“Does that mean you guys are getting serious?”
“I wouldn’t call it serious. But I thought it might be interesting to see what she thought of our Latino Christmases.”
“Well, I have no idea how this thing will be by then. As it is, Thanksgiving isn’t looking too great.”
“Oh, you never know, Maggie. They could patch it all up by tomorrow. Just give it some time.”
“Right.”
“And if you find out anything, like what’s underneath it all, let me know, okay?”
“Yeah. Just call me Maggie P. I.”
He thought that was funny. And by the time we hung up, I thought maybe he was right—that maybe this whole thing was just some kind of midlife fluke that would blow over within the week. But the week has passed, and it appears my parents are still in some kind of standoff.
And then today when I noticed that all photos that included my dad had been removed from the wall along the stairway, I started to get seriously worried. Like, what was up with that? I mean, sure Mom can be furious at Dad if she wants, but does that give her the right to strip him from our entire family? I don’t think so.
It’s five o’clock on Friday, and Mom still hasn’t come home from work. But then she’s been working later than usual this week—just one more reason for me to be suspicious that she is up to something. And so I decide to do some snooping around. I suppose I figure that I have the “authority” to do this since both Elisa and Marc insisted I uncover what’s going on with our parents. Besides, I want to know what she’s done with the family photos. So naturally, my sleuthing begins in my parents’ bedroom.
I start on Mom’s side, going through the drawers in her bedside table. And, okay, I know this is wrong, and I do feel guilty, but there’s something in me that’s just compelled, as if I can’t help myself. But I don’t see anything that looks out of the ordinary. Even her lotion is plain old Jergens like Grandma uses, and the book she’s reading—Reviving Your Marriage of all things—doesn’t really seem to be working for her. After that I go through her bureau drawers, particularly her lingerie drawer, which, according to a magazine article I recently read, could prove to be revealing. But most of the items in there look pretty boring and pathetic, not to mention ancient. Like, does my mom even know that undies come in actual colors these days?
Finally, I go to the big walk-in closet that I tend to envy (since mine is way smaller and packed to overflowing) and am shocked to see that all of my dad’s things are gone. His side is totally empty—well, other than a couple of lonely dresses that my mom has hung up there to, I’m sure, make herself feel better. But it makes me feel sick. I quickly go through my dad’s bureau now and find that it too is empty.
I look at the spot on the wall where my parents’ wedding photo used to hang along with the framed wedding announcement. Not only are these pieces gone but the blue wallpaper behind them, which hasn’t faded like the rest, is a glaring reminder of what used to hang there. I stand and look around the room and realize that nothing of my dad has been left behind. It’s like every single piece of him is gone. Not a trace remains. And it feels as if he’s dead—as if my mother murdered him and then neatly disposed of the body.
three
“I THINK I’M GOING TO HAVE TO RETAKE MY SATS,” I CONFESS TO CLAIRE as we slowly walk through the mall. We’re both sort of glassy-eyed and weary after a long morning of tests. But when we finished, she insisted on coming to a one-day-only shoe sale at Nordstrom’s, and I didn’t protest.
“Don’t worry, Maggie,” she assures me. “They say everyone feels like that afterward. It’s just part of the letdown after studying so hard and then getting it over with. You just have to let it go.”
“But I’m serious,” I tell her. “It’s like I couldn’t focus or concentrate. And I know I totally blew the math.”
“I’m sure you did fine. You’re always good at tests.”
And since I don’t want to argue right now, I let it go. Just the same, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to retake it. And if Mom gives me a hard time, I’ll just tell her that it’s her fault. If she hadn’t thrown Dad out, I might be in better form. Okay, it probably didn’t help that I stayed out a little late last night, but I was so surprised when Brandon Cline asked me out that I totally forgot today’s test.
As we enter Nordstrom’s, Claire asks me how my date was, as though she’s reading my mind.
“Oh, it was okay.”
