L.A. Weather

by María Amparo Escandón

  Oscar went home after making Belinda promise, once again, not to tell Keila about the orchard. As his accomplice since the beginning, she’d been lying to Keila about the family’s finances and helping him find resources to fund the orchard during the drought. But this secret had to end. He would have to be the one who told Keila, and it would have to happen before harvest.

  Saturday, September 3rd

  The moving van, proudly sporting a bright blue logo on its side that read SABRA HAZAK MOVING, was parked in the narrow driveway in front of Claudia’s house. Four men jumped out deftly, bringing down dollies and blankets. Patricia and Olivia had already packed up their sister’s stuff, carefully following her orders as to what got packed where, and now Oscar was standing by the front door to supervise the move to a storage facility, the same one where Olivia’s belongings were being kept.

  The house had been sold to an entertainment lawyer, the kind whose job is to babysit their rock star clients, following them around and paying for whatever damages they inflicted during their stays in hotel suites and venues.

  “I have the designer coming tomorrow with a crew of painters. Will the house be empty by then?” he asked Oscar after he maneuvered his Porsche into the tiny space next to the truck.

  “Oh, for sure,” said Oscar. “We’ll be out of here this afternoon. In fact, here are your keys.”

  Oscar handed him the house keys after he removed a silver ring with a round pendant that had Claudia’s initials engraved, a gift he’d bought for her at Tiffany’s when she published her first cookbook.

  The lawyer took the keys, said good-bye, and left. Oscar held the key ring tight, so tight that the edge of the silver pendant dug into the skin of his palm. Was it anger? Sorrow? Shame? His daughters’ lives were falling apart, and yet they faced their new reality with dignity. What a coward he was. He looked up at the cloudless sky.

  Sunday, September 4th

  Early in the morning, when squirrels hop from branch to branch looking for cats to tease and mourning doves coo the loudest and people are home sipping their coffee and reading the paper, Oscar walked out of his house and paced around on his porch. This time, the whipping boy that paid for his mistakes was a flowerpot. He kicked it until it broke like a piñata and the potting soil and the hydrangea spilled onto the staggered brick floor. He didn’t have a Kleenex on hand, so he used his shirtsleeve to dry his snot and tears.

  Wednesday, September 7th

  “I really do like to be on top when having sex. This way I can control the pace when I ride the guy,” Patricia said, as she settled at the picnic table with Irene. “That’s my answer.”

  “That’s it? Let’s elaborate. Is there anything else you’d like to say about the idea of control?”

  The first thought that came to Patricia’s mind was why hadn’t she asked herself this question before if the answer was so obvious?

  “It’s not just the pace or the rhythm. I feel more comfortable when they’re vulnerable. I think I’ve been trying to keep myself safe this way. And I do it to remind myself that having sex is my prerogative. Cowgirl, reverse missionary, face sit, sidesaddle. Doesn’t matter. I’m in charge of my own pleasure. And you know what? Men comply. Some even like it. At least the men I choose.”

  As she heard herself speak, she realized that she’d been looking for men to control during sex, men who made little or no attempt to achieve the intimacy she now longed for. And not just sexual intimacy, but the delicious kind that domesticity provides. She imagined having her own apartment somewhere in Echo Park where she’d spend hours intertwined with her husband on a plush sofa saying little nothings to each other while Dani did his homework in his room.

  “When can I go for a ride with Big Boy?”

  “You won’t while you’re pregnant. Your work will be on the ground for the next few months. You’ve got quite a way to go. Be patient. For now, you’ll need to start making some decisions.”

  Friday, September 9th

  Just landed.

  ok see you outside the terminal ma choupinette

  Eric had asked Patricia to discuss on the phone whatever she had to say that was so important. She didn’t have to fly out to San Francisco in the middle of the week. But she had refused to say anything until they were together, face-to-face, not on FaceTime.

  The ride home was particularly stressful. Not much was said.

  “SFO was a madhouse today.”

  “Yeah.”

  Eric brought Patricia’s carry-on bag up the stairs and into the bedroom. The bed was made and a small vase with fresh red tulips had been lovingly placed on her nightstand. She noticed.

  “What’s going on? What’s all this mystery about?” asked Eric, plopping down on the bed, intrigued.

  “I have to tell you this in person, that’s why I’m here. I’m hoping to have your full support. I’m sorry I didn’t consult with you first but I needed to do it, regardless. I’m pregnant with Olivia’s embryos.”

  It took Eric what seemed hours to react. He propped himself up with a pillow and stared at Patricia’s flat belly, looking for some physical sign.

  “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t agree.”

  “Damn right!” he said, trying to control the volume of his voice. “This is a decision that we should have made as a couple.”

  “But really, Eric, we don’t do chores together, we don’t run errands, we don’t watch TV, we don’t even have a joint bank account or share our salaries. Are we a couple?”

  “I thought we were,” said Eric, anticipating a reply he didn’t want to hear. He rubbed his nose insistently and combed back his hair with his fingers.

  “I made this decision on my own because I don’t see us together down the line.”

  “Are you saying we should separate?”

  “Divorce.”

