He brightens. “Really?”
“Yeah. We’re having family and friends over on Christmas Eve, trying to act like our lives haven’t totally fallen apart, and then going to Vito and Louisa’s for Christmas Day. I know you’ll fit right in.” I laugh. “Well, other than being one of the few gringos in the mix.”
“You mean I won’t be the only one?” He looks disappointed.
“Sorry. Some of our other friends are gringos too, and some of our other relatives have mixed marriages. And then, of course, there’s my older brother, Marc—he’s bringing a gringo girl home with him.”
“But I’ll still be a minority?”
I nod. “Oh, yeah. I can assure you of that.”
“Okay, then. I’d like to come.”
I grin. “Cool.”
“Well, I better split if I’m going to make it to work on time.”
“Thanks for everything,” I say as he leaves.
“No, thank you.”
“No,” I tease as I wave good-bye. “Thank you!”
fifteen
DESPITE THE BEAUTIFUL TREE AND DECORATIONS, MY MOM IS IN A SNIT for the next couple of days. “I’m not upset with you, Maggie,” she says on Saturday morning.
“Well, it sure does feel like it,” I tell her as I pour a cup of coffee.
“Sorry.” Lines crease her forehead. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Right.”
“It’s just so stinking unfair.”
“What?”
“This.” She waves her hands around as if that explains everything. I’m sure she means Dad and the big split, but this woman’s mode of communication is pretty pathetic these days. I mean, she might as well start talking in Spanish, which I can understand some of and speak fairly fluently, but when she gets going fast, I am totally lost.
“What exactly?” I ask before I have to go call in an interpreter.
“Oh, finances mostly. Your father has neglected to pay a couple of bills, and I am pretty tight for money—and it’s Christmas.”
“Oh.” I consider this. “Why don’t you just use a credit card?”
She lets loose with a Spanish expletive. “Those are the bills he neglected to pay. The cards are maxed out.”
“Oh.” Now this is a whole new problem.
“And we’ve got Elisa and Marc and Liz coming, plus our little get-together on Christmas Eve.” She throws her hands in the air and cuts loose with another Spanish word that she would never use in front of her mother.
“Mom,” I say in a warning tone.
“Sorry.”
“I get paid today,” I say. “It’s not much, but it might cover the party. And I’ve got tip money too, almost fifty dollars.”
“Really? You make that much in one night?”
“No, that was for a week—well, less what I spent for the tree.”
Now Mom hugs me. “Oh, mi hija, what would I do without you?”
I smile. “Be lonely?”
So I give Mom my tip money for groceries—enough to get us by until I get paid and hand over my check—and by the time Marc and Liz show up, she is feeling rather festive again. I, on the other hand, am feeling rather broke and slightly bummed since I had planned to go Christmas shopping for family and friends after I got paid this week.
Liz seems pretty nice, although she’s kind of quiet. Marc told us she’s the intellectual type—the kind of girl who likes to observe and think about things, which seems an unlikely match for my loudmouthed brother, but maybe opposites really do attract. Still, it bugs me that she stays holed up in the guest room and never offers to help in the kitchen or anything. I don’t get that. And then Marc takes off to hang with his friends, and she just wants to stay here and read books or sleep.
The dynamics of our house improve greatly when Elisa gets home on Monday, just two days before Christmas. And she, amazingly, is able to draw the quiet Liz out when she proclaims it Game Night and forces the five of us to play Pictionary and Boggle until we’re all totally sick of each other.
“Dad’s the one who’s really good at Pictionary,” she tells Liz as we gather in the kitchen for a late-night snack. “His drawings were awesome.”
Mom scowls darkly and then excuses herself, saying she has to work in the morning.
“What’s up with her?” demands Elisa once Mom is safely upstairs.
“What do you think?” I toss back. “Be a little sensitive, would you?”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” snaps Marc.
“She’s going to have to get used to it,” says Elisa. “I mean, it’s a fact that couples split up all the time. And it’s been like, what, three months since things really went sour? Shouldn’t she be getting over it by now?”
“I don’t know,” I say sarcastically, “considering they were together for like twenty-five years and had three kids. She’s not okay after a few months? Let’s see, it took you more than a month to get over Rod, and you guys were together, like, what, six months?”
“Eight!”
“Yeah, whatever. Do the math, Elisa.”