“Just okay?” She turns and looks at me skeptically. “So he’s not as hot as you expected?”
I kind of laugh. “No, he’s definitely hot. But I’m not so sure he’s into me.”
“But you said you were out pretty late.”
“That’s because he didn’t call me until seven-thirty, so we ended up going to a movie that started around ten. I didn’t get home until after midnight.”
“Good thing your dad wasn’t home.”
I kind of laugh. “Yeah, right.” But I was actually thinking it’s a small consolation. I honestly think I’d rather have Dad back and get in trouble for breaking my curfew.
“And your mom didn’t get on your case?”
“She mentioned the time, like I didn’t know. But that was about it.”
“Lucky you.”
“Right.”
“So anyway, do you think he’s going to ask you out again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. We ended up playing video games while we waited for the movie, and I think he was pretty surprised when I thoroughly beat him at Penguin Wars.”
Claire laughs. “Did you tell him you used to hold the record at the Fifth Street Arcade?”
“Yeah, right. Are you kidding?”
But now we’re in the shoe department and Claire immediately goes into her huntress mode. When it comes to shopping, especially for shoes, there’s no one quite like Claire. I just have to watch with amazement and admiration. And since I didn’t get any allowance this week (thanks to my parents’ messed-up lives), I can’t really afford to buy anything in here anyway. But I encourage Claire as she tries on dozens of pairs, finally deciding on some black boots that look fantastic on her. Despite myself, I feel a little jealous as we walk out and she’s the one carrying a big brown shopping bag.
“So have you talked to your dad yet?” she asks as we head over to the food court.
“He hasn’t answered my calls.”
“Isn’t that kind of weird?”
“Yeah. And I guess I’m getting worried. I even called the friend that he’s staying with and left a couple messages.”
“Why don’t you call him at work?”
“It’s an old rule. His boss is a real jerk, and I’m not supposed to bug Dad there unless it’s an emergency.”
“Oh.”
“But I was thinking about stopping by his friend’s place,” I tell her as we wait in line at Taco Time (my grandma calls these “gringo tacos,” but I think they’re okay).
“Want to do that on our way home?” she offers.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I think you need to see him.”
So after we finish up at the mall, I direct Claire to where my dad’s staying. As she drives, I try once again to reach him on his cell, but, as usual, he’s not answering.
She pulls up to a slightly run-down apartment complex. I look for the right number and then head over to knock on the door. Fortunately, Claire knows enough to wait in the car. Who knows how this might go? I’ve only met Dad’s friend Chuck once or twice over the years, and I’m not even sure I’ll recognize him. But I do know that Chuck got divorced a few years ago. I remember my mom thought it was a shame, and she encouraged my dad to try to talk him into reconciling with his wife. Obviously, that never happened, because when Chuck opens the door, I feel pretty certain this is a bachelor pad. Chuck smiles at me, but I’m pretty sure he has no idea who I am.
“I’m Magdela,” I tell him, “Roberto’s daughter.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says.
“Last time I saw you, you were a little kid.”
“Right.” I glance away uncomfortably. Something about the black leather furniture and the animal prints is disturbing. “Uh, is my dad here?”
“No, I think maybe he went in to work today.”
“On Saturday?”
“Or maybe he went apartment hunting,” he says quickly. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
“Okay.” I start to leave and then turn around. “Will you ask him to call me?” I say suddenly. “Tell him it’s urgent, okay?”
He nods. “Will do.”
Then I go back to Claire’s car. I’m sure disappointment is written all over my face, because Claire is extra sympathetic when I get in.
“Not there?”
I shake my head.
“That’s too bad.”
“Chuck said he was either at work or apartment hunting.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah. It doesn’t look like this thing is going to blow over.”
“Do you think your dad will be in church tomorrow?” she asks hopefully.
