time I’m too chicken to do it.
“Fine, I’ll try to cheer up for you.”
“For me?” He undoes his seat belt. “No, Sol, you need to be happy for you, but if I’m involved in the process of making you look less serious, I’ll be glad to help along the way.”
It’s a pretty windy day, and we have a hard time setting up the table. In total there are five members: Scott, Ethan, Xiuying, Angela, and me.
>
Scott is a bit like Carlos, a sort of unofficial vice president who was never elected. He always seems to be involved with the club, but not terribly involved. In fact, he’s always the driver who takes us to the challenges. An intriguing character, he’s always cheery and uncaring, yet on top of things. I strive to be that nonchalant and cool.
Once we’ve managed to set everything up, with some rocks weighing down the papers on top of the table, we arrange chairs in a semicircle around the booth. Scott excuses himself to fetch some treats from his van.
Some of the clubs are actually cooking food in order to raise money, but that requires a food handler’s permit, which takes about two weeks to get, and we did not have time to figure everything out. Instead, we have pamphlets about the club that boast about our members and their bright futures.
“What made you want to join?” I ask Angela and Xiu, who told us to call her that. They’re both freshmen, like me.
“I only wanted to join some clubs, and this one went well with my academic track.” Angela is dressed from head to toe in workout clothes, which makes me wonder if she’s coming or going to the gym. “It keeps me busy.”
Xiu, on the other hand, looks supercozy in a fuzzy sweater and a beanie. “Me too. It goes well with my schedule, I didn’t think it’d be so—”
“Weird to get in.” Angela laughs. “Yeah, what they made me do was weird as hell.”
“I didn’t really want to do it.” Xiu looks around. “But I did it in the end, and here I am.”
“Here we all are,” I mumble. “How did you guys hear about the organization, by the way? Neither of you are history related, right?”
“I heard it from Alan, he’s in one of my classes and I mentioned it to Xiu.” Angela nods at Ethan. “You and I also have a class together, I had no idea you were joining until I saw you at the club.”
“Oh right, chemistry lab!” he replies, and while he sounds surprised, I can see he’s a bit tense.
“You’re always quiet in class, I was surprised when I saw you pushed through the process.” Angela leans forward. “Especially with the things they made us all do—”
“Gotten to know all of your dirty secrets already?” Scott arrives with a large box. He sets it down on the table and smiles. “Anna gave me this. It’s full of club merch. There’s some shirts in here if you guys want any, but I don’t know your sizes, so you’ll have to look for yourselves.”
In the box are key chains and pencils I had never seen before, as well as a couple of well-made water bottles. I feel kind of offended they never gave us any of these fancy things.
Navy-blue shirts feature the club’s logo on the front, and on the back say “Become a Part of History.” Both of the girls and I take one but Ethan passes.
“Are you sure, man?” Scott asks. “I’m sure I could find one that fits you.”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Wouldn’t go with his style,” I say before I can stop myself.
“My what?” Ethan’s forehead creases.
I pause. “You’ve got great fashion sense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a T-shirt unless it goes with your outfit, and I don’t see how this would work.” Oh my God, Soledad, stop talking, stop talking right now.
He smiles.
“Hey, can I get pamphlet?” a guy asks across from the booth.
“Yeah. Here, you can get a pen, too, in case you want to write some stuff down.” Scott pulls a pen from the box and hands it to the guy. “Like my number.”
Ethan turns to me, eyebrows high. My mouth hangs open. Angela and Xiu look at each other similarly.
God I wish I was that smooth.
“Maybe I’ll come ’round and get it later.” The other guy walks away but not before throwing a quick look over his shoulder, a grin dancing on his lips.
“How?!” I ask Scott.
“What?”
“How did you offer your number like that? That was so smooth I could slip on it. I can’t do that shit, man, I’d look like an idiot.” Flirting is not an area where I am extremely adept. The banter with Ethan was as close as I’ve ever been, and even that was terrible. Carlos could woo a fern at a party if he so wished, and which he has tried to do when drunk.
