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JOÃO
“Where’s Mama?” Ana asked, sipping her box of Toddynho.
Ever since Mom had gotten her hooked on it, she refused to drink anything else, even chocolate milk. I didn’t blame her, though; Toddynho was so much better than that shit.
She handed me the box and grabbed a handful of popcorn out of the pink bag in my lap. I sipped out of the straw and handed it back to her.
“Mom’s working …” At someone’s house again.
After grabbing the remote and turning off the TV, Ana placed the popcorn on the couch beside us and sat in my lap, frowning. “Why’s Mama always working? Even after I get home from school.”
I rubbed my forehead. I hated when Ana asked questions.
She was far too young to really understand why she had to take pills every single day of her life—because she’d end up dead if she didn’t—and why Mom worked endlessly for us.
“To give us a better life.”
“But we have a good life,” she said with a smile.
Life through a child’s eyes must’ve been so fucking amazing. Redwood slums were far too shitty to be considered a good life. Everyone looked down on us. Everyone hated us, arrested us, put us down whenever they got a chance and for whatever reason.
Ana would learn soon enough.
“Did you talk to your girlfriend today?” Ana asked, changing the subject.
“Ana, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“Mmhmm,” she said, rolling her eyes and taking another sip of her drink. “She is. Mama even said that she thought so, too.”
“When?”
“When you left with her.”
I arched a brow at her and playfully dug my fingers into her sides to tickle her. “Take that back.”
Ana broke out into a fit of giggles. “Never!”
Her laugh drifted through the air, so childish and gleeful that it made me smile. This was why Mom worked her ass off—to see Ana smile and laugh like this all the time.
“Jooooão! Stop it!”
Chuckling, I released her slowly when the front door opened. Mom walked into the room with dark bags under her eyes and her heels dangling from her fingers.
Ana ran over to her and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Mama! João was bullying me.”
I rolled my eyes and shot Ana a playful smile. She returned it by sticking out her tongue.
“Go run the shower, Ana,” Mom said, ushering her to the bathroom. “It’s late.”
“She’s already showered,” I said, standing and grabbing Mom’s bag from her.
Mom gave me a weak smile. “Thank you.”
After ushering Ana into her bedroom for the night, I set Mom’s bag down on the kitchen table and handed her the food I had made for Ana a couple hours ago. Mom set it on the counter, rubbing a hand over her face and taking out some money from her purse, counting it.
“João,” she said, shaking her head, “I can’t do this anymore.”
“I told you to quit,” I said, keeping my voice low so Ana wouldn’t hear. “You don’t need to sell yourself out. I can take care of us, Mom.”
