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“We’ve saved, Valerio,” my mother went on. “All of us. Enough to live very comfortably back at home. Back with ourfamily.”
She spoke of the family often, and not just in terms of the five of us. She always meant Argentina. The aunts and uncles, her nieces and nephews. The dozens upon dozens of cousins we’d left behind.
“Camila and Zoe are already excited for this,” said my father. “They can’t wait to see—”
“That’s easy for them to say,” I countered quickly, speaking of my two younger sisters. “They stilllivewith you. They’re not independent, like I am.”
“Valerio,” my mother said. “Listen—”
“Their lives are tied to the both of you,” I interrupted. “They’re not bound to America.”
When I’d arrived at my parent’s house a little earlier, something had seemed off from the beginning. Now that I took a look around, I could see what it was.
“Oh my God you’re alreadypacking.”
The many tchotchkes that littered every shelf and every available piece of counter-space were all gone. It was the same for some of the picture frames. The house seemed… emptier, less cluttered. Even though it was still full.
I dropped my head into my hands and shook my head. “Holy shit.”
“VALERIO!” my mother snarled. She wagged a finger my way. “No cussing!”
“Couldn’t we have at leasttalkedabout this?” I asked, completely ignoring her admonishment. “I mean, there are other jobs you could pick up. Other things you could do.”
My last statements were directed at my father, who only lowered his gaze. I wasn’t sure what happened at the software company he worked for, or what he even did there. His work was extremely technical. Totally confusing to me.
But he’d always provided a life for us. Agoodlife. For that, I had nothing but pride for him.
“Dad…”
“Valerio I’m sorry,” my old man said. “This is best for all of us. Your sisters need to grow up with their cousins, the way you did when you were younger.”
“They’re almost twenty,” I shot back. “They’re already grown up!”
“All the more reason they need family in their lives,” said my mother.
“But theyhavefamily!” I cried. “They have us!”
I was getting angry now, almost irate. I could see my mother’s shoulders hunch up in defense. Her scowl deepened.
“Look I mean no disrespect,” I said, “but you moved us up here when I was young. Igrew uphere.”
“Not in the winter,” my father pointed out. “You’ve spent almost every winter of your life back in Cordoba, or Trancoso. Months at a time, actually”
“Yes, but this place is what Iknow,” I countered. “My friends are all here. It’s what I love.”
“You love your cousins,” said my mother. “You love being home.”
“Thisis my home,” I shot back, pointing to the floor. “Not Cordoba.”
My mother recoiled and made a face, like I’d just cursed again. I didn’t know if she assumed I’d go along with them unquestioningly, or if they could just easily convince me that I somehow ‘belonged’ in Argentina with them. The whole thing was unbelievable to me either way.
“Consider it carefully,” my father said at last. “You’ll have a home with us down there.Allof us. There’s heritage to think about. Blood. Tradition.”
“And opportunity,” my mother added. “Tio Nacio will take you on, teach you his trade. We’ve already spoken with him. He’s agreed to—”
“My uncle’s a butcher,” I cut in.
“Yes.”