I consider this. “I don’t know, but I don’t see why not. I mean, he’s got a lot of friends there. And just because Mom’s falling apart and throwing him out—well, I don’t see why that would keep my dad from going. If anyone should stay away, I’d think it’d be my mom. She’s the one who caused all this.”
“So maybe he’ll be there!” she says with enthusiasm. “Maybe you can talk to him tomorrow.”
But as it turns out, he’s not there. And I know this for a fact because I looked all through the sanctuary, and I never saw him anywhere. I’d even driven myself to church just to make sure I’d have my own wheels in case Dad and I went somewhere afterward. I didn’t want to have to beg a ride from my mom.
“Are you showing up at Grandma’s after church?” Mom asked me this morning.
“Why?”
“It’s her seventy-fifth birthday, Magdela. Did you forget that Tia Louisa is making a special dinner today?”
I slapped my forehead. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did.”
“Do you want a ride?” Mom persisted.
“No,” I told her. “But I’ll come. I might be a little late. But tell her I’ll be there, okay?”
As it turns out, I won’t be late. I even have time to stop and get her a card and a birthday balloon. But as I’m driving toward her house, I grow curious as to how my mom plans to handle Dad’s absence today. Will she announce to everyone in her rather conservative and traditional Catholic Latino family that she threw my father out last weekend? Or will she keep this little bombshell to herself? I park along the street in front of my grandma’s small duplex, actually enjoying the anticipation of seeing my mom taking some heat from her family. Her car is already parked in the driveway.
“Magdela!” my grandma cries as she opens the door and throws her arms around me. “Cara mia!”
“Abuela!” I say. “Happy birthday!”
“I’m so glad you’re here. Your mama said you would be late. And you know Tia Louisa’s tamales might not last that long.”
“Tamales!” I say as I hand her the card and balloon. “I’m glad I got here on time.”
As usual, the men are seated around the small TV in the tiny living room. But they pause, looking up from the football game as they call out greetings. I say hello, feeling faintly surprised to see there are only two—Tio Vito and Tio Eduardo. But then, my grandfather died a year ago, and of course my dad’s not here. As a result, the male population of these little gatherings has dwindled considerably. Well, except for the grandkids, of which I’m the youngest. Apparently, my cousins aren’t around today.
I follow my grandma back to the kitchen, where I know we’ll find the women. Okay, I know it’s a little archaic, but it’s just how my family works—men out in the living room, women in the kitchen. To be honest, I like the familiar company of my female relatives as they prepare food. My grandma sits down at her Formica-topped table and resumes chopping tomatoes. My mom is standing by the stove helping Tia Louisa set the cornhusk-wrapped tamales over the steaming water, although Tia Louisa is calling the shots. She owns a restaurant and knows everything about cooking, so naturally she’s in charge of the kitchen. Tia Dominga is at the sink washing a head of lettuce. They all say hello and welcome me, and I’m immediately given an apron and the task of peeling avocados for guacamole.
“You remember the way I showed you, Magdela?” Tia Louisa asks as she looks over my shoulder.
I nod. “Yes. And it works really well too.”
She pats me on the back. “Maybe you should come work at my restaurant. I think you’re doing it better than some of my prep cooks.”
I laugh but don’t tell her that I can’t imagine anything worse than working as a prep cook, going home every night drenched in the stink of onions and grease. Major yuck!
As we work in the kitchen, no mention is made of my dad or his absence, and I am curious if my mom just made up some excuse. Perhaps she said he had to travel for his work, since he does this occasionally. This is my guess because the conversation is light and cheerful and everyone seems to be in good spirits, which would not be the case if they knew what was up. I cannot believe how tempted I am to just blow the lid off this thing. How I would love to just casually say, “Did you hear that Mom kicked my dad out of the house? And that she says the marriage is over?” But I keep my mouth shut. Not for Mom’s sake, since I don’t really care how she feels, but for Grandma’s sake. I know this news would disturb her—a lot. Besides, it’s her birthday.
But then, when the food is ready, the dining table is set, and we’re all gathered around it, and after Tio Eduardo says a blessing, my other uncle makes an inquiry.
“Where did they send Roberto off to this time? Another exotic location like Des Moines?”
When my dad’s job sends him traveling, it’s usually to the most boring of places. We all like to tease him about this. I glance at my mom, curious as to how she’s going to handle this. Being the good Christian woman that she claims to be, certainly she wouldn’t tell a lie.
“To be honest,” she says a bit uncomfortably, “I’m not sure where he is.”
“He didn’t tell you before he left?” Tia Louisa is clearly alarmed.
“Oh, he gave the number,” Mom says quickly. “I just don’t know for sure where the place is. It’s been a busy week. Did I tell you that I may have sold the old Parker mansion?”
“Are you kidding?” says Tio Eduardo. “That’s great. You’ll be rich.”
And just like that, the conversation switches and no one seems to be the least bit concerned about my dad anymore. I have to hand it to my mom: The woman is smooth. Even so, I can barely stand to look at her right now. If it weren’t Grandma’s birthday, I’d probably lose it completely and just totally spill the beans. At one point, shortly after her pathetic lie about my dad’s absence, she looked directly in my eyes, almost as if she thought I was going to support her in this deception. But I just looked away.
Finally, the meal draws to an end, and I decide to excuse myself before I blow my mom’s cover and spoil the fun for everyone.
“I’m sorry to eat and run,” I tell them, “but I’ve got this big assignment that’s due tomorrow and I think I’d better get home and get some homework done.” Of course, this is a big fat lie. But I’m thinking what’s good for Mom must be good for me, right? Maybe we’ll all turn into freaking hypocrites before this thing is over.
four
I GET BACK OUT TO THE CAR AND TAKE IN A LONG DEEP BREATH AND then slowly let it out, telling myself, Just chill before you explode. Then I turn on my cell phone and am surprised to see I’ve had a call from my dad. I quickly dial his number and am even more surprised when he actually answers.
“Hi, Magpie,” he says in that familiar warm voice I’ve been missing.
“Dad!” I practical
ly squeal. “You finally called. I was starting to think maybe you’d left the country.”
“I’m so sorry, honey. It’s just that, well, it’s hard to explain. But life has been pretty tough this past week. It’s all I can do just to get through this.”
“I know,” I assure him. “And I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Can we meet somewhere to talk?” I ask hopefully.
“Uh, right now?”
“Well, whenever,” I say with disappointment. “I just really want to see you, Dad. And I really need to talk.”
“How about if we meet at Java Hut for coffee?” he suggests. “Will that work for you?”
“Sure,” I tell him.
“In about half an hour?”
“Sounds great.”
I drive straight to Java Hut. He’s not there when I go inside, but that’s just because I’m early. I don’t really care—I’m so anxious to see him. It feels like it’s been a year. I order myself a mocha and find a quiet table by the window and then take the chair that faces the door so I can watch for him. Finally, nearly thirty minutes has passed, my mocha is gone, and he’s still not here. I’m about to call him to see what’s up, but then I notice his dark blue Explorer just pulling up to the curb.
I rush to the door, eager to meet him. I instantly forget his lateness and my crankiness and give him a big hug. “I’m so glad to see you!” I exclaim. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad.”
He seems almost surprised at this. But then he smiles and pats me on the cheek, and it seems like everything is just the way it used to be. We order more coffee and go sit down, and I immediately tell him about Grandma’s birthday and how Mom covered for him—although I’m thinking she really covered for herself, since she could care less about him right now.
“So they don’t know yet?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. No one suspects a thing.”
He frowns.
“Do you want them to know?” I ask.
Then he shrugs. “Maybe. It might be easier in the long run, Maggie.”
“But why?” I ask. “Don’t you think there’s a chance you and Mom can work this out? Can’t you get counseling at the church or something?”
Bitter Rose Page 2