She glares at me now, and I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“Yeah,” chimes in Marc. “Think about it, sis. Mom’s still in a lot of pain. And it’s Christmas. You know how lonely that would make her?”
“I do, as a matter of fact.” Now she looks close to tears. “Mom’s not the only one who’s had her heart broken lately.”
“Oh.” Now I really feel bad. “Is it that guy you met at the conference?” I vaguely recall her mentioning some dude she met at a conference for her work. “Jake?”
“Jack.”
“Right. So he broke up with you?”
“It was mutual.”
“So that’s not really the same,” says Marc. “It was your choice.”
“Mom had a choice in this,” she says as she takes another cookie. “You can’t blame it all on Dad. Divorce is always a two-way street, you know.”
And suddenly we’re all arguing. Oddly enough, Liz sides with Elisa. She seems certain that Mom must be somewhat to blame for the situation. How she knows this when she’s barely met my family is way beyond me, but I suspect it has to do with her parents because she says they got divorced when she was six. As a result, she’s an expert on the subject, which I find totally annoying. Consequently, I’ve decided I really don’t like her much now. And considering how Marc is looking at her, I wouldn’t be surprised if he feels the same way. Too bad she’s going to be here all week.
I excuse myself, leaving the three of them to finish this discussion. I do feel bad for abandoning Marc and am a little worried he’ll be persuaded to join the dark side before the night is over. Oh, well.
But as I get ready for bed, imagining the three of them down there bashing Mom and supporting Dad, I get really angry to think I gave up my hard-earned money just for them.
I am somewhat encouraged the next morning when I find Marc in the kitchen making coffee, and he tells me that Elisa and Liz are nuts.
“I don’t get them,” he says quietly as he fills the carafe with water. “How they can be so certain that Mom has a part in this—it just makes no sense.”
“I wish we could all just quit talking about it,” I say as I slice a piece of banana bread. “Can’t we take a break from all this crud, at least during the holidays?”
“Fine by me.” He turns on the coffeemaker and then looks at me. “Although I am kind of curious about his woman.” The way he says woman sounds like he’d rather use a bad word but is controlling himself.
So I fill him in on what I know and have seen, glad that Mom has already gone to work. I know it would hurt her to hear this rather colorful description.
He just shakes his head. “What a jerk.”
“Yeah.”
“I wonder what they’re doing for Christmas.”
“Who cares?”
“Well, it’s not like he can take her home to meet his parents.”
I l
augh. “Yeah, right.” Dad’s side of the family is even more old-fashioned than Mom’s. His parents would throw a huge fit and probably disown him for good.
“Maybe they’re going on a cruise,” says Marc as he pours a cup of coffee.
“They better not be,” I seethe.
“Why not?”
“Because Mom is broke and Dad hasn’t been paying the bills.”
Marc looks disgusted. “What a total jerk. I wish I could give him a piece of my mind.”
“Think you can spare that much?” I tease, hoping to lighten the conversation a little.
Somehow we get through the next two days and even manage to put together a fairly decent Christmas Eve party. And when Ned shows up, I almost think it was worth giving up my paycheck to put together this little spread. Having him here makes the evening feel much merrier, and he and Marc really hit it off. In fact, we’re all having a pretty good time when I suddenly notice that Mom is missing. Thinking she’s in the kitchen, I go to see if she needs help with anything, but she’s not there. I look downstairs, but she’s not around. I glance outside to where the snow is still covering almost everything, but I don’t see her out there. Finally, I go upstairs and find her in her bedroom—crying.
“Mom,” I say as I enter her room without even knocking, “what’s wrong?”
She just holds up her hands. “What do you think?”
I sit down on the bed next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. I don’t know what to say—well, other than to curse my father for being such a moronic jerk!
“It’s the … the first Christmas without him,” she sputters in a way that almost makes it seem as if he died. I almost wish that he had—I think it would be easier. “And I just … just can’t take it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t want to spoil the party,” she sobs, “so I came up here.”
“Want me to tell them you have a headache?” I offer.
She nods. “Yes, please do that, mi hija.”
“All right.” I pat her on the back. “And if you get to feeling better?”
“I’ll come down then.”
“Okay. It’s really a cool party, Mom. Everyone is having a good time, and the food is great.”
She almost smiles through her tears. “Good.”
