“Antonio? I saw your car. Come help me with these bags!”
I squeeze Jasmine’s hand once, then let go. “Coming, Mãe.”
My mother stands in the entryway, surrounded by grocery bags. She’s wearing linen pants and a silk blouse.
“There you are.” She holds out two bags. “Take these to the kitchen. There’s more in the car.”
“Mãe. You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” She pushes past me, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’ve been calling for days. You barely answer. So I decided to see for myself that you’re both okay.”
She stops mid-step when she spots Jasmine by the counter, looking like she might bolt.
“Jasmine.” My mother’s face transforms. She crosses the kitchen and pulls Jasmine into a hug. “Look at you. Tão bonita. How are you feeling? Is the baby moving? Are you eating enough? Antonio, is she eating enough?”
Jasmine shoots me a helpless look over my mother’s shoulder. I shrug.
“She’s eating, Mãe.”
“Takeout.” My mother releases Jasmine and turns to glare at me. “Você está alimentando ela com comida de restaurante? The mother of your child? This baby needs nutrition. Real food. Made with love and fresh ingredients.”
“I’ve been ordering from good places.”
She waves dismissively. “I brought fresh vegetables, fruit, fish, meat and pasta. Everything you need to feed a pregnant woman properly.”
The panic has left Jasmine’s face. My mother’s warmth is hard to resist, even when she’s scolding you in two languages.
I make two trips to her car, hauling in the remaining bags. By the time I return with the last load, Mãe has Jasmine settled on a stool at the counter and puts me to work chopping vegetables. The two of them talk as if I’m not here.
“I’ve wanted you for Antonio since Meesha first brought you home.” Mãe squeezes Jasmine’s hand. “So quiet and respectful, but your eyes saw everything. And now you’re giving me my first grandchild.”
Jasmine ducks her head, suddenly fascinated by the countertop.
For years, Mãe had commented on how lovely Jasmine was, how well she’d fit into our family. I’d always brushed it off because Jasmine had never hinted at any interest in me. Why torture myself wanting something that wasn’t mine to have?
“We’re making moqueca,” Mãe continues. “Fish stew. What I made when I was pregnant with Antonio. Good for the baby’s brain.” She taps her temple. “This one needed all the help he could get.”
Jasmine laughs and I catch myself smiling at the cutting board. Of course, Mãe would be the one to break through her walls.
“When I was pregnant with Antonio,” Carmen says, “I craved oranges. I ate so many oranges that his father worried he would be born orange.”
“Was giving birth painful?”
Mãe pauses. “Not as horrible as losing my virginity.”
The knife slips. I narrowly avoid taking off a finger. “Mãe. I’m standing right here.”
She waves a hand without looking at me. “Hush. This is women’s talk. Keep chopping.”
Jasmine laughs again, and Mãe pats her cheek. I finish chopping in silence, knowing better than to interrupt.
“Now.” Mãe stirs the pot, her tone shifting. “Where will you live when the baby comes?”
I keep my eyes on the cutting board, but my hands slow.
“My apartment,” Jasmine says.
“And Antonio has his condo. And this house. And the place in São Paulo.” Mãe taps the spoon against the rim of the pot. “So many addresses. None of them shared.”
