Running

by Natalia Sylvester

  Another knock, angrier this time.

  “¡Ya voy!” Amarys pulls away from me so she can look me straight in the eye. “I need you to be ready for whatever happens next because it could be anything. But you’re gonna get through it, okay, mami?”

  I nod and try to pull myself together.

  “Acuérdate lo que dice Gloria. The world’s gonna have to listen to you one day. Not the other way around.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  She dashes for the door and opens it. Joe barges in without even looking at her.

  “Jesus Christ, Mariana. Let’s go. Right now. We gotta go.”

  He pulls me up by the arm and covers me with a black coat like I’m a fire that needs to be extinguished. I can’t even feel my legs move as we rush down the stairs and toward his Subaru. Overhead, a helicopter hovers in the sky and beams a spotlight on us. I try not to look, but I can’t help it. We’re surrounded by microphones and cameras being shoved in our direction, and their flashes are blinding. People call out:

  “Mariana, what happened to you?”

  “Mariana, did you run away?”

  “Are you trying to sabotage your father’s campaign?”

  That last question gets thrust back at me by Joe once we’re safely in his car.

  “What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea what you just did to your father? To his poll numbers? Did you even think about anyone but yourself?”

  No no no no no.

  This wasn’t supposed to go down like this. All these people and their questions . . . they weren’t supposed to care about me. I’m just his daughter; I’m not the one running for president. I turn away from the car window, from the silhouette of Amarys watching us pull away from behind her bedroom curtain, from the reporters who have now begun shifting their attention to her apartment while the other half get in their vans to follow us.

  “I thought you said the poll numbers were unreliable,” I say.

  “Not as unreliable as you.”

  That’s when the tears finally come. Not the ones I’ve been holding in, but the ones that come rushing in their place. Hot tears. Angry tears. The kind that would never hide afraid.

  twelve

  Amarys was only half right. Yes, everything goes really bad, really fast, but I can’t see it getting better.

  The whole ride back to my house, Joe and I are followed by the news crews of the local stations. One of their vans passes us and parks across from our driveway. A reporter gets out just as Joe pulls in.

  “Don’t move. I’m coming around to get you,” he snaps.

  He opens the passenger door and holds his coat over my head again. As we run across the cobblestone, I catch a whiff of his sweat mixed with fabric softener, a whole workday’s worth of body odor and stress. Mami opens the front door to our house before we’ve even reached it. She makes like she’s about to run out, but then someone holds her back.

  I hear my father yell, “¡Juli, no! Las cámaras!”

  They wait until I’m inside to confront me. Mami grabs me, hugs me, and shakes me. “Do you know what you put us through? Gracias a Dios you’re home. Let me get a look at you. What were you thinking?”

  She runs her hands along my clothes, squeezes my arms, my face. Behind her, Papi stands rigid, waiting his turn. He looks back at everyone still in our house and yells at them to give us some privacy. “This is off the record,” he says. “Mariana.” It feels like forever that he just stares at me. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” He curls his right hand into a fist, his thumb sticking out in that half-raised, half-pointing way that he uses when he’s addressing an audience. It makes me so angry I can’t even think straight.

  “Good. I don’t want to hear another one of your speeches anyway,” I say. The room goes quiet just as Ricky lets out a deep, breathy gasp.

  “Go to your room. Now.”

  “As long as they don’t follow!” I jerk my head toward the newswoman as I walk past and climb the stairs. She’s sitting on our couch, tinier than I’d imagined she’d be, with her mouth hanging open. I slam my bedroom door as hard as I can, then press my ear against it to hear what they’re saying. To my surprise, they go back on the air.

  They actually go back on the air.

  My father apologizes for the interruption and insists the whole thing was a misunderstanding.