  Eric swallowed hard and then, surprised, said unexpected words, especially coming from a professional futurologist.

  “Fuck, I didn’t see this coming.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “So you believe our marriage was a mistake. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I don’t. It has been wonderful on many levels, but I now want things you can’t provide. It’s not a flaw, so don’t feel guilty. I want a dad for Dani; I want someone to spoon with every night.”

  Eric looked in the direction of the tulips to avoid Patricia’s gaze.

  “I could be more present, more tender. We could even try being kind of married, Pats,” he said, trying to save something, anything.

  “We’ve been kind of married.”

  “You’re right. If we wanted this to work, we’d have to make major changes. But if I’m honest with myself, which I am, I wouldn’t know how to deal with Dani and with your pregnancy.”

  Patricia sat on the bed next to Eric and held his hand.

  “Will you forgive me?” she said softly.

  “How can I? A pregnancy in which I’m not involved and a request for divorce, all dumped on me in five minutes? It’s too much for anyone to take in, Patricia. I can’t produce forgiveness while you wait. It’s not a burger delivered from the drive-through window.”

  Whenever Eric called her Patricia and not Pats she knew she was in trouble. “Will you at least consider it?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He was about to caress her hand with his thumb, but restrained himself. “Are you keeping the babies?”

  “No. They’re Olivia’s.”

  “And Felix’s, I suppose. Does he agree with this?”

  “That’s another thing I want to discuss with you.”

  “I don’t like where this is going.”

  The room began to feel stuffy and small. The tulips wilted in front of their eyes, their stems becoming flaccid.

  “Let’s get some fresh air. I’ll explain.”

  Eric drove to Kearny Street in silence, found a parking space, and he and Patricia started a steep descent down
the Filbert Steps among lush gardens. Overhead, a flock of wild cherry-headed parrots swooshed by, squawking.

  “These parrots have lived on Telegraph Hill for years,” Eric said finally. “It’s an entire colony. They mate for life, you know.”

  “A lot of bird species do. We should learn from them,” said Patricia, with a bit of sadness and, was it envy?

  “It’ll have to be next time, I suppose.”

  “Even if you never forgive me, we don’t have to hate each other.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Why should we?”

  “I could give you one reason to hate you, for sure, but I know how much you love your sister—even more than you love me, obviously—and why you decided to help her bring those babies into the world without asking me first. I’m not holding it against you.”

  They stopped their descent for a moment and Patricia tenderly traced the bridge of Eric’s long nose with the tip of her finger, as he pulled back.

  “Will you be okay with our new relationship?”

  “Which relationship?”

  “Divorce. It is a relationship.”

  “It’s just that I was really comfortable with our marriage.”

  “We don’t have to have a big rupture. We could still get together once in a while.”

  “But isn’t that against the rules of divorce?”

  “Everyone is entitled to write their own divorce rules. I’m very much anti-acrimony, and I think you are too.”

  “Indeed.”

  They kept climbing down the steps, crossing paths with a few tourists, some holding binoculars, perhaps hoping to get a closer look at the mate-for-life parrots.

  “Did you do this behind Felix’s back?”

  Patricia nodded, biting her lower lip.

  “I thought so. Oh, shit.”

  “Shit is right. Felix doesn’t know we did this. He might never find out.”

  “I have the feeling you’re about to start a lifelong family farce.”

  “Truth is, we still haven’t sorted out that detail and now you’re making me very nervous.”

  “I’ve always loved your wildness, Pats, how you use your impulses to deal with shit, but this is damn reckless, this is so topsy-turvy, so sens dessus dessous!”

  When they reached Embarcadero at the bottom of the hill, they took an Uber back to Eric’s car, drove home, and fucked all night.

  Sunday, September 11th

  “Because my bubbe said bar mitzvah is about identity.”

  “Right, tell me then, Dani,” said Rabbi Nebenzahl. “How do you identify yourself, first and foremost?”

  “Gender fluid,” said Dani with newfound certainty, not realizing that he had just come out to his rabbi.

  “I was framing the question in the context of religion,” stuttered Rabbi Nebenzahl in his thick Jewish accent.

  “Then I’m a gender-fluid, nonpracticing Jew with a Catholic grandfather and a Protestant stepdad.”

  Needless to say, Dani’s first Bar Mitzvah session didn’t go so well, even according to the standards of a Reform rabbi.

  Monday, September 12th

  “Don’t even try to give me a present,” said Keila as soon as she woke up.

  Oscar was still sleeping on the other side of a king-size pillow that Keila placed between them every night as a meager divider.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Today is our fortieth anniversary, in case you forgot.”

  He sat on the bed and looked at Keila, her hair a bit messy, but just as beautiful as day one. The air felt dry and crackly and so did Keila.

  “I thought about it yesterday, but I didn’t dare get you anything you could hurl at me.”

  “Well, I don’t want gifts, anyway. We’re not in the mood to celebrate. It’s September already and this is going nowhere. We’re failing our daughters; you’re going to fail them,” said Keila at the same time she asked herself if it was she who was refusing to acknowledge his efforts.

  “Then let’s go for birria tomorrow,” said Oscar. “Let’s go out on a date and give it a try.”

