Everything Within and In Between

by Nikki Barthelmess

  A valet takes Brittany’s car keys, and another uniformed employee grabs her golf bag and escorts us into the main building. Brittany thanks them profusely. There’s a lobby and I look around, noticing the people walking through.

  There are several perfectly coiffed, probably Botoxed women near Brittany’s mom’s age wearing similar tennis outfits as us. To be expected. But also a few younger women with small children in swimsuits, running in their bare feet toward the floor-to-ceiling glass doors.

  Brittany heads for a room that says “Lockers.” The man who walked us in lets Brittany know he’ll bring the clubs to our caddy when we meet her mother at the cart outside.

  I follow Brittany and watch her fidget with a lock outside what must be her locker. She puts her bag at the bottom and leads me out. “We can cut through the clubhouse,” she says, gesturing to a restaurant full of round tables covered with thick white tablecloths. “It’s quicker this way.”

  Just a few seconds later, I stop in my tracks. At the pickup area for food stands Grandma, wearing her usual work uniform. Sensible black shoes, black slacks, and a plain white shirt. She’s talking to a young Latina who’s wearing an airy scarf over a simple white blouse and a pair of dark jeans.

  I walk toward them.

  Brittany follows me. “Hi, Mrs. Fernández.”

  Grandma blinks several times, looking surprised. The woman she was talking with smiles at us before turning to the counter and answering a question a server asked her.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Hello, girls.” Grandma uses her warmest, most pleasant tone to greet Brittany. “Brittany, so good to see you. I am happy that you two have made up. Best friends are very important.”

  Brittany nods slowly before looking at me and then plastering on a big smile.

  “I didn’t realize you would be here today,” Grandma says to me.

  “You left for work so early I didn’t get the chance to tell you.” Not that I need to make an excuse. The smile on her face shows that she’s thrilled that I’m here with Brittany. Figures.

  “How wonderful,” Grandma says.

  Grandma looks behind her, at the counter where take-out orders are delivered. “My boss sent me here to pick up her usual Cobb salad. Once a week at least she has to have me get her one.”

  I remember the many times Grandma has complained about Mrs. Reynolds making her pick up takeout from the country club rather than somewhere easier to get to.

  “Those must be some Cobb salads,” I mutter.

  After her order is complete, the woman behind us takes her sandwiches and turns back toward our group. She grins at us before looking at Grandma.

  Grandma chuckles. “Forgive me, this is Yesenia.” Grandma nods at the woman. “She’s new to Santa Barbara and just joined the club.”

  Yesenia smiles warmly and says hello before something behind us catches her eye. “I better get going, actually,” she says. “My husband will be signing us up for every activity imaginable if I don’t rein him in. Mucho gusto, ladies.”

  She waves goodbye before heading out toward the pool.

  One of the little kids from earlier, a boy who’s maybe eight years old and is wearing American flag–decorated swim shorts, flies past us. His feet pattering on the tile, leaving little wet footprints in our wake, he’s running from a girl who must be his little sister. A young white woman with light-brown hair and a sun-kissed nose dotted with freckles chases after them.

  “Chaise! Alexandra!” she calls. “Stop running right now.” She swoops both children in her arms and wraps them both in the same towel.

  She looks at Brittany and me. “I’m so sorry about that.”

  Brittany shakes her head and smiles at the kids. “No worries.”

  The woman takes the towel off her children and folds it before looking at my grandma. “You’ll put this in the laundry, won’t you?” Before Grandma gets the chance to respond, the woman hands her the towel. Grandma takes it from her without a word, but by the way she averts her eyes from me, I can tell she is embarrassed.

  Brittany stammers, looking horrified at my crumpling face.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” the woman says to Brittany—to Brittany—and not Grandma, who lowers her head, her shoulders slouching.

  The woman smiles sweetly at Brittany and me as her children take off again, probably running back to the pool.

  “I didn’t realize she was with you. I just assumed she was staff. I saw her talking to that other employee.” She indicates Yesenia on the other side of the glass wall, chatting with a man by the pool.

