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“It is so beautiful. I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner.” My mother’s English is flawless but heavily accented. When we were growing up my mother made Julian and I speak only English at home. She and my father wanted to make sure that we sounded “American.” Her own accent always made her reluctant to speak if we weren’t home. In our old neighborhood, when we were among family and friends, she had been a social butterfly. It’s nice to see her enjoying being around people again.
I smile at her and say, “I’m glad you’re here.” It’s been a while since we’ve sat down like this, not in a restaurant, but in a home and broken bread. It feels good.
Jessica pours us each a glass of wine and sits down. I walk over with the pan of our taco fillings and put the contents on our plates. We have tortillas, pico, guac and cheese all laid out for dinner tonight. Jessica piles her tortilla high with veggies and the other fixings then says, “I have to leave in a minute. But, I want to know, have you talked to Reece?”
I am in the middle of sipping my wine and choke on it. My mother and Jessica both stand up and come to bang on my back. I catch my breath and tell them, “I’m fine,” while I fix Jess with my death glare.
My mother looks back and forth between us and then asks, “Who is Reece?”
I don’t say a word and Jessica sits back with her eyebrows raised and looks at me. She is obviously not bothered by my glare.
My mother turns to me and says, “Is anyone going to tell me?” I look away from Jessica and at my mother and the expression on her face alarms me. She looks like she is going to cry. My mother stopped crying when my father left. She would get angry, curse him, but she never cried.
“Mama, it’s nothing,” I say and reach for her hand.
Jessica stands up with a flourish. “I’ve got to get ready. I’ll be back. You can tell me then.” She floats out of the yard and back into the house, seemingly unfazed that she’s opened a can of worms that I had hoped to keep firmly shut.
I close my eyes, silently count to three and turn to face my mother. She’s watching me expectantly.
“Really, it’s nothing. I have some things to figure out with the man I’m working for,” I say trying not to lie without revealing too much. I don’t know how my mother will react to hearing that I’m in love with the man who’s responsible for her son’s death.
She sighs, a long sigh and looks down at our joined hands.
“Ana,” Hearing myself called by that name makes me cringe. “I know that I made a mistake when I sent you to your Uncle Jorge. I knew it then. But I didn’t think I had a choice. It was the only way I could afford to keep you in clothes and keep you safe. I needed that job.” Her voice cracks on the word “needed.”
“And that boy—he’s grown up now to be as vindictive of a man as he was a child—would have turned us in.”
My blood starts rushing through my ears. “That’s what it’s always come down to. Don’t make noise. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t get hurt. Don’t fight back,” I say quietly, but bitterly.
“Ana. I’m human, too. It hasn’t been easy to suppress my anger. To let people abuse me and my children. I did it so that you could have a good life. I know
it doesn’t seem like it. But look, you’ve written a book. It’s being made into a film. All of that . . . these are my dreams come true. And so are you.”
The backyard is alive with the evening song of the creatures that live in our trees and bushes, but I don’t hear any of that. I can only hear my mother and my heart pumping the blood straight to my head. I’m at a loss for words. My mind wants to hold onto my bitterness, but my heart wants to let go and fall into her arms. I’ve missed the family I used to have. I grab hold of her hand and she squeezes mine. Tears spill down my cheeks as she brings our joined hands up to her face and presses the back of my hand into her cheek. She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.
“I owe you so many apologies, mija, and I will give them to you. I think I’ll need a lifetime to atone for everything. But, maybe I can start by being here for you. I know I haven’t earned the right to ask you for anything.” She looks around the garden, looks through the sliding glass doors into the house. “I’m grateful you have such a lovely home. You deserve it. And I’m glad Jessica is someone you’ve been able to confide in. I fear that I’ve left you to face the world alone. Yet, you’ve managed to make something of your life despite that.”
For the second time this week, I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. I thought my mother resented me. I thought she had kept her distance because I reminded her of all the terrible things she wanted to forget. Our conversations have been brief and infrequent.
And we have never talked about what happened at her employer’s house. But before I can bring that up, she sits up straight, and drops my hand. Her voice has lost its wistfulness as she continues speaking. “I know it will take time for you to trust me again. But, for now, I want to know who Reece is, and I want to know what he’s done to upset you.” And then she takes a bite of her taco and looks at me eagerly while she chews.
I just stare at her for a second. And then I decide to let her change the subject. I’ll take the progress we’ve made tonight and know that we have a lot more to say before our relationship is healed. I also realize that the words she just spoke took a lot of courage and I’m not going to throw them back in her face. So, I tell her about Reece. “He is the head of the movie studio that I told you bought the rights to the film. We’ve been spending time together, getting to know each other.”
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.