  Keila felt a hairline fissure appear in the wall she’d built around her to keep Oscar out.

  “I’ll agree to go downstairs with you and make some quesadillas tonight. That’s all. And don’t remind the girls about our anniversary. I don’t need a party. If I’m lucky, they won’t remember.”

  Countless times during the past few weeks, Keila had relived in her mind the night she spent at Simon Brik’s apartment. She hadn’t returned to Mexico City, she’d been ignoring his calls and deleting his texts, as if that could erase her betrayal. Every time Oscar came to her showing his efforts to mend their marriage, her guilt became more intolerable. Why was she rejecting Oscar’s attempts? Was she afraid he would see through her, figure out what she’d done?

  Thursday, September 15th

  “I want you to hear me out. Please don’t interrupt, don’t say anything until I’m finished,” said Oscar in front of the mirror in his closet, among old ties and worn-out sweaters and raincoats he hadn’t used in years. He’d been practicing his speech since three in the morning, motivated by the quesadilla dinner a few nights before in which he and Keila had been able to produce small talk for twenty minutes. But when he heard Keila downstairs preparing breakfast he realized he had no more time to rehearse. This was it.

  When he walked into the kitchen he found his entire family having coffee and juice, enjoying their scrambled eggs with matzo and strawberry jelly. Suddenly he felt the weight of having everyone back home again, a feeling both wonderful and terrifying.

  He had to stay focused on his goal: tell Keila about the almond orchard. He waited for Claudia to start her physical therapy in the living room, Olivia to take the twins to Mommy and Me, and Patricia to go to work. There was no going back.

  “I want you to come with me, Keila. I need to show you what’s been happening with me all this time.”

  “Oh, is it something outside this house?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm, putting the last plate in the dishwasher.

  “Please get ready. Wear comfortable shoes. I’ll wait out front.”

  Once in the SUV, Oscar drove down Olympic Boulevard, turned right at Cotner Avenue, and got on the northbound 405.

  “We can talk about it now, or we can wait until we get there. It’s your call. We’re a good three hours away.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said, shocked to be so cool now that she was about to get her long-awaited answer.

  “Agree. I want you to hear me out. Please don’t say anything until I’m finished.”

  Keila was surprised at Oscar’s assertiveness, a trait she loved but hadn’t seen in over a year.

  “I’m listening.”

  Oscar took a sip of tila tea from his thermos. Outside, the freeway traffic dwindled as they left the city.

  “Remember that place where Claudia and Olivia took a defensive-driving course when they were first learning, the Buttonwillow Raceway Park?”

  Keila nodded, intrigued.

  Oscar took his time to continue. This was it, the moment he’d been dreading for so long. Saying the very words that had kept him awake, tossing and turning in bed, for years was now in his immediate future, which was now. He quickly glanced at the Magic Mountain’s roller coasters on the left, a sign that they were past Santa Clarita and approaching Castaic. They were a metaphor of his current emotional state.

  “So, what about Buttonwillow?” she said.

  “Well, we are owners of a beautiful almond orchard right over there, west of it, toward McKittrick in Kern County,” said Oscar finally, putting an end to years of a torturous secret. Whatever came next was anyone’s guess, but be it for better or for worse, it was a consequence of his doing and he’d own it.

  “Since when?”

  “Seven years.”

  “So, I’ve been in the agrobusiness totally unbeknownst to me. Great. Is this the reason you’ve been a zombie?”


  “Please let me finish. It started out really well. In fact, the first couple of years the business yielded quite a good profit. But almonds are a thirsty crop and with the drought I’ve had to make extra investments to irrigate properly, and now production is as low as it has ever been on that piece of land. On top of that, I couldn’t plant more than half of the property. The other half is on very windy hills, unsuitable for almond trees, what with the delicate blossoms that can blow away. And to make things worse, the almonds’ price per pound has gone down. I’m not going to bore you with the details. The fact is that I’m in debt. The rains are not coming. I’m not sure I can continue supporting the orchard. And I’ve been feeling awful for not telling you about this business.”

  “I should have had a say!”

  “I know. But every time I came to you with a business idea you dismissed it. I’m not blaming you at all. This wasn’t your fault. I made this choice on my own. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to put the money to good use. And I loved the trees. When you walk among them in bloom with honeybees buzzing around, foraging for pollen and nectar, you feel like you’re in a mystical world. Just think about this next time you put an almond in your mouth: a bee had to pollinate its blossom for you to eat it. That’s how miraculous it is.”

  Oscar stayed on the 5 toward Stockton at the intersection with the 99 toward Bakersfield and accelerated to drive ahead of a semitruck snorting dark fumes.

  Keila tried to stay quiet and listen to every word Oscar said. This was a difficult exercise for anyone with strong opinions, more so since it involved her directly, more so since this was the very reason her marriage was crumbling away. She should be furious, but as she heard Oscar’s explanation, something strange happened: she began to feel a timid compassion toward him. Yes, he had kept this endeavor a secret; yes, he should have gotten her blessing. But at the same time, she hadn’t been as open as she should have been when he proposed business ideas. Instead, she resorted to sabotaging his endeavors. Why?