Page 35 of A Bookish Story

I hear the defensiveness in my voice, and I don’t like where my thoughts go. I try to remember my mother grew up in an age of body shaming, first done to her by a model-thin mother. Next, by a career she loved.

“You were a thin child, just like me. And how much do you weigh now?”

“Have you seen Abuelita?” I ask, purposely ignoring her question.

I vow that in my lifetime, I will redefine my relationship with her, and it will not include any talk of my weight or size. Or her weight for that matter.

“Yes, and Eddie.” She sighs. “He’ll never change, will he?”

“Still the same amazing man he’s always been,” I say, because I know she’s never liked my father’s older brother and she better not cut him down in front of me.

She’d met both brothers at San Jose State University where they all attended but said Eddie always thought himself “too good for her.” Where she got this idea I’ll never know because Eddie is one of those people who loves everyone.

Reluctantly, I unlock the door and wave her inside. “This is temporary. I couldn’t afford the condo on my own.”

“How incredibly cruel of Chris to do this to you.”

“Well, he joined the Peace Corps…”

“And abandoned his fiancée.”

She’s not wrong.

Mami glances around the tiny space, her lips tight, and I can feel the judgment coming off her in waves.

“Why are you not in the main house with your family?”

“Abuelita has a small house, stocked to the roof with decades of memories. Plus, I like my privacy. This is pretty much like my bedroom. I eat dinner with them and use the restroom, shower, anything else I need.”

When she takes a seat on what I still creatively call the love seat, I’m happy that at least there’s no way she can stay here with me. Yay me. Not even a couch she can crash on. My bed is too small for more than one person. She and Seb will have to go find a hotel room and, unless Mami sleeps on the couch, there’s no room for her in the main house either.

“Have you ever thought of doing something different with your hair?”

“With my hair?”

She makes movements with her hands. “A layered cut with your type of natural wave would be so flattering.”

The unspoken message, I suppose, is that my current cut is not flattering. Ask me if I care.

“I like my hair the way it is,” I say between clenched teeth. “Where’s Seb?”

I hope he’s getting them a hotel room, the sooner the better. Mami crosses one lean sculpted leg over the other one. Naturally, she’s dressed to kill in black pumps that have partially sunk into the dirt on the way to my she-shed. She should have considered that before she walked across the lawn. Her crème pantsuit is tailored to her slim figure and her naturally wavy hair is straightened so no hint of a wave will show. I, however, am a ball of frizz because while we might have the same hair, I don’t spend much time on mine.

For a moment, the silence between us is heavy, the way I worried it would be at my wedding. I planned to see her on the best day of my life, not on one of the worst. But even if she’s here for sympathy, I don’t want any. I’ll be fine. I always have been. Okay, so I might have to give up my firstborn to the real estate gods if I ever want to own a home in Seven Trees but otherwise it’s all good.

She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I have some news. It’s not good and I wanted to tell you in person.”

My breath hitches when worst-case scenarios come to mind. While she looks smaller, she’s also noticeably thinner. Even for her, which says something. She’s paler than normal, so either she’s finally stopped bed tanning, or she’s seriously ill. For a moment I wonder what I’ll do if my mother is dying from some horrible disease.

“W-what is it?” I brace myself to hear the dreaded C word.

“Seb and I divorced weeks ago.” Her lower lip quivers but unfortunately I recognize it from her soap opera days. “It became final last week.”

She could turn tears on like a faucet. It was her greatest skill. Bravo! I almost whistle and clap. What a performance. It’s just like my mother to make her divorce from Seb a production. She’d sell tickets if she could.

I slump in relief. “Dios mio, I thought you were dying. Well, I’m sorry to hear it. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

She blinks in surprise and her hand rises to her chest. “And ruin your wedding?”