Bitter Rose

by Melody Carlson

  “Cool,” I say. “I wish there was a bank open so I could cash it.”

  She smiles. “I suppose I could cash it for you, Magdela, if you don’t tell any of the other employees.”

  So I take her up on the offer and feel very excited to have so much cash in my purse as I drive home. Okay, it probably wouldn’t seem like much to most people, but it’s a big deal to me. I mean, I actually earned this money myself, and besides occasional babysitting, which I don’t even do anymore, this is the first time I’ve worked for my own money. It’s pretty cool. As I drive, I try to decide what I’ll do with it: save it or spend it. Probably a little of both.

  I go to church Sunday morning even though I really don’t want to go. But I’d rather go than have to explain to Mom why I’m skipping out on it. At least I don’t have to ride with her. She seems to get that now, and she doesn’t even ask anymore.

  I’m glad Father Thomas has moved on from forgiveness this week. His sermon today is about being thankful, which I’m sure is because of Thanksgiving. But as I’m sitting here by myself in the back of the church, I do not feel the slightest bit thankful. For what? A crazy mom? A dad who’s reinventing himself? Siblings who live far away and probably don’t really care about what I’m going through as long as everyone gets it together by Christmas? Seriously, why should I feel thankful?

  Then I remind myself that I do have some friends, like Claire, for instance, who I really should be thankful for. And then there’s Ned and the possibility of romance. I consider that for quite a while. I’m sure daydreaming in church is probably a sin, but I really can’t help myself. Besides, it cheers me up a little—is there anything wrong with that? When the service ends, I’m surprised to feel slightly hopeful. Was it a result of church or my daydreaming? Who knows? But as we bow our heads for the final blessing, I think that maybe something is going to change this week. Maybe Mom will realize what a witch she’s been and Dad will come to his senses and we’ll all happily eat turkey together at Tia Louisa’s big house on the hill. It could happen! And yes, pigs could probably fly too.

  ten

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TODAY?” CLAIRE ASKS ME AFTER CHURCH.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Mom and Adam want to drive up to Lamberg for lunch.” She glances over her shoulder and then makes a face. “It’s that little inn where they had their honeymoon, you know, and I will do anything to get out of it. Can’t you invite me to do something?”

  I consider this. “Wanna go to the mall?” I hold up my purse like a trophy. “I got paid last night.”

  Claire grabs my arm. “Perfect. Let me go tell them. Oh, is your car here?”

  I nod, and within minutes we’re set. I even inform my mom of our plans, and she actually seems to appreciate this. She smiles and says, “Have fun.”

  And so we do. Claire the shopping queen is thrilled that I actually have money to spend. She puts forth her best effort to ensure I spend most of it. But I end up getting some very cool things, and some of them are pretty good deals too. I don’t know if Claire notices or not, but I try to pick out things that seem more mature and sophisticated than usual. I really want to start dressing like I’m older. As we shop, she fills me in on the details of the dance, and I tell her a little more about Ned.

  “He sounds hot!” she says when we finally take a coffee break in the afternoon. “Do you think it could get serious?”

  “I don’t know.” I blow on my mocha.

  “What would your parents think?”

  I roll my eyes. “What do you think they’d think?”

  “Well, they’ve been kind of distracted lately. Maybe they wouldn’t notice.”

  “Yeah,” I say hopefully. “Assuming anything will actually happen between Ned and me. He could’ve just been being nice.” I make a dramatic, romantic sigh for Claire’s benefit. “But it was very nice.”

  She laughs. “I’ll have to stop in at the restaurant and get a look at this guy sometime.”

  “Yeah, do! Just don’t let him know that’s why you’re there.”

  It’s almost six when I finally get home. I park in the driveway and lug in my bags, surprised at how much I got today. I can’t wait to go to my room and check them out. Maybe I’ll try everything on again and really work on this new, older, more sophisticated look I’m going for.

  “What is that?” my mom asks when she sees me heading for the stairs.

  “Huh?”

  “All those bags.” She gets up from the couch where she had been reading the paper and walks over.

