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“I see your point. I wonder if it’s because I did it before, and it didn’t seem like much of a problem.”
“If you want to do something for me…please, do less. If you do less, it will make me happy and be just like you doing something for me. I really want you to understand this.”
It’s hard being this honest because I know I have a good chance of coming off as mean or grumpy.
“I see. So… should I leave this rice like this? Or should I just cook it?” She turns the stove on.
“Remember when there wasn’t power.” Randomly, she pokes at our brief past. I want to laugh, but she’s still being stubborn. The stove’s flame is blazing as hot as our bodies should be, and she’s committed to making this rice.
“Yes, I do.” I chuckle before grabbing myself a glass of water.
“I have to wear my honesty on my sleeve.” I cave in.
Nadia slides the vegetables and chopped garlic into a small container.
“Uh oh, what’s it now?” She teases.
“I think it’s funny. It’s funny how you don’t want anything serious, but you’re navigating my home as if we are serious.”
Nadia immediately turns the stove off. She nods in continuous agreement as I watch her toss the baggie of sliced veggies into a bottom fridge drawer.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to confuse you.”
I can hear her heart rate picking up, her eyes narrowing at me as she folds her arms and presses them against her chest. She’s being very genuine. Her voice gives this away.
“I prefer a little more than what you’re thinking. So, I appreciate your choice.” I admit.
“And, as picky as I know you are. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t seek your permission first. Got a little carried away.”
“I can’t help but wonder, Nadia. Is this a common thing you do? Seek validation for what you receive by doing for others?”
Her expression is stoic, which is more than it seems. Mental wheels are spinning as she leaps out and says, “That’s a heavy question and a deep observation on your end.”
Her tone is docile, trembling. Reaching for her, she places her cheek on my chest. Immediately, she wipes away any presence of tears. I hold her tight, rubbing my pinky along her spine until her heart rate lowers. Her fingers are soft against my spine, and she releases a sigh.
She’s so hard on herself, and if she can only take away one feeling from our experience together, I want that feeling to be as freeing as it should be calm. So, I leave her forehead blessed with a kiss.
Chapter 13
Nadia
It’sbeentwoweekssince I’ve cried against Joaquin’s chest. Two weeks since I tried my last effort of “earning my place.” Two weeks since I had to face my reality of pleasing people. Two weeks since Joaquin held up a mirror and forced me to look at myself, sit with myself, and go within myself.
It’s inherited trauma. I think.
“I did the same thing.” Nonna declares as I finally open up to her.
These past two weeks revealed so much about my own personal trauma. And I found this out while asking challenging questions to my grandmother. A lot is rooted in what she felt she owed to her parents, who sacrificed a lot to get her in the movies. Nonna Delores watched her mom turn her life upside down and watched her Dad pick up odd jobs to add more fuel, more classes, etc., to set grandma’s acting career ablaze.
Sacrifice. And every perceived sacrifice must be acknowledged and appreciated. And there’s only one way to appreciate it, doing something in return. Aka, thank them.
“So…now that you’re being honest, why you’ve been away off and on at odd times, which I will say, Nadia…I snorted out when he made sure you got to me safely. It was written all over his and that little boy’s faces.”
Which is one of the hardest things about this all. Adam’s love for me. Yesterday, I had the chance to kick a soccer ball around a park with them. I stopped by the abode for a quickie with Joaquin before we sauntered down the pathway to Adam’s school. We ended up playing around with the ball for over an hour. Adam was bummed out when I climbed into my Jeep when we returned. He wanted me to stay around for dinner.
“You’re wise, Nonna! That’s all that was, and looking at Joaquin. He’s a great-looking man. I’m sure you’ve had those theories.”
Nonna stands before me in her silk bathroom robe. We’re out on her enclosed porch, which resembles a luxury version of a gazebo. The air is a cross between a greenhouse and an outdoor bistro. Misty plants and toss rugs add a homey feel as the piping hot tea steeps in precious ceramic teapots before us.