  I blink several times. “That’s Yesenia, and she doesn’t work here either, she . . .” I trail off.

  Is a Latina, like Grandma. Is this woman for real?

  Grandma takes a step back.

  Brittany’s head jerks quickly as though she’s shaking off a fly. “This is Mrs. Fernández; she doesn’t work for me. Mrs. Fernández is—”

  I cut her off. “My grandma, she’s my grandma,” I say, glaring at the woman.

  The woman blanches, noticeably uncomfortable.

  I snatch the towel out of Grandma’s hands and shove it at the woman, whose mouth falls open in shock. “I’m sure you can figure out how to get to the laundry area yourself.”

  Before the woman has the chance to say anything, a bell dings and a cook from the other side of the counter calls, “Cobb salad.”

  Grandma grabs the bag and lowers her voice so only I can hear. “Enough, Ri. Don’t make this . . . please don’t.” Her chin twitches, and I know it’s because she’s trying not to cry.

  I take Grandma’s hand and hold it tight, feeling shame and anger all at once. I give the most cutting look I can manage to the woman.

  She stammers. “Oh, well, of course. Diversity is so important to the club and our community. You know, I’m actually on the board for the Boys and Girls Club and—”

  “We. Don’t. Care,” I force out, stopping the woman in her tracks. “Come on, Grandma.”

  As I push past her, with Grandma and Brittany following me, the woman mutters something about “an honest mistake.”

  Tears sting my eyes as we walk Grandma to her beat-up car in the sea of luxury vehicles in the parking lot. Brittany notices I’m crying and stammers something I don’t catch.

  Grandma turns to unlock her car. “Don’t think anything of it, Brittany. It happens.”

  “It shouldn’t,” I hiss. The sad look in Grandma’s eyes reminds me of when she told me about how people treat her because of the color of her skin. And that’s the only reason that woman didn’t make an assumption about me too, because of the lightness of mine.

  Grandma sighs heavily before appraising me. “Don’t let it bother you, Ri. Go have a fun time today, you girls.”

  I’m shaking mad, adrenaline pumping. “I’m not . . . I—” I turn to look at Brittany. “I want to go home.”

  “I . . . I’m sure that woman didn’t mean—”

  I rear around to face Brittany, seeing red. “She didn’t mean what?” I shout in Brittany’s face. She flinches but I keep yelling. “She didn’t mean that because my grandma is Mexican, she couldn’t have the money to be a country club member? Or even a guest? She must be working here?”

  Brittany gapes at me.

  Grandma’s stern voice rings out. “Stop it, Ri. Brittany didn’t know—”

  “How could she, Grandma?” I snap. “When she refuses to see?”

  “Get in the car. Now.”

  I ignore Grandma’s command and glare at Brittany. “If you don’t see how seriously messed up that was, after everything I’ve tried to tell you already, then I don’t know how you think I could ever call you my friend again.”

  I get in the car and slam the door behind me.

  Grandma pulls out of the lot, driving out of the long driveway, and I see red stucco roofs and beyond, the ocean peeking around the hill.

  “Grandma, I’m so sorry,” I finally say. “That lad
y—”

  “No,” Grandma interrupts, her voice cutting. “No, you don’t apologize for her, you apologize for yourself. Talking to Brittany that way.”

  “What? No, that was bullshit.”

  “Language!” Grandma roars.

  I stare at my grandma, lines drawn around her tightened expression, eyes focused ahead, both hands on the wheel. And I finally see the rage in her eyes, how everything that just happened has affected her, even if she won’t admit it. My voice softens. “She assumed that you worked at the club, and then she talked about you like you weren’t even there. Like you weren’t a person, just a servant or something.”

  “I am a servant, in a way,” Grandma tells me, eyes still on the winding road. “I serve in my job for Mrs. Reynolds.”

  I scoff. “But you’re a person, you’re not, you’re not . . .” I stammer, unable to find the words to describe how small that woman made me feel. Like Grandma didn’t matter. Like she was only there to wait on her.