Scott shrugs. “I thought he was cute, and it was worth a shot. The worst that could happen is him calling me some slur and stomping off.”
“I wish I had that confidence,” Xiu says.
“You can, you simply have to be able to pick and choose your battles. I wouldn’t have done it if he looked like he’d punch me or something. Flirting is easy when you realize you don’t have anything to lose aside from being rejected. If you are rejected, move on. But if your ego is bigger than your dick . . . err, boobs . . . then you have to do some soul searching about whether you’re ready to be with someone else. No one deserves to be with a shitty person who thinks you owe them attention and affection. They gotta try too.”
A silence follows.
“That’s deep, man,” Ethan says.
“That’s not as deep as I can go . . . if you catch my drift.” He winks and Ethan chuckles.
“Son of a bitch, you got me,” he says.
“Nah.” Scott pats my hair as he walks by me. “We all know you are Sol’s man, wouldn’t dare go near ya.”
“Wait, he’s not my man.” My face is burning.
“My bad. You’re each other’s. Thanks for correcting me, Sol.”
Angela gets up to help a student. Xiu smiles at me. I can’t look at Ethan, so when a student walks by our table, I immediately get up to try to persuade them to talk about my shady club and its even shadier members. We hand out merch like it’s candy and try to entice susceptible students with the opportunities to get community hours.
I mention to some students how the club is like a big family. What I fail to add is that it is like a family at a Christmas dinner, and you’re the controversial cousin who never got married and disagrees with your relatives’ political views, which causes tension to run high at all times.
But at least there’s food at most of the meetings.
Time goes by with me ignoring Ethan, glaring at Scott, and making conversation with the girls. About halfway through the day, Scott lets us go to buy food. I’m starving after only drinking that coffee in the morning.
“Where do you want to go?” Ethan asks once I put some of the flyers down in a neat stack.
“We could split and find something on our own if you want.”
“Nah, let’s walk around and see what we find.” He tilts his head to the side. “Come on.”
I look at the booth, wondering if I should invite the other members, but I’m really happy he wants to walk with me. There is nothing rational about my emotions—I don’t want him to notice the attraction I feel toward him but at the same time I’m hoping he does. The fear of damaging this blossoming friendship between us matches my need to tell him that I like his face, and I’m having a hard time handling that.
“What’s wrong?” Ethan asks as we thread through the crowd.
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.” I nearly lose him among bumping shoulders and heads. “I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“The Spanish Inquisition? I don’t know. I’m thinking in general. Is there a problem with that?”
“Sorry, I was just wondering.”
I stop and immediately someone runs into me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s fine,” he says, but he seems distant.
“Hey.” I slap his shoulder playfully. He finally looks at me. “Things get to me easy and the way Scott was talking about us rubbed me the wrong way.”
Ours steps slow as we hold each other’s gaze, and I would linger on how romantic this might seem to anyone who might spot us in the crowd, but the next instant som
eone walks right into me and doesn’t even offer an apology.
“Hey, watch it, man!” Ethan says. “I don’t think this is the best setting to talk about stuff like this.”
“I would have to agree with you there.”
“Here.” He takes my hand, fingers intertwining easily. “So we don’t get separated.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“And have my comedy source taken away? No, I’d rather die.”
“So I’m your comedy source? Might as well call me a clown. I won’t take that, bye.”
His hand tightens around mine when I move away, and with a light pull he moves me back closer to him.
“You know I’m kidding, sunshine.”
Sunshine. Sunshine. SUNSHINE. I think I’m about to pass out.
“I know, but I still like to give you a hard time.” The air smells like deep-fried food, and my stomach growls. “I’m like an annoying rock in your shoe.”
“I like that rock, so I won’t be taking my shoe off anytime soon.”
“What?”
“Let’s go, I smell fries. We could get some burgers from that tent and fried Oreos from the one next to it.”
He moves faster, weaving easily through the crowd and pulling me along by the hand. Somewhere along the tents someone is playing pop music, and while the festivities seem to be starting for today, their enthusiasm is lost on me.
Ethan kind of said he likes me.
Holy shit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN