“Auggie—”
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “But it is a big deal, George. He can’t get away with treating you like shit. You deserve better.”
“Okay,” I say, before taking another sip of tea. “But what if I just stop?”
He quits pacing. “Stop what?”
“Stop...going to school,” I say.
Auggie stares at me like he’s been punched in the gut. “We have to stop that judiciary review, George. Even if you transfer that will haunt you.”
I shrug. He’s not listening. “But what if I don’t transfer?”
Auggie frowns. “So...you wouldn’t file a complaint and you’d...just get expelled?”
I take another sip of tea. “I guess.”
“But why?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m just so tired, Auggie.”
He sits down next to me. “Talk to me.”
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “I feel like an alien here. Like no matter what I do, I’ll never be anything more than the affirmative action kid, or the minority hire, or ‘the success story.’”
Auggie reaches over, hugging me tightly. That’s it, that hug breaks open the floodgates for me. I’m just so tired of working my ass off for a goal that feels so empty to me. I feel ashamed of myself for settling, but just as bad when I consider jumping ship to a less conventional major or career path. ‘Think about how many people you could help, George,’ is a line I hear a lot. ‘You could be a lawyer or an entrepreneur who gives back to your community.’
I want to do good things in the world...but why do good things have to involve me giving up my autonomy? If being a business major is so good, why do I constantly have to convince myself I’m doing a good job?
Why do I have to waste so much time building my confidence and self-love back up when I know some asshole in my class is going to make me feel bad for doing better than them. I work hard for what I accomplish. I should be respected for that. Or at least kindly ignored for it.
“I just want to be good enough to be me, just fucking me,” I say.
“You’re enough, George,” he says. “Fuck Jordan, fuck your professor...fuck everyone who doesn’t see you. They don’t deserve you.”
I laugh and snort. “Then there’s a lot of people who don’t.”
He hugs me tighter. “You’re right, there are...But there are a lot more people who are here to support you.”
“I feel like everybody who matters is too busy with their own shit,” I admit.
“Eh, my bullshit isn’t that important,” Auggie says. “So why don’t we watch some Criminal Minds, get you warm, and talk this through? If you still want to drop out when we’re done, we’ll figure out what you can do from there.”
“Okay,” I say.
He nudges me gently. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
Auggie always knows what to say to remind me to love myself. That’s why he’s my best friend.
Twelve
George
Auggie talked me out of dropping school. Not only that, he used his dad’s influence to give my racist professor what was coming to him. Turns out Auggie was right, Dr. Hall had a list of formal complaints lodged against him that was too long for the administration’s liking.
We had our work cut out. After a few calls to some major donors, we got a lot in motion. Mr. Beltran’s rich friends came through for us.
However, that still means I’m at school.
Fucking school.
I guess it’s better now knowing that there’s legitimate ways to handle harassment around here. I can keep going to school and try to find a way to change majors or make this one work somehow. But it doesn’t take away the fact that my academic career weighs me down more than it lifts me up.
Auggie calls me one night during just such an occasion.
“Remind me why I’m taking Advanced Marketing,” I ask Auggie as I pick up the phone.
“H—”
“Yes, fine, hi, how are you? We have caller ID for a reason, Auggie,” I say, interrupting his rant. “Now tell me why you talked me into Advanced fucking Marketing.”
I’ve gotten pretty good at baking while on the phone. That’s probably not great considering this only happens when I’m stress-baking. But at least it isn’t very difficult to whisk eggs and talk at the same time.
“Because you needed an elective and you’re brilliant at marketing,” he says.
I groan, throwing my head back. “Not you too.”
“Well, you asked,” he says.
“I hate marketing, so much,” I say. “How could I be good at the one thing I have to constantly half-ass?”
“Pretty sure you’re one of the only people in your year who considers international markets as a different thing than POC consumers.”
“I hate that you’re probably right,” I say as I start to mix flour into the dough. “Why the fuck is the bar so low?”
“... Do you really want an answer?”
“Boo, no,” I say. “I wanna know why you called. Heard about how bomb my latest batch of cupcakes are and want some for yourself?”
“Ignoring that egregious use of outdated slang, what do I get Diana for her birthday?”
I grimace, trying to remember who he’s talking about. “Diana? As in Diva-Diana? Aka Dumped-you-after-five-dates Diana?”
“Yeah, that Diana,” he says. “She said she changed her mind.”
“And you’re fine with that?” I ask carefully.
Auggie is a great friend but kind of terrible at dating.
“Well...she’s hot!”
I groan. “Dude, that’s a terrible reason to date her.”
“Aw, come on, it’s not like I’m going to lead her on,” he argues.
“She’s not the one I’m worried about,” I say.
There’s a pause on the other line, but I can just imagine Auggie’s gears turning.
“I can handle it,” he says, sure of himself.
“Auggie,” I sigh.
“We’re casual, I know—”
“Auggie, no offense but...you’re kind of a mushy romantic,” I explain. “And ‘kind of’ is an understatement.”
“That’s not true,” he protests, probably pouting. “When was the last time I even liked a girl?”
“That’s my point! You don’t even like the girls you’re dating. Not Diana or Vanessa or Anna—”
“I liked Samara,” he argues. “I was bummed when she dumped me.”
“You thought Samara was pretty and you loved her dog,” I say, sticking my tongue out as I work the last of the flour into my cupcake batter. “You cried because you were attached at the hip to that dog and…I’m not gonna lie, it was a little weird.”
He sighs. “But I love dating.”
“Yes, you love dating. But in all the years I’ve known you, you haven’t loved a single person you’ve dated,” I point out the obvious.
Instead of really listening, Auggie says, “...What about Mackenzie?”
“I’m not saying she was a gold digger...but you do kinda have a savior complex,” I tell him.
I can imagine him scrunching his face as he ruffles his hair. Twenty-three years old and he barely knows what to do with his hair.
“Can’t we just say I’m in love with love and leave it at that?” he asks.
“Sure, pal,” I agree because what’s the point to tell him to stop dating the wrong woman.
“Thanks,” he says. “I guess I’ll dump Diana?”
“Smart. Any other problems I can solve for you while I’m on a roll?” I ask as I roll my dough.
Like I said, I’ve really gotten good at stress baking lately. I should probably start using it to bribe friends into doing my bidding.
“Well, now that you mention it...what if I said I have a summer job in need of filling?” His question sounds like an offer.
“Do tell,” I prompt.
“It involves a kitch
en.” His voice is now animated.
I smirk. “Keep talking...”
✩✩✩
“And here is your card back. The table is yours for the rest of the evening so please feel free to take your time,” I tell the couple I’m waiting on.
With the check they just paid, I would’ve given the table for the week.
Summer is an all-time high for hungry restaurant goers, especially the travel-savvy customers looking for their next social media post. I’ve been working the last month or so at one of the Beltrans’ restaurants. They have four in the area that are all fine dining, in addition to the restaurants Auggie’s father, Diego, has opened in most major cities around the world.
They also have a chain of Mexican fast food. Lolita’s Mexican Food done fast but right, it’s their slogan. That’s where Mr. Beltran made his fortune. He has a frozen food line, franchises, and even merchandise.
Ene’s Kitchen, where I currently work, is authentic southern Mexican food. Enedina, the head chef, is Auggie’s abuela. The interior blends chic minimalism with the picturesque vibrancy of Mexico City.
Diego opened this restaurant eight years ago to give his mother her dream kitchen. Most of the menu has a high-end twist created by Ene with Diego’s help. It’s a testament to the culinary and business genius he is that he was able to give Ene her dream job and make people come from all around the country—and the world—to try it.
The waitlist for this place is three to eight months depending on the size of the reservation. It’s magic being part of this amazing slice of Beltran family history, but it doesn’t hurt that they pay well above minimum wage before tips.
“Georgia,” Ene says. “Come here.”
Ene’s been one of my favorite bosses by far. At first, I was nervous about finally meeting Auggie’s family. Especially his abuelos. I don’t know anything about being Mexican beyond the little I remember about Mom and my tita. Well, and some of the friends I grew up with in Arizona.
I was ready for them to judge me since Auggie told them I was half-Latina—but my Spanish is rusty. It shocked me when Ene took one look at me, said, “Yes, I like her, what a beautiful Mexican girl.”
Ene’s been one of my biggest supporters ever since this summer started. She’s been pulling me away from the waitstaff and into the kitchen ever since I got here—showing me the ropes of her kitchen and teaching me even more recipes to stress-bake over the school year.
It’s great to be able to make these beautiful creations I get to see people enjoy and praise us over. And it’s really incredible to have someone who sees my interest in baking and pushes me to broaden my horizons. Not because it’d be good for the world, just that it’s fun for me.
“What can I do for you, Señora Beltran?” I ask.
She waves me off. “Por la última vez, you’re not a stranger so don’t call me that. Either Abuela or Tita Ene.”
“Yes, Abuela,” I say.
She nods with a satisfactory grin. “Today, I’m going to teach you how to make and work with phyllo dough.”
“Isn’t that Middle Eastern or something?”
“More or less but so what?” she says as she dusts flour off her apron. “Listen, once upon a time, my neighbor, Naser, made the best baklava in town. And then I perfected it. Now every time he has family in town, he’s knocking on my door. I make him some baklava. He takes credit for it. I continue to make the best baklava in town. Get it?”
I grimace. “Maybe?”
“Equal exchange, mi reina,” she says. “You take from someone else but you repay their gift.”
“Oh,” I say. That makes sense.
“It’s the most important thing in life,” she says with a firm nod. “Take what you need but return and pay forward kindness when you are able.”
I watch her bemusedly as she pulls ingredients from our pantry. This is one of my favorite things about working for Ene, I get to trace what makes Auggie who he is back to the source.
They’re both so generous and steadfast in their principles. When they see someone they believe in, they hold tight and never let them go. It’s pretty amazing to be caught in a storm of either of their affections.
It’s been a wild summer living with the Beltrans during the week. They’re ridiculously kind, never letting me pay rent or cover food for meals. I have to get up early in the morning to do laundry and put away dishes just to contribute to the household.
The Beltrans are pretty big on taking care of guests. But I’m thankful for their kindness. It’s been helping me save toward paying rent and saving up to visit my dad. I’m glad Auggie has such a loving family who supports him.
I love being around them, but it’s scary to think that someday they might forget all about me. What will happen once I graduate?
9 years ago …
Thirteen
George
They say families are not always forged by blood but love. That's the case of Auggie’s family and me. I spent the entire summer with them. They’re loving, supporting, and fun. The best part of the entire summer?
Their love. I'm so grateful for all the attention Abuela gave me. I learned so much from her. So much, that I can consider myself a professional baker now. I love every minute of our time together. If anything, my time with the Beltrans has also taught me that I want a big family just like theirs.
This summer, I’ve connected with myself in a way I’ve never done before. If Mom were alive and she asked what makes me happy, the answer would be simple. A family who I can share everything with. Don’t get me wrong, I love Dad dearly, and I want him to be a part of this newfound happiness because he deserves it just as much.
As the summer comes to an end, Auggie’s dad gifts me a round trip ticket to Phoenix so I can visit Dad. A pre-birthday gift, he called it.
This family works hard and they give everything they can to those near them. You can’t help but fall in love with all of them. Even the very quiet abuelo.
He’s sweet and wise. I hope I get to spend some time with them during my senior year. As the end of summer nears, I’m starting to worry about my future. Mostly, what I’m going to do when I live a couple of hundred miles away from Auggie and his family.
When the plane lands, I text Dad and then Auggie.
George: Just landed.
George: The plane landed safe and sound.
Auggie: I bet it is hot as hell.
George: I like it hot.
Auggie: I bet you do. Take care and text if you need anything.
It only took a very wonderful twenty-first birthday surprise from the Beltrans to get me home to see my dad. One round trip ticket—first class. Auggie drove me to the airport early and promised to pick me up next Thursday at seven o’clock at night. He’ll be the one waving at me, he said before I walked toward the security checkpoint.
My limbs are shaking as I get off the plane at nine in the morning. The flight was early, and of course, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. I’m so excitedly nervous to see my dad. It’s been more than six months since the last time I saw him.
Living in another state makes coming home challenging. I miss my family. Mostly Dad. My dad, Eli, is one of my favorite people on this planet. I love him more than anything. But it’s hard to visit him in person. I wish it wasn’t so expensive to visit whenever I’m homesick.
It hurts not being home as much as I want to. I’ve just gotten used to amplifying the comfort of seeing Dad on video chat and seeing him trying to navigate social media to document what he’s doing. It’s what I have to work with so it’s how I manage for now.
He has a few years left before he retires, but every day it seems like his mind is less on his day job and more on painting. I don’t know what we’re going to do when he retires...or when I graduate. The more time I spend in Colorado, the less I ever want to leave.
Needless to say, today is the best day in a long time. Dad’s waiting for me at the Phoenix airport on the morning of my birthday. Not just any
day of the year.
It takes me a minute to spot him without his signature twists in his hair. Actually, I have to do a double take when I realize he’s sporting waves in his salt and pepper hair. Not only that, he’s in a stylish sports coat and aviator sunglasses.
“No way,” I say as I run to him.
He laughs as he ushers me into a hug. “Hey, cupcake,” he says.
My chest aches as I hug him tighter before letting go. Home, that’s a concept.
“Hello, stranger,” I mumble into his shoulder. “You seem to have replaced my dad with a model.”
“No, it’s just me, dear old dad,” he says with a chuckle.
“Dear yes, old no,” I correct him.
He laughs. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“Your Auntie Nia is waiting in the car for us,” he informs as he leads me toward the garage.
I raise my eyebrows. “Just Nia?” I ask.
I don’t buy it.
“...She might have some people waiting with her,” he says innocently.
I roll my eyes. “I knew it.”
“You know where Nia goes, Monique goes,” Dad says.
“And where Monique goes, Jamie follows?”
He shrugs. “Jamie’s nine. She’s of the age that everything’s exciting and she’s grown enough to understand what’s going on. You know when you were that age, you followed Nia around like she hung the stars.”
“Don’t remind her,” I say. “That was a decade and two of her kids ago.”
Dad’s youngest sister, Nia, was more like a big sister to me growing up than an aunt. After Mom died, all of my family stepped up to help my dad so he could help me. But Nia was someone who saw that I needed my own help and comfort. Mom’s death left a big hole in my heart, but I had a great family to fill the void.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Dad says, pulling me away from my thoughts as we enter the airport parking garage.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Besides,” he says casually. “It’s not like she’ll ever let you forget. She’s got a copy of your grades from last semester on her fridge. And the semester before that...And your Dean’s List Award.”
Someday, Somehow Page 6
