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The true reason my brother never wanted to come home was because Mama was so hard on him, and Papa always followed her lead, never going against her. I was certain Cruz felt like he couldn’t measure up to their expectations. I should know. They put a ton of weight on my shoulders each day, as I tried to please and do right by them.
Mama crossed herself. “He didn’t bother coming home this Christmas, not even a phone call. I light a candle for him at church every morning.”
I’d heard from him, Diego did too. Cruz had selfishly taken leave and partied on a beach in the Caribbean for Christmas, sending us a photo of him on the beach in board shorts, with a snorkeling mask on and giving a hang 10 sign. The only thing he said he missed was Mama’s cooking. He earned a tongue lashing from me the next time he bothered to reach out.
I couldn’t blame him, though. Last year was his final straw when Mama deemed me as the one who would be in charge and take care of them in their ailing years when they created their living wills and signed a power of attorney naming me. Cruz asked how he could help, and they outright told him he wasn’t responsible enough for such a big burden in his life.
Mama forged a huge wedge in the family, without realizing, adding another heavy weight on my shoulders, trying to keep my brothers engaged with the family. Didn’t she understand, reversing the caretaker role would eventually be too much for me to handle in the future? I’d need my brothers around to help take care of them in their old age. But if she kept pushing them away, would they help me?
“Yum. These carnitas look delicious. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here earlier to help you cook, Mama. It was Barbie’s birthday, so a group of us took her to brunch. I’m stuffed, but too bad. My stomach will have to make room for these.” I filled my plate and hoped Mama would drop her complaints about Cruz for the rest of dinner. And I undid the top button of my jeans.
I ate way too much at brunch, but Barbie not only was my roommate, but had been my best friend forever and I wanted to treat her to a special time out. Only I didn’t expect her to drop a bombshell of gossip news on me, which was why I was late. I had to pull myself together and stop crying before I showed up for family dinner.
“You can make it up to me next Sunday when we make chiles rellenos, Bebita. Your father requested it.”
My mother was always cooking and cleaning while my father took care of the motel they owned. She embodied the expectation for females in our culture. As a dutiful daughter, they expected I’d do the same: get married, raise a family and be a good wife, plus take care of my parents. But Mama was old school, and we frequently had the same argument.
She didn’t understand how I also insisted that I’d be pursuing my professional career as well. I was a modern woman and wanted it all, and somehow my brothers would have to pitch in when the time came to take care of our parents in the future.
Growing up, family was everything. We were a tight-knit group who always did fun things together and helped each other out when someone needed it. We still were, only we grew apart. Or rather, some of us set up boundaries. Cruz forged his own path in the military, much like Mama and Papa when they left their families behind and came to America at only sixteen years old.
As soon as they were at an age to know what love was, they were inseparable. They filed for working visas, crossed the border together, and never looked back. Since that day, they became U.S. citizens, and worked hard raising us. Finally, after saving for years, they purchased the roadside motel just outside Glendale Falls and rebuilt it to be a nice place for visitors.
The family home also sat just behind it, a cozy enough place for the five of us, plus a revolving door for other family members visiting at any given moment. Mama and Papa were not what most people would consider rich, yet they made our childhood comfortable enough with love and laughter. We wanted little else until we got older.
Mama and Papa always wanted their children to have more than they had when they were younger. They pushed the idea of getting a college education hard, but I was the only one of us siblings to earn a degree. And I suppose Diego was right—that made me the target of their pride over the boys.
It was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, they were proud to say their daughter had degrees—a doctor! On the other hand, they still expected me to fulfill the expectations of our culture for women.
“Mm. Delicious, Mama. Do you mind if I take another helping to go?” Diego wolfed down his first plate and filled his plate with seconds.
“So soon? We just sat to eat.” Papa exclaimed. Mama didn’t say a word, but jumped up to get the plastic wrap to cover the plate Diego overfilled.
“The bartender called off tonight. Sundays are surprisingly busy at the bar, but I’ll stop by Monday night and pick you up for our bowling league.” He patted Papa’s back as a promise. After kissing Mama’s cheek, he left out the back door.
Just like Cruz, they considered Diego rebelling against their expectations. Although he’d earned a little more of their respect buying and running the Mi Casa bar in town. He bought it a few years out of high school and did pretty well for himself. I was proud of both my brothers.
Mama’s face was lined with worry and she looked about to cry after he left. “Well, look at all this food. We’ll be eating leftovers all week.”
“I don’t mind.” Papa gave his belly a few pats.
“You don’t always have to cook so much, Mama. We’d be happy with pizza, or even simply dessert.” I sighed and pushed the food around my plate.
“What’s the matter, Bebita? Why so sad?” Of course, she’d notice.
“Barbie told me some gossip today. You know the professor position I’d interviewed for before fall semester let out? Well, she overheard some staff talking yesterday about why I got passed over for the position. Supposedly, it’s because I look too young for my age.”
“What? You’re a beautiful young woman. Pay no attention to gossip.” Papa reached over, petting my hand. Always one to encourage. I looked into his soothing eyes. Almost any troubles could be erased by simply crying on his broad shoulders.
Mama pounded the table with her fist. “We’re Latina. We cannot help it if we don’t wrinkle fast. The women in our culture are stunning, everyone else is jealous. Oh, my girl, you are pretty and smart, and too good for that college. Wait until you find a nice man who will fall in love with you. Then you won’t worry about these things as much.”
There was the argument I didn’t need right now, so I bit my tongue and left it alone. I had other thoughts in my mind, anyway. Could I sue the college? Was it ageism? Or discrimination for my looks? But everything Barbie heard was hearsay from staff who were speculating. Still, it explained a lot—and turned me ultra aware of how others perceived me.
Alone with my folks for the night, I knew what would happen next. The same thing as every other Sunday. We’d eat until stuffed. I’d help Mama clean up and pack all the food away in plastic ware for their nightly dinners. Then she’d grill me about anyone I was dating, whether they were potential prospects for marriage, while reminding me I wasn’t getting any younger and she would soon be too old to help raise my children.
I’d do the dishes and clean their bathroom for them, then sit with them until at least ten o’clock, watching TV shows. Because that’s what I did every week, as a dutiful daughter. I didn’t see that routine changing soon.
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