  I turn on my laptop to watch the rest of it live. It’s just him now; Ricky and Mami are nowhere to be seen. Every time the newswoman asks about me, Papi changes the subject to family values, or how we have to provide working class families with the support they need to raise their children. His voice is flat and monotone, but he still punctuates each statement with a smile. He drones on and on until I realize he’s going to keep saying nothing. I snap my laptop closed and listen to the muffled voices through the walls. The interview only lasts a few more minutes, but it takes them forever to pack up all their equipment and leave. The whole time, my father and Joe spew apologies and awkward jokes about teenagers and their mood swings.

  It’s only when they’re gone that I remember I’ve had my cell phone off this entire time. I turn it on and my notifications go out of control. There must be at least thirty messages from Mami, Papi, and Joe, and a bunch from Vivi around the time the interview started.

  You okay? My mom and I are watching at my aunt’s. Where’d you go?

  And then . . .

  Got a charger, btw. The judge ordered my dad to give us keys to the house! Mom said he was soooo pissed.

  Followed by . . .

  You watching? This news lady is totally crushing on your dad.

  And then finally . . .

  OMG MARI PLEASE ANSWER U OK? THEY SAY UR MISSING!

  I’m freaking out.

  Where R you?

  Omg Joe just called please please call me back.

  I skip all the other text messages and voicemail and call Vivi. She picks up on the first ring completely out of breath.

  “Please tell me it’s you this time.”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Oh my god, Mari. Mom! It’s her, it’s her!” I hear footsteps clack against tile and then her mother’s voice in the background thanking god and asking if I’m okay. “I don’t know, let me hear!” A door slams and it goes quiet. “We thought you were kidnapped or something! Were you? Did the Secret Service find you?”

  “What? No. I snuck away to Gloria’s.”

  “Seriously? You just . . . left?”

  “I told you I didn’t want to do the interview.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d skip it! I mean, you would’ve been on TV.”

  “That’s the whole point, Vivi.”

  “I know, but . . . wow. That is so badass, Mari.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m going to be grounded forever. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Bet it’ll make them think twice before the next interview, though.”

  “I guess. I hope.” I let out a long, deep breath. “But what if—” I can’t bring myself to ask the question out loud. What if I ruined my father’s chances at the presidency? And worse . . . what if I actually feel a little relieved about it?

  “What?” Vivi says.

  “Nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.” My body feels heavy and my leg muscles are sore from all the running. I sink into my bed, face down, leaning over the edge to let my fingertips dangle along the tile.

  “Well, you won’t believe who called me,” Vivi says. “I was on my mom’s laptop trying to see if you were online, and then you FaceTimed me and when I answered, it was Joe. He was calling around asking for you.”

  “He was on my laptop?!” My parents must’ve given him my password when they realized I was missing. Nothing is mine anymore. Maybe it never was.

  “It was super awkward, Mari. He told me not to tell anyone you were missing.”

  “All he cares about is how things look.” I think of my parents scrambling around the living room
, right before the interview cut to commercial break. “How did it look?”

  “I don’t know. Like your parents had no clue what was going on. You know?”

  I can’t even wrap my head around it. I’ve never seen my parents not in control of a situation. Or at least, not pretending to be. “It’s such a disaster. And none of it would’ve happened if they’d just left me out of it in the first place.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think. You’ll see. Everyone will forget about it in like, a week.”

  I wish I could hug her right now. With everything she’s going through, Vivi’s still trying to cheer me up. Even when I know not everything will go the way she says it will, it makes me feel better knowing that she’ll have my back.

  There’s a knock at my door and my father walks in before I have a chance to answer. He mouths at me to get off the phone and points his finger at the ground. Right. Now.

  “Vivi . . . I’m sorry. I have to go. My dad’s here.”

  I can still hear her voice as my dad takes the phone from my hand and hangs up.

  “I’ll be keeping this,” he says. “And you’re not leaving this house unless it’s to go to school. ¿Me entiendes?” He paces my room silently, squeezing his lip between his fingers like he’s about to bite his nails. The makeup he’s been wearing all day is clumpy, like someone sprinkled eraser dust across his cheeks. Papi doesn’t just look exhausted, he looks defeated. By me. I start thinking of ways to apologize, but no words come.

  “I was counting on you, Mari.”

  But you weren’t listening, I want to say, but don’t.

  “Tomorrow, I’m going to clean up this mess you made.” His voice is low and calm. I close my eyes and hear Mami’s heels approaching. Their sharp, quick rhythm sends a shock through both of us, and we sit up, waiting.

  Mami doesn’t bother knocking, she just barges in full of questions.

  “¿Qué pasó? How did you . . . What were you thinking? Do you know what you put this family through?”

  One after the other after the other. She doesn’t even give me a chance to answer. She sits on the edge of my bed across from me, but I just stare at the wall, at this one spot the painter must’ve missed where the purple still pokes through.

  “Your mother’s right. This stunt of yours has put everything we’ve worked for in danger.”

  “More important, it put her in danger, Tonio. Wandering around the streets. We were worried sick, weren’t we?” She crosses her arms and shakes her head at him, furious.

  “Of course. That goes without saying.” My desk cracks under Papi’s weight as he sits against the edge and places his hands on the wood.

  “Then can we focus, please? On our daughter?”

  “I had it all under control. I sent Joe looking for her the second I realized she’d left.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to tell me she was missing?!” Mami stands up and he pushes off the desk, suddenly more alert.

  “I didn’t want to worry you. We were about to go on air.”

  She brings her hands to her stomach, letting out a feeble gasp. “¿En serio? You actually knew all that time and you . . . unbelievable.”

  “Juli, trust me.”

  “No me digas trust me.”

  Now Papi is fuming. Maybe because he knows he can’t win with her right now, he turns to me and points at Mami. “See? Look what you’ve done.” She throws her arms in the air and turns away from us. I follow her cue and start arranging the pillows on my bed so I can go to sleep.

  “¡Mírame!” Papi pulls away the comforter. “Look at me when I speak to you.”

  “It’s so unfair,” I say under my breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “It’s not fair,” I say, louder. “Why do I have to look at you when you won’t even listen to me?”

  “Mari, por favor. Stop being so dramatic.” He always says that. To me, to his opponents. If we’re not being dramatic, we’re being hyperbolic. The only way he knows how to argue is to make you feel small.

  “I told you I didn’t want to do it.” But they just wanted me to obey. So much for democracy.

  “This isn’t about what you want! It’s not about what either of you want!” Mami raises her voice so loud, it startles both of us. “We agreed—I agreed—to sacrifice for the greater good of this country. Tell me if that’s changed, because I won’t do it for anything less.”

  She holds both hands on her hips and Papi nods. “Of course it hasn’t.”

  “Good. Now, Mari . . . apologize to your father.”

  But I’m not sorry. I’m spent and hurt and scared and miserable, and I wish he cared, even for a second, about how I feel instead of the status of his precious campaign.

  I say nothing. The room grows so still I hear a ringing in my ears, louder with every second my parents wait. I feel the tears burning and brimming in my eyes, but I blink them back. A whole minute passes and we don’t say a word. Mami sighs as she reaches for the light switch by my bedroom door and Papi follows her out. They leave without even kissing me good night.

  thirteen

  When I wake up the next morning, the house feels quiet and unfamiliar. My parents left hours ago, and Gloria’s probably in her room getting ready to go home for the weekend. Things fall back into their regular routine but everything feels like it’s changed. In the kitchen, I find Ricky eating a bowl of cereal. He sets his spoon down, letting tiny bits of milk and crumbs splash all over the kitchen table. “Papi’s really, really mad at you. What did you do, Mari?”

  He knows, of course. What he’s really asking is why I did it. “You wouldn’t understand. Maybe one day when you’re older.”

  He looks so hurt. “You’re the one who’s acting like a baby.” He makes a point out of stomping up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door. Ricky’s tiny for his age, but he makes up for it with his temper. He loses it when things don’t go his way, and his way usually overlaps with Papi’s. My brother may pretend the campaign isn’t a big deal to his friends, but I know that privately, he follows every detail he can like it’s the Super Bowl of his lifetime. And I just dealt a huge blow to his defense.

