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I shift my body, bringing my legs up onto the couch, and crossing them. She’s gonna flip out, no matter how I tell her where I’m moving to. May as well rip the Band-Aid off.
“Miami.”
“¿Qué?” she shrieks. “¿Pero por qué tan lejos?”
Her reaction is exactly what I expected—she isn’t happy with what I told her. I take another deep breath to calm my voice. I’m frustrated but don’t want to take it out on her. “Ma, Miami isn’t that far, just a three-hour flight away. Besides, I don’t feel safe here anymore.” Part of the reason my mother doesn’t understand my wanting to move is because she doesn’t know the truth about Carmine, only bits and pieces of what truly happened. I never wanted to share any of it with her—still don’t.
“I can never walk anywhere alone, and no matter what I try, my tires keep getting slashed. What if he tries something worse next time? If I move to a new city I can start over and keep a low profile. Eventually he has to move on, right?”
“Pero Soli, how drastic!” she exclaims, yet I can still detect the tremor in her voice.
“What choice do I have?”
“No se. We can think of something,estoy segura!”
“No Ma, we can’t, and there’s no way you can be sure of anything. It’s been nearly a year, and nothing has changed. How many times do we need to have the same conversation? I’m done waiting for the next thing to happen. I have to make a change!”
“If you leave,me quedo sola,” she whispers, her voice cracking. This is how my mom is. She wants the best for me yet has no issues with laying the guilt on thick in hopes it’ll persuade me to do what she wants.
“You won’t be alone. You have your sisters, and brother. You’re with one of them most of the time anyway.”
My mother moved to Boston in the sixties after one of her brothers had visited family and decided to stay, because the opportunities were better in Boston than in Balcarce, the small town she grew up in in the province of Buenos Aires. Once my uncle established himself in the states, set up with a job and a place to live, he had my mother and aunt join him. My Tio Carlo, Tia Flora, and Tia Olga all live within minutes from my mom’s house. The four of them are inseparable. My mother is also extremely close to Tio Carlos’ wife, and many nights they all meet up to play Canasta gathered around someone’s table until the wee hours of the morning. Her other brothers and sisters, all eight of them, still live in Argentina and she goes to visit often.
“No es lo mismo, you know that” she says in a softer tone.
“Ma, I know it’s not the same, but after coming home to four slashed tires, my decision is made,” I say, my voice getting louder as I speak. “Returning home from a relaxing vacation to find my tires slashed again! It ruined everything, and I can’t do it anymore! Please, just support me. I’m gonna do it anyway; it’ll be easier if you don’t fight me on it.” My raised voice coupled with the strong tone of my words is the only way I’ll get through to my mother. The only way I can get her to end the guilt trip and really listen to what I’m saying.
There’s silence on her end of the phone, but I can hear her heavy breaths as she’s contemplating my words and letting the idea of my move settle in.
“Bueno hijita mía,” she whispers, the words of endearment barely audible. “You know I love you and support you.¿No me gustabut what choice do I have?” My lips curl upward, happy she gave in quickly this time.
“I know you don’t like it, but you’ll see it’s what’s best for me. Everything will work out fine. Thank you, Ma. I love you.”
“Okay,Soli. I only want what’s best for you but I’m selfish too and I’ll miss you.”
“Why don’t you come over later around five,para que me cocines? You can make apastel de papa. I haven’t had it in a while and it’s a perfect day for it.” My mother’s favorite thing to cook is shepherd’s pie and with it being a cold day, it’s the perfect meal.
Five Months Later
I invited Melida, Jestine, and Krissa over to help me pack and hang out. I’m going to miss them so much. Although they planned a going away get-together for me next weekend, this is the last time just the four of us will be together. It’ll be the first time in our lives we’re separated for an extended period. Thinking about it too much hurts my chest but I know I have to do it.
After we got back from Miami and I broke the news to my mom, I began planning for this move by searching for apartments, neighborhoods, and price ranges. I needed to budget for the move and searching for apartments would help me know what I was getting myself into. Krissa’s friend, the manager at the Betsy Hotel, has been helpful with answering questions about neighborhoods and even hooked me up with a realtor to help me find an apartment when the time comes. It’s made getting ready for my move south easier now that I’ll have someone in Miami helping me.
“Are you taking these?” Krissa asks, holding up a set of candlestick holders that were displayed on the fireplace mantle. I can still vividly see the day we got into an argument, and he hurled one of them at me. It was the first time I decided to tell the girls about the real Carmine.
“No. Carmine’s sister gave those to us, and I don’t want anything that reminds me of him,” I respond. “I can’t believe I still have them.”
I sit on the floor, rest my back against the wall. “Do you girls remember the night I told you I had finally decided to leave him?”
We had attended a concert in the city and then decided to stay out. It was a rare night out with my friends, since we barely saw each other anymore. I wasn’t ready to go back to my house and it was one of those warm spring days and the evening was too beautiful to be home. With a bottle of wine and plastic cups, we found some benches in the Boston Common and popped the cork. As we were drinking, I suddenly blurted out, “I’ve decided I’m leaving Carmine.” Krissa almost choked on her wine.
“What? When? How?” Melida asked. The shock on their faces is an image ingrained in my memories. Up until that night, they knew very little, only what I had selectively shared. I was always worried about sharing too much, worried about their judgment. That they’d think I was weak. But that night I shared everything. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop, and the girls proved me wrong. They cried with me and for me as I told them the stories about Carmine’s behavior, the way he took pride in belittling me, and the look of satisfaction he had after he slapped me. I wished I had told them sooner. I explained I didn’t have a plan yet and the only thing I knew was I was leaving.
“It’s a night I’ll never forget. I don’t think any of us will,” Jestine says. She stretches her hand out and rests it on my leg.
“Definitely not. When you told us about Carmine and how he’d been treating you, my perspective changed. I always knew he was a jerk, but I never would’ve imagined him hurling things at you or laying a hand on you,” Melida says. “Whether you think you know someone or not, we never know what goes on behind closed doors.”
“Anyway, if you weren’t having a yard sale next week, I’d say let’s have a bonfire and torch all this shit,” Krissa adds, an evil laugh filling the air.