  I hold up the bags. “Just some things I got at the mall.”

  She frowns. “But how? Where did you get the money?”

  I exhale loudly. “I have a job, Mom. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  “So you got paid?”

  “Yeah. On Saturday.”

  “How did you cash the check?”

  Now I’m feeling really exasperated, like why is this her business anyway? “Tia Louisa cashed it for me.”

  Mom just shakes her head. “So you blew your whole check on clothes?”

  I just look at her now.

  “You wasted all your money, Magdela?”

  “I spent it, Mom. It was my money and I spent it. And I didn’t spend it all.”

  “How much do you have left?”

  “Why is that your business?” I demand now. “What? Do you need a loan or something?” Okay, I stepped over the line, but I’m just so aggravated by her gestapo line of questioning. Her eyes are flashing and I’m not backing down. We get into one of the worst fights ever. If I weren’t so mad, I’m sure I’d be in tears by now.

  “I can’t believe you!” I shout at her. “You’ve driven Dad away, and you are driving me away too. No one is going to want to be around you, Mom. You’re going to end up a lonely, bitter, old woman with no one who even cares whether you live or die!”

  “I did not drive your dad away. He left because he wanted to leave.”

  “Well, I don’t blame him for leaving. I want to leave too. Dad would be so much better to live with than you. I don’t see why kids don’t get a choice in this stuff. If I could, I would live with him instead of you—any day!”

  “Fine!” she yells. “Go and live with your precious dad. See how that works for you, Magdela. See if I care!” Then she rushes past me and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door so loudly that I think it might fall off its hinges. And I’m so enraged that I turn around and walk out the front door with my bags and start driving across town to Dad’s place to tell him that Mom is losing her mind and that I cannot stand to stay with her anymore. I know he’ll understand.

  I consider calling him on the way over, but it’s bad enough driving under the influence of anger that I decide not to risk a phone call too. At the town house, the porch light is on, and I can see through the blurry glass door that there’s light inside too. It’s a dim light, but I suspect he’s home. I knock on the door, and when he doesn’t answer, I try the knob to find it’s unlocked, so I open the door. I hear jazz music playing and figure that means he’s home.

  “Hey, Dad?” I call as I go into the living area. The black granite island is nicely set for dinner, similar to when I was here last week, only there’s also an open bottle of red wine and a tall slender vase with one exotic-looking flower in it, maybe some kind of orchid. But what really gets my attention is that there are two place settings. Dad obviously has company.

  “Magdela!” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound quite right.

  I turn around to see my dad and a woman I don’t recognize coming down the hallway.

  “What are you doing here?“ he asks as he gets closer.

  I’m sure my eyes are huge, and I can feel my heart pounding in my throat. It’s crystal clear what’s going on in here. Without even speaking, I turn and make a run for it. I throw open the door and sprint down the stairs. I can hear Dad calling my name, telling me to come back, that we need to talk. But I have no intention of talkin
g to him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  I drive away, not even sure where I’m going. When I finally stop, it’s at some stoplights, somewhere downtown I think. I look up at the red light to see that it’s blurry and fuzzy and misshapen, and I realize I’m crying. I don’t know what to do. I just sit there at the stoplight as it turns green then yellow then red again, and I cry. Finally, I hear a horn honking. The light is green again, so I begin to drive. I don’t know where to go, and I feel like a homeless orphan.

  I know I can probably call Claire and beg to spend the night, but it’s Sunday and her mom has a strict no-sleepover rule for school nights. I think my situation could be an exception, but still, I’m not sure. I consider going to Grandma’s, but then I’d have to tell her about my parents, and that might give her a stroke. She already takes blood pressure medicine. Finally, I think about Tia Louisa. At least she knows what’s going on, so I decide to call. I briefly fill her in on the situation, and she assures me I’m completely welcome to stay with her. “But only until this gets straightened out,” she assures me in her no-nonsense voice. “And we will have to call your mother and let her know you’re here.”

  I agree to this and slowly drive over to where she lives on the hill. It’s a nice neighborhood with large older homes. I remember how my aunt and uncle made jokes when they moved there, saying how the neighbors would probably throw fits when they found out “the Mexicans” had moved in. But that was more than ten years ago, and I think they were eventually accepted. “It helps that we didn’t paint the house fuchsia,” my uncle likes to tease, “and we haven’t put out any south-of-the-border lawn ornaments.”

  The truth is, their property actually looks better now than when they moved in. They have professional landscapers who care for the yard, and they built a beautiful sunroom that overlooks the pool. There is nothing whatsoever tacky or low class about it. But that’s just the way Tia Louisa is. My dad sometimes says that she thinks she’s a gringo. Of course, he never says this to her face. That would be stupid. But after seeing Dad tonight, I’m thinking maybe he really is stupid.

  I try to block the image of that woman from my mind, but I think it’s been burned into my memory, like my brain got branded in one hot-white flash and the image of her will remain there forever. She’s about Claire’s height, about five-foot-eight, which makes her five inches taller than my mom. And she’s very thin, whereas my mom is a little more rounded—not fat exactly, but she’s definitely put on a few pounds over the last few years. This woman was not Hispanic, although she had a pretty good tan, which I’m guessing comes from a tanning bed. Her eyes were very blue and her hair was very blonde, but judging by her darker brows, I think she must have her hair lightened. And she was pretty.

  Okay, it was kind of a harsh kind of pretty, like she tries too hard or uses too much makeup, but it would be hard not to admit she was pretty. I’m guessing she’s in her thirties, but then I’m not good with grown-ups’ ages. Still, I think she’s younger than my mom, but that could have something to do with her clothes. She had on pale-blue velour sweats, low-cut pants that exposed a tan midriff, and a thin white shirt covered with a snug hoody. The whole outfit is something my mother would never wear—not in a million years. She doesn’t even like it when my midriff shows. We’ve been arguing over that for several years now. And my mom’s idea of “sweats” is loose, bulky, baggy, heavy clothes that would never fall into the category of “stylish.” This woman was stylish.

  I park my car in the steep driveway, remembering to put on my parking brake, and then dig through the shopping bags until I find a couple of things that I might possibly wear to school tomorrow.

  Tia Louisa meets me at the door, giving me a somewhat restrained hug, which is just her style but comforting all the same.

  She shakes her head. “This is too bad, Magdela. Come into the kitchen and tell me all about it.”

  I am relieved to hear that Tio Vito is at a meeting and won’t be home for about an hour. And as I munch on their leftovers from dinner, I pour out my whole story, starting with my fight with Mom and finishing with the detailed description of the woman my dad is obviously seeing.

  Tia Louisa refills my iced tea and lets out an exasperated sigh. “This is what I was afraid of.”

  “Afraid of?”

  “Well, Rosa wouldn’t go into much detail when I let her know I was aware of their problems.”

  I nod. “Yeah, she’s been pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. I don’t get that. Do you think she even knows?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m certain she knows. That would explain everything, Magdela.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. The anger. Rosa has never been an angry person. But you told me she’d been nagging your father, picking fights, all of it. That’s just the way a woman acts when her man is stepping out on her.”

  I wondered if she knew this from experience or if it’s just something women innately understand. But as far as I know, Tio Vito has never cheated on her.

  “Poor Rosa. I was worried that Roberto had another woman. I wish she could’ve told me. The poor woman needs to talk to someone. Keeping it all in will only make her want to explode.”

  “Well, she exploded tonight,” I say. “On me.”

  “That’s understandable. She has too many fireworks to hold in.” Tia Louisa’s brow creases, as if she’s really thinking, trying to figure this whole thing out. “But I wonder why she’s keeping it inside. Do you think she hopes they’ll work all this out and get back together again before the family knows exactly what’s happened?”

  “She sure doesn’t act like it,” I say, “at least not when Dad’s around. She really lets him have it.”

  “That’s because she’s so angry at him right now. But maybe she thought that if she could wait this thing out, he’d eventually come back to his senses, apologize to her, promise to never do this again, and then she would take him back. Do you think?”

  “But you should see his place, Tia Louisa,” I say. “It doesn’t look like a temporary thing to me. I mean, it’s really nice, and he’s getting things to furnish it—even a big bed.” I roll my eyes as I consider the ramifications of this. His back, my foot!

  Tia Louisa frowns. “That’s not good.”

  “And that woman.”

  “Really pretty, is she?”

  I nod sadly.

  “Well, your mother is going to have to face facts, Magdela. Sooner or later, the whole family will know what’s going on. She might as well get it into the open now. And with Thanksgiving this week—by the way, are Marc and Elisa coming home? Your mother was a little sketchy about your family’s plans. I would assume you’re coming here like always, but then I realize that things are a little unsettled.”

  “Elisa isn’t coming home. She has to work on Friday. Marc didn’t sound sure. I think he’s hoping his girlfriend will invite him home to meet her folks.”

  “So it’s serious?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, although he did want to bring her home for Christmas. I think both Elisa and Marc think this will all blow over by then.” I sort of laugh. “In fact, I sort of thought the same thing—until tonight.”

  “It’s possible we’re reading too much into this,” Tia Louisa says in an unconvincing tone. “Perhaps he just met this woman. Maybe he’s not having an affair at all.”

  “I hope that’s true. I really do. But I’d still have to wonder why he had her over tonight. He and Mom are still married, you know. And he told me he’d consider getting counseling. Yeah, right.”

  “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions, Magdela.”

  Then she shows me to the guest suite, which I had assumed was only for adult guests.

  “Oh, this is too nice,” I tell her. “I can just stay in one of the boys’ rooms.”

  She pats me on the back. “No, dear. I think you’re in need of some special treatment tonight. You just make yourself at home.” She nods to the beautiful bathroom that has marble everywhe
re, along with a big spa tub. “Take a bubble bath if it will make you feel better.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her. “I might.”

  She looks at the shopping bag in my hand. “Did you have a chance to get what you needed before you left?”

  “This is just something I happened to get at the mall today,” I confess. “I don’t have anything like a toothbrush or—”

  “Look in that armoire,” she says, pointing to a large antique piece. “I think you should find whatever you need. If you don’t, just let me know. And if you don’t mind, I think I will call it a night. I’ve been taking that new migraine medicine, and it seems to make me sleepy at the end of the day.”

  “Not at all,” I tell her. “I hope it takes care of the headaches.”

  She nods. “So do I. Sleep well. Tomorrow is a whole new day.”

  So I indulge in a bubble bath, and then I watch TV for a while. And by the time I go to bed, I am feeling a little bit better. Okay, if all else fails with my parents, maybe Tia Louisa will adopt me!

  eleven

  I HAVE TO STOP BY MY HOUSE ON MONDAY MORNING TO PICK UP SOME homework (which is still unfinished) and some things I need for school. I’m hoping my mom will be at work, but that’s unlikely since she doesn’t usually go in until around nine. But if I’m lucky, she might be sleeping in. And it’s not because I’m mad at her now. If anything, I guess I feel a little bit sorry for her—and hurt too. It hurts that (1) she’s been so angry and mean to me, and (2) that she didn’t tell me the truth about Dad.

  Of course, it’s possible she doesn’t know the truth, in which case, I’m not sure what I should do. Do I tell her and risk having her go to pieces on me, or do I just keep my mouth shut and see what happens next? Also, it occurs to me that Tia Louisa could be right: That fling might be just a onetime thing with Dad. Maybe the woman is a neighbor who invited herself to dinner. Who knows? Still, I think it’s more than that. Call it instinct or a gut feeling, but I think my dad’s involved with that woman.

  As it turns out, Mom’s in the kitchen. She has on her old pink bathrobe and is drinking a cup of coffee as she flips through the morning paper. She barely looks up when I walk by. I consider just slinking past her, going to my room, grabbing my stuff, and making a quick and silent exit. But instead I pause for a moment and just look at her.