So I go back down and try to pretend that all is well, explaining that Mom’s got a headache and will be down in a little while. No one really seems to mind, although I’m sure everyone knows what’s really up. I feel somewhat relieved when Tia Louisa says she’s going to check on Mom. I think she needs more comfort than I am able to give.
The party breaks up around midnight, and then Marc and Elisa help me clean up. I’m guessing Liz has sneaked off to bed, but I know better than to say anything about it.
Things start out fairly smoothly for us on Christmas Day at Vito and Louisa’s. I think Mom’s able to relax a bit since she’s not playing hostess, and for the first hour or so, I’m impressed with how the family is being extra kind to her. I suspect that Tia Louisa has given them a private warning to be on their best behavior after Mom’s little emotional breakdown last night. But as the day progresses and a couple of my uncles have had a little too much Mexican beer (and probably some tequila on the sly), things start to get out of hand. Before anyone can stop it, there is some major Roberto bashing going on, and Tio Eduardo is acting like he and “the boys” are going to drive over to Dad’s place and give him “something special for Christmas.”
Fortunately, the younger men (Marc and the cousins) convince the old dudes this isn’t such a great idea. But it does put a damper on things. Not only that but I find it somewhat humiliating to hear the uncles bashing our “religion.”
“That’s what happens when people leave the church,” says one of them. “They think they’re better than the rest of us, and then they fall on their—”
“Shut up!” says Tia Louisa.
Fortunately, most people in our family don’t question Tia Louisa. If they do, she has Tio Vito (who weighs close to three hundred pounds) to back her. But with the party starting to get out of hand, Mom decides she wants to go home. And since I’m the one who drove her here, I have to go too. I’m pretty bummed that I have to leave, since Ned is staying, and he and the cousins are having a pretty good time downstairs.
“You can stay if you like,” Mom tells me as we go to the car. “I don’t want to spoil your fun, Maggie. I can just drive myself home, and you can get a ride with the kids later.”
I seriously consider this, but the idea of Mom sitting at home all by herself, probably crying her heart out, and on Christmas— well, that’s more than I can deal with today.
“No, that’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m ready to go home too.”
She seems satisfied with this, and the two of us drive home in silence. So much for Christmas.
Mostly I’m glad when the holidays are over. I’m relieved to go back to work on Friday. I’m also relieved when Marc and Liz leave the next day, although I would’ve preferred to have Marc stay a bit longer without her. I’m equally relieved when my sister leaves on Sunday.
With only a few days of Christmas break left and being nearly broke, I am totally thrilled when Ned calls and asks if I want to go sledding on Tuesday afternoon. And although I’ve never been sledding in my life, I accept. For one thing it’s free, but besides that, it’s with Ned.
He picks me up and we drive over to a hill just outside of town. “Some of my buddies are going to be there,” he tells me. “I’ve never done this before, but they say it’s pretty fun—and cheap.”
“Hey, cheap works for me.”
There are about a dozen college-age kids there. Someone has built a fire, and I notice there are several cases of beer. I try to act like I’m cool with this, but it still makes me uncomfortable, even more uncomfortable when I see that Ned has no problem putting away a couple.
“Aren’t we going sledding?” I finally ask, hoping I don’t sound too juvenile. But I feel slightly irritated that everyone here seems more interested in drinking. I can see there are several sleds (just cheap plastic ones) as well as some oversized inner tubes, and it looks like someone’s been down the hill already, since there is a trail.
“You ready to hit the big slope?” teases Ned.
“Yeah,” I say. “It looks like fun.”
And so it seems everyone is ready to have a ride now. Ned and I watch as a couple jump on a sled and plow down the hill. Then three guys pile onto an inner tube and follow them, yipping and yelling as they go.
“Doesn’t look too difficult,” I say, trying to appear brave.
“Let’s give it a go,” says Ned. He sits down in front and I sit down in back, wrapping my arms around him.
Then down we go—and it is fun! We do this a couple more times, and I have to admit that I feel thirsty after climbing back up the hill, but Ned’s offer of a beer doesn’t tempt me much, and he doesn’t push it. I’ve tasted beer before, one time at Tia Louisa’s when I thought no one was looking. I was only thirteen then, and quite frankly I thought it tasted like something from out of a toilet. Of course, my dad found out, and he gave me a little talk and then made me promise him that I would never touch alcohol or hang with kids who did. At the time, I truly believed I would keep that promise, but now I’m not so sure—especially considering