  Grandma turns the car, the side of the road overlooking the many beautiful Spanish-style homes dotting the hill below. “That’s why you have to earn good grades, Ri, and go to a good university, become something respectable like an engineer or a nurse or a doctor, so people don’t treat you like that.”

  Tears fall down my cheeks. “Grandma, how would that woman know you weren’t a nurse or a doctor? You were in the same country club as she was. Yesenia too.”

  “Well, lucky for you you’ll never have to worry about that,” Grandma replies. “It is exactly what I have been trying so hard to get you to understand. You can take advantage of the way you look, and then work extra hard so that you can have a better life. You’ll thank me when you’re a doctor.”

  “Grandma!” Tears drip into my mouth as I shout at her. How can she act like everything that happened is something we have to accept or fight against only by playing by their rules? “I don’t want to be a doctor. I don’t want to spend my life doing something that isn’t what I’m passionate about. And the sight of blood makes me want to vomit!”

  Grandma gives me the side-eye as we pause at a stop sign near our house. “Fine. You say you like writing so much, you can go to business school, become a marketing manager or—”

  “Grandma, just stop. Please!” I’m sobbing uncontrollably now. Angry and sad and frustrated and done with this same argument that we have practically every time we speak. “I told you I want to be a writer. I want to tell stories about people, and I want to travel the world.”

  Grandma’s laugh stops me short. She pulls into our driveway.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. How can you make a living doing that?” She shakes her head. “I hoped you would see when I told you about my dreams. We can’t always have what we want. You are a smart girl, but you aren’t thinking straight.”

  My throat throbs, and I sniff back the tears. Grandma thinks my dream is ridiculous. She doesn’t take me seriously, and she never will.

  “That’s exactly why I don’t talk to you about this, because you don’t care,” I snap. “But it’s what I want, Grandma. I want to be a writer, not an engineer or a marketing manager or a doctor. And even if I were one of those things, that wouldn’t stop people like that woman from assuming—”

  Grandma scoffs. “What would that woman assume about you if she hadn’t seen you with me?”

  My stomach feels like it drops from my body. Grandma raises her eyebrows at me, triumphantly turning to face our house in front of us. “When you are not so angry, you’ll see that I’m right. I need to get back to work. Mrs. Reynolds is waiting for her lunch. Now that you have the afternoon free, you can study.”

  I don’t move. We can’t keep doing this. I can’t take another minute of being told what to do, without having any say. I can’t take any more of Grandma’s backward thinking. I force the conversation where Grandma doesn’t want to go.

  “You know, you think Brittany is perfect, but what she does is the same kind of crap that happened right now at the country club.” I stare at Grandma and watch for a reaction. None comes.

  Grandma hesitates. Finally, she doesn’t have a canned response. Finally, maybe she’ll see.

  “Well, Ri, Brittany is a good friend, and I know she didn’t mean what you think she was saying. I’m sure she—”

  “Nina told me about what you did,” I interrupt, unable to bear another word. “I know you threatened her to get her to stop being my friend.”

  Grandma’s eyes flash. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Liar.” The word comes out cold.

  Grandma’s mouth falls open. We may have had our differences, but I would never, ever call her a name like that to her face. Until now.

  Grandma stammers. “Ri, I think if you calm down and think from my side, you’ll see that I was doing what I thought was best for you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Watch your mouth, Maria,” Grandma shouts. “It was a long time ago. I . . . Nina is probably remembering it differently than how I do.”

  “Let me refresh your memory. You threatened Nina to get her to stay away from me!” I’m yelling now, so loud that I can feel the veins in my neck bulge. So loud that if anyone were to walk by us on the sidewalk behind our driveway, they would hear. But I don’t care. “You told her I’d be better off without her!”

  “It wasn’t like that—”

  “Nina was my best friend! You took years of friendship away from us! You took so much away from me!”

  Grandma’s eyes dart from left to right as if she’s thinking of what to say. But her jaw remains set, her lips pursed.

