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And then my dad. Coming into the kitchen not for the food, but for my mother. Lifting her hair off the back of her neck so he can kiss her there. And then, when that’s not enough, turning her around, kissing her again, not minding that her floury hands are getting all over his clothes.
Then dancing with her to this song. When he dances, he doesn’t limp. He shows that grace, that lightness that must have accompanied every movement when he was young. When he holds my mother in his arms, you’d never know he’s in pain.
It’s not a glamorous kitchen, like one out of a magazine. My parents’ house is small, comfortable, messy at times. My mother doesn’t care to decorate, and my father doesn’t care to spend money on anything without wheels. The rugs are from Puerto Rico, the tiles on the floor in the same cheerful prints, laid by my grandpa when his knees were still good.
My eyes are hot, my throat tight.
I’m very alone in the dark hallway, even with Vlad on the other side of the door.
I shift in place, forgetting about the floorboards. Vlad hears the creak and stops playing.
I could run away, but that would be stupid.
Instead, I push the door open, saying, “Sorry. I really like that song.”
Vlad looks at me, silent, unsmiling.
“It’s my mom’s favorite.”
“Hm,” he grunts. “Mine too.”
“Do you know the words?”
“Yeah. Can’t sing for shit, though.”
“Me neither.”
He plucks the strings with his thick fingers, beginning over again.
I lean against the doorframe, closing my eyes. Letting the notes float around me in the air.
Even though I really have no voice, I softly sing along:
Hold me close and hold me fast …
This magic spell you cast …
This is la vie en rose …
I sing the whole song, imagining my mom singing it the way she does, much sweeter than I could ever manage.
When it’s over, we both stay quiet a moment, letting the last vibrations fade away.
“How come the ukulele?” I ask Vlad.
“I went to Hawaii once. Only time I ever went on a trip with my parents. It felt like we flew to literal paradise. Not like here. It didn’t seem like the same planet at all. Every place we saw was more beautiful than the last. More peaceful. I heard the ukulele, like angels strumming on harps. It was men playing it, big men. I was already a big kid. I thought,I could do that. I could make it feel like heaven everywhere I go.It’s not the same when I play it here. But it’s a little the same.”
This is the most I’ve ever heard Vlad speak at once. Especially sober.
“It was heaven,” I say. “For a minute.”
Vlad lets out a puff of air. He’s not smiling, but he’s also not glowering at me like usual.
“Why are you awake?”
I shrug. “Sometimes I get wired and can’t sleep even when I’m tired.”
He nods. “Me too.”
