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Thirteen Years Later
Epilogue
Thirteen Years Later
The gym closes early on Sundays—by lunchtime, the place is dead. This is the one day a week I’ll allow Nayeli and Miles to train in the cage. I can focus all my attention on them.
At ten-years-old, Nayeli towers over her eight-year-old brother. I try not to smile at how cute they are with their child-size gloves as they paw at each other like puppies with little strength. Miles struggles to put on his kid knuckle wraps, and Nayeli groans and protests, but in the end, she always helps him wrap so they can spar.
She won’t let Miles win, though. I think not until he outgrows her will he have so much as a shot at winning, and even then, I don’t see it happening.
Miles takes after Rory. He idolizes him and proclaimed years ago he was going to be a doctor just like him. He follows through, too, and spends most of his time hitting the books, ever since Rory told him that’s what it takes.
For her part, Nayeli has no clue what she wants to do when she grows up, but she is physically gifted. I’ve never hinted at a career in sports—it needs to come from her—but nothing would make me prouder.
I watch my foster children play on the mat with equal parts hope and dread. Rory and I have petitioned to adopt them, and we are awaiting our court date. I’m sure everything will work out okay, but there’s a little part of me gnawing at my insides with doubt, as if something could go wrong. It’s silly, though. Miles and Nayeli’s biological mom already lost custody. There’s no reason for the judge to rule against the adoption.
They are my children. Before them, we had temporary foster placements, all children who were successfully reunited with their families, and I hope, doing well now. But the moment Nayeli and Miles came home two years ago, Rory and I looked at each other, and we both knew. I told him, “These are our children,” and all he said was, “I know.”
“Mom! Mom!” Miles yells. “I tapped out. Make her stop!”
“Nayeli, you know the rules. If your brother taps out, you have to stop.”
Nayeli loses her chokehold’s grip around her brother and raises her arms in surrender as she stands. “Sorry,” she whines. “Mom, I really need to fight with someone my own age. The twerp is too weak.”
“I am not weak!” Miles snaps.
“Are too.”
“Am not! You’re bigger. That’s all. Mom! Tell her.”
“Stop teasing your brother, Nayeli. If you behave, we can look into getting you someone else to train with,” I say.
I stifle a laugh when Miles sucker-punches his sister when she’s distracted.Serves her right, I think, but I don’t take sides with them.
The front doorbell rings as it opens, and I walk over to help my next customer. “Play nice, you two,” I call after the brawling siblings.
The first one to enter the gym is a little boy I know and love. “Tía!” my nephew yells and runs to me. I pick him up into my arms and embrace him as I carry him.
“What are you doing here, love?”
Pilar walks into the gym before he has a chance to answer me. “I’m so sorry, Tini,” she says.
“For what?”
“For telling me where to find you,” Dad’s voice hits me like a ton of bricks as he enters my gym, the place he swore he’d never set foot in.
Mom and Dad didn’t show up at my wedding. They sent a gift and claimed they were too busy with business and couldn’t travel at the time. It was all horseshit, of course.
It was Tom, Rory’s Dad, who walked me down the aisle that day. They’ve been a constant in our lives ever since. He and Lisa moved to Kansas City from Minnesota the minute they heard we would be fostering. They insisted they wanted to be a part of that with us. They are overjoyed at our adoption plans and already love Nayeli and Miles more than anything on this earth, dethroning even Rory from the number one spot. He is now third in their hearts—and okay with it.
My parents weren’t quite so . . . graceful about it. When I told them over the phone, the roles reversed. Dad stayed quiet for the call, and Mom shouted. She couldn’t believe I would adopt someone else’s children. She yelled again at how stupid I was for not freezing my eggs so I could have a child of my blood. I hung up on them. I haven’t spoken to them since.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Dad but then look at Pilar.
Pilar mouths, “I’m sorry,” and I know she had little say in what happened.
“Can I talk to you, Valentina?” Dad asks.
