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“So, yes. I was falling for a man I can never be with.” My mother’s face goes from horrified to confused.
“Why? What else? Why can’t you be with him?” she asks me, stuttering over her questions.
I look at her, surprise and annoyance dripping from my words. “Did you not hear what I said? How could I be with him after that?”
My mother walks over and puts an arm around me. I’m shorter than her and my head fits perfectly into the crook of her neck. I nestle it there and the ball that’s been in the middle of my chest expands. I haven’t had my mother’s comfort for so long and I’ve forgotten how good it feels to be in her arms.
“Ana, you’re so young. It’s easy to be dismissive of people when you think you’ve got your whole life stretched out in front of you.”
“I’m not so young, Mama. And I’m not being dismissive. I’ve thought about this all week.”
Her dry, humorless laugh punctuates the air.
“A week? You’re going to be grappling with this for the rest of your life. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to overcome.” She runs a caressing hand up and down my arm. It’s an absentminded motion, but so comforting.
“Ana Maria.” I lift my head at her use of my full name. She only said it when she really wanted me to pay attention as a child. “Maybe it’s my fault, I didn’t show you how to be forgiving when you were a child. I held so much anger inside of me that you never saw me be gracious.”
I start to protest and she cuts me off by putting a finger to my lips. “This young man, Reece? He pulled Julian out of a lineup. He looked like someone he thought he’d seen committing a crime, right?” she asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, my sadness clogging my throat. My mother grabs my chin and forces me to look her in the eye. Her expression is stern, determined.
“I’ve had years to weigh this, Ana. Right after it happened, I used to fantasize about confronting the man who sent Julian to prison. But I soon realized that my anger was directed at the wrong person. He’s not the one who arrested Julian. He wasn’t the one who charged him based on the words of one witness. He didn’t hand him over to the authorities to be sent to detention. He didn’t kill Julian. And if anyone is responsible for his death, it’s your father and me,” She says quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears and regret.
I pull out of her grasp, her words shocking me out of my melancholy.
“What are you saying? How are you to blame?” I ask vehemently.
She looks at me, her lips pursed, her eyes glassy and wide. “Your father and I decided to leave Mexico when you were born. We’re not well-educated people, our parents didn’t have any connections. Your father was working at a tire factory in Mazatlán. He worked fourteen-hour days and I worked at a resort there, as a housekeeper.” She sits back down at the table and picks up a napkin that she begins to shred as she speaks. “We were scraping out a living, and your Uncle Jorge told us that one of his friends was looking for someone to work as a landscaper. The pay was almost ten times what we were earning and so we came to see. We applied for visas and they were granted. We knew that if we liked what we found, we probably wouldn’t go back home. It was wrong, but we thought we were doing the right thing. Your brother was almost nine, we wanted him to get a good education. You were just a baby and we wanted the same for you. So, we made a decision. You and your brother have paid for it.”
I blink in shock. I’ve spent many nights resenting them for taking away my chance to be a productive citizen of this country. But I’ve never blamed them for what happened to Julian. I know they loved him. I know that they did what they did because they wanted to give us a better life.
I shake my head. “No. You can’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.” I try to reassure her.
“How is it Reece’s?” she shoots back. “You should be angry at me, at your father, at the court system, at the immigration laws. Reece only did his civic duty.”
“Civic duty? Julian was my brother,” I say, my voice clogged by a ball of emotion that makes getting words out painful.
“It is the greatest tragedy of my life that your brother was misidentified. But I also know that under normal circumstances, they might have charged him and let him sit and wait for trial. But because —” Her voice cracks as she starts to cry. “your father and I brought him here. He was turned over to the Immigration people. He was gone.” She composes herself and wipes her tears and puts an arm around my shoulder. She speaks softly into my ear.
“Ana, there are plenty of reasons why you and Reece may not be able to work things out, but this should not be one of them. Not if you really care for each other. He told you the truth as soon as he knew it. He didn’t do anything malicious or dishonest.”
That only makes me feel more miserable, because she’s right. Reece is such a wonderful man. “Aren’t I betraying Julian? He’s my blood,” I say through a sob.
My mother puts a hand under my chin again. Her eyes are angry as she lifts my face to hers.
“Look at your life. Where has your blood been? Where are your aunt and uncle? Where was I? Don’t be a fool. Your grandmother, God rest her soul, used to say love is thicker than water. Blood means nothing without love.”
Each word, so harsh and yet, so healing. It’s true. Look at the family I’ve built. Jessica, Sol . . . Reece. Blood had nothing to do with it.
She sags into her seat and says, “I’m tired. I should go home. I have to be up at six tomorrow morning.”
Jessica steps out on the patio just then. She’s wearing a pretty pink dress. It’s short, but otherwise demure. With her blond hair caught in clips on the sides and her flawless makeup, she looks like a walking advertisement for Ms. All American.
“Oh, you’re leaving? I can give you a ride, if you’d like. I’m heading out in about ten minutes,” she says as she breezes in. If she notices the heavy mood, she doesn’t pay it any heed.
“Okay, that would be nice,” my mother says quietly. I can tell she wants to keep talking. But, I’m glad our conversation’s been cut short. It was a lot. And as glad as I am that we’re talking again, I’m not used to all of this openness with her.
We move to our seats around the table and sit down. I’m lost in my thoughts, mulling over what my mother said and knowing in my heart that she’s right.