  Gloria walks in, picks up the bowl of half-eaten cereal he left on the table, and starts washing it. It’s Saturday, which means technically it’s already her day off, but she usually tidies things up before she goes.

  “You okay?” She’s wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt cut along the neckline so it nearly hangs off her shoulders. The knot she tied in the back makes it so the shirt hugs her curvy figure. A University of Miami Law School logo stretches across her chest, and in the back it says: Year 3, baby. I’ve seen Gloria wear this shirt before, and I’d just assumed it was a friend’s or something she got at Goodwill, but now I know it belongs to Amarys.

  I tell her I’m fine and turn on the morning news. The TV hanging from a corner in the kitchen is small, white, and currently set to a twenty-four-hour news station. I’ve been afraid to watch anything, wondering if the footage of Joe whisking me into his Subaru has gone viral. What they keep playing instead is the video of Papi the moment the newswoman asked if I was missing during the interview. The words BREAKING NEWS: SENATOR RUIZ’S DAUGHTER RECOVERED SAFE AFTER BRIEFLY MISSING scroll across the screen, followed by NO STATEMENT YET FROM FLORIDA GOP CANDIDATE. The segment plays two or three times in the next half hour.

  Finally, around eleven in the morning, my father holds a press conference.

  “On behalf of my entire family, I’d like to apologize for this misunderstanding that unfortunately caused much panic and concern. Yesterday, not long before my wife, Juliana; my son, Ricky; my daughter, Mariana; and I were scheduled for a live interview on CNN’s Meet the Candidates: Home Edition, my daughter told me she wasn’t feeling well. My wife and I agreed that Mariana should rest at the home of a dear family friend for the duration of the interview. Our daughter was never missing. We always knew where she was. Unfortunately, amidst all the preparations for the interview, not
all of my staffers received the memo, and they immediately began searching for Mariana. I am grateful for their prompt action and concern. They did what any parent would want them to do had the circumstances been dire. Thankfully, they were not.

  “Mariana is safe at home. She is feeling much better and will resume her normal activities at school on Monday. As always, my wife and I ask that you respect our family’s privacy and especially that of our children. In addition, we would like to thank everyone who sent us their thoughts and prayers during this brief misunderstanding; it warmed our hearts to feel the love and support of so many Americans across this great nation of ours.”

  When Papi is done, he takes no questions from the press. He walks away from the podium, smiling and waving as if there’s nothing to be concerned about, as if he can’t even hear what they’re saying.

  Joe arrives at the house soon after. He’s Gloria’s ride to the Metro station.

  “Am I interrupting anything? Are you two planning Mariana’s next big escape? You don’t know the night I had thanks to you. I need coffee.”

  Gloria makes like she’s about to grab him a mug, but stops. She points at the cabinet where they’re kept instead. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks me again. Seems like no matter how many times I tell her I’m fine, she’ll keep giving me this look. Like she’s sad but also upset with me.

  Finally, when I can’t take their silence and the sound of Joe slurping his coffee anymore, I pull up a chair and let out a sigh. I’m afraid to ask, but I have to know. “So . . . how did everything play out after I left?”

  * * *

  What happened is this: Joe and Gloria were on their way to Dadeland Mall because Mami needed a specific shade of lipstick. Surprisingly, my father was the first to notice I was gone, and he texted Joe to come back right away. He told him not to tell anyone, because he didn’t want Mami to freak out before the interview, or worse, cancel it. So Joe made up a lie about there being so much traffic they would’ve never made it back in time. The network’s makeup artist ended up mixing a color that matched the one Mami had wanted, according to Gloria. But basically, Gloria was running around helping Mami, and it wasn’t until ten minutes before they went on the air that Papi texted Mami that I wasn’t feeling well, and that he’d sent me to my abuelo’s house down the street so I could rest somewhere quiet. By then, the news crew was already seating my family on the couch, testing the lighting off their faces, and asking them to hold still or be quiet.