My dad, the ex-Marine who’d come to the Dominican Republic as part of the occupation forces, and my mother, one of the young activists who fiercely stood up against them. Theynever crossed paths then, but when my dad returned almost ten years later, hoping for a fresh start, he found love, too.
Camilo once again came to my foolish mind, and I surprised myself by wanting to tell my parents about him. It was too soon, so I veered in another direction, which, of course, took me right back to Camilo.
“We finally got the domestic violence project going, Mamí. I met with the director of the agency last week.”
My mother’s face lit up immediately. I’d been talking about doing something to honor my aunt’s memory for years and I finally had the time to do it.
“Ay m’ijo.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so proud of you.”
My dad put his arms around her shoulders and kissed the side of her face before he spoke, too. “That’s great son. Tell us about the agency. You told us about a few the last time we got an update; which one did you finally decide on?”
He was such a contrast to my mother. Measured and not overly emotional, but he was never shy about showing his affection. He told my mother he loved her every day of my childhood. From my mother, I learned how to be bold about what I wanted, to go for my dreams, and my dad taught me how to be a man his family could rely on for everything.
Once again Camilo popped into my head, and I wondered what my parents would think of him. I couldn’t help the smile that appeared on my face as soon as I started talking about New Beginning.
“The agency is exactly what we wanted, a grassroots organization working with immigrant women. They have a solid reputation, and things got off to a great start.”
The urge to say something about Camilo was almost overwhelming, with every word it felt increasingly important to tell my parents about him.
“I’m meeting with the manager for their residential programs this week. He, uh.” Talking about Camilo made me feel clumsy, unprepared. After so many years at the helm of a company that took me to the highest levels of business, I’d forgotten what it was like to feel out my depth.
“What about him?” my mother asked, startling me.
“He’s Cuban, so he speaks Spanish,” I said, sure that I was blushing.
My parents gave me matching puzzled looks and I sat there debating if I should tell them or not. After things ended with Maxwell, I’d taken my time about going back out there, dating. My carelessness in my marriage, my lack of attention to how bad things really were with Maxwell until it was too late, left me feeling scared of my own judgment. I wasn’t sure if I could be a good partner, and Libe needed me so much; I just poured myself into being a parent. So this thing with Camilo, this urgency, it was like waking up to myself after a long sleep.
“¿Ay Tommy m’ijo que te pasa?” My mom’s voice was a mix of worry and exasperation.
She did not like brooding.
My mother needed every feeling aired out immediately. No holding back. She always said the universe gave her two “reserved” children as a test to her patience.
I looked at my parents, and the way they were together. The love that was always palpable between them. They’d been good models to me, and yet, when the time came I hadn’t been able to live up to it.
“Did I let you guys down with the way I treated Maxwell? That I didn’t take better care of him?”
My mother clicked her tongue at my question and my father’s face contorted as if the question pained him, but my mother spoke first.
“Mi amor, I couldn’t have dreamed for a better son. Look at what you’ve done, Tommy.” She waved her hand around the apartment. I’d built the building after my dad retired, so now they lived on the beach like they always dreamed of.
“You went to New Yorksolito,all on your own, son, what you’ve done with your life is remarkable. Your brother, too; he could’ve stayed in the States after medical school, but he came back to his country and is doing so many wonderful things with the border communities that need so much. My sons are such good men, but I wish I would’ve been better at letting you know you don’t have to be perfect, I?—”
“We,” my dad added, earning a kiss and sad smile from my mother. He looked at her with that adoring expression he always had for her. “Raising these boys was never just on you, Esperanza.”
I smiled at my dad’s still thick accent when he spoke in Spanish and how jumbled it got when he got emotional.
He turned to me, and his face was so serious. “Son, you’ve always been so good, so noble, but you’re not perfect. You were building a business and doing things that your mother and I are still amazed by. But accomplishing something like you have, at such a young age, it comes at a cost.” He lifted a shoulder then. “That doesn’t mean you don’t know how to love, that you don’t deserve a second chance. Things didn’t work with Maxwell, but you’re raising a great kid together.”
My mom interjected again. “It’s true. Don’t doubt yourself, Tommy, when the right person comes along, you will know exactly what to do.”
“I would argue, but we both know that you won’t let me off FaceTime until I agree with you,” I said teasing.
That got me a laugh from my parents.
“Mi muchachito.” I could be a hundred years old and my mother would never stop calling me her little boy.
We were all silent for a few breaths, but the conversation had lost its heaviness as we veered into talking about my brother’s work before ending the call. I sat for a moment with the fact the first thing that came to mind after my mother’s last comments was that I was seeing Camilo Briggs in two days.