  Suddenly I don’t see Grandma sitting next to me in the car. I see a younger version of me, sobbing, alone in her bedroom, after she calls Nina with no answer for the umpteenth time. She is confused and depressed, walking to the wharf alone, staring at the spot where Nina and she bought their friendship bracelets. And I can’t go back and tell her the truth.

  Grandma sits up in her seat and smooths her blouse. “I thought it was best. I was trying to—”

  “YOU THREATENED A CHILD, GRANDMA!” I bellow, and Grandma flinches, her eyes widening. “She was my best friend. I loved her, I needed her. It was wrong!”

  Grandma’s eyes soften. “I hurt you and I am sorry for that. But you don’t understand. You don’t like the choices I’ve made but they are always to protect you. Nina was hanging out with older boys, with troublemakers. Pero no me hacías caso.”

  “You were protecting me, Grandma? From what, exactly? Kids like Nina who act like other kids but don’t have rich parents to fix everything for them when they slip up?” Once the words are coming, I can’t stop myself. “Ones like my friend Edgar? He knows how embarrassed I was that I don’t speak Spanish, so he helps me practice. Do you think I need protecting from him too?”

  Grandma’s nostrils flare. “You told me you have excellent grades in Spanish.”

  Of course, that’s the part that she would hear.

  So I laugh loudly, angrily. “Why would I tell you anything about my Spanish class when I know you don’t want me taking it? Why would I tell you about Edgar? You hardly know anything about me anymore, because you’re never around.” My voice breaks as I shout. “I basically live alone, but who cares? That’s the way it’s has to be since no one is good enough to meet your approval process.”

  Our car is still running. Grandma needs to get back to work, but I can’t let this go. We need to settle this.

  I look Grandma straight in the eye as my voice shakes and I sputter. “You drove Mom away too. Didn’t you?”

  Grandma jerks her head to look out the window. “That. Is. Not. True.” She huffs. “Your mom left because she was a drunk, because she was caught up with one bad man after another. She left because she wouldn’t give up that life, Ri, and you are better off for it.”

  I slam my hand on the car dashboard. “You’re lying!”

  Grandma flinches but quickly regains her composure. “I wish t
hat were true. But your mother wouldn’t do what was right. She wanted to spend her time running around with whatever man would pay attention to her. She’d stay out all night and leave your grandfather and me to take care of you.”

  I almost can’t take it anymore as Grandma keeps rattling out her accusations, with conviction, as though she’s persuaded even herself of her lies. “We wouldn’t allow her to bring men home, so she stopped coming, for days or weeks at a time. Then, she would return, and everything would be fine for a while, until she’d go on another bender. When she started drinking while she was supposed to be taking care of you when we were at work, we couldn’t allow it anymore. We told her to choose. She could stay if she gave up drinking, started to go to AA meetings, and tried to be the mother you needed. We would help her and she agreed, but your grandfather warned her that if she left again, we wouldn’t let her come back.”

  Grandma shakes her head and her voice rises, like she’s angry. As if she has any right to be. “It took less than a month for her to give up! If it weren’t for me, she would have had you both living God knows where. She couldn’t hold a job down. She—”

  “Stop it!” I scream. I follow Grandma’s panicked stare to look behind me, where an old man walks by with a bag of groceries. Of course, Grandma would care more about what we look like in here, rather than the truth of what she’s done. All the ways her lies have hurt me, have hurt Mom.

  “No wonder Mom left,” I hiss.

  Grandma’s head jerks to look at me.

  Mom said Grandpa and Grandma were just being strict, controlling, and I know better than anyone how true that can be. Even if my mom used to make bad choices, Grandma is the one who lied to me. Grandma is the one who kept me from Nina, who kept me from pretty much anyone else who shared our culture, and she’s got excuse after excuse for that too.

  If Grandma did this to me, there’s no telling how bad it was for Mom. Never the “good girl” that Grandma wants us to be. Never “American” enough in her eyes. No, if Grandma is this bad with me, she must have been so much worse to Mom. There’s nothing she can say that will make any of it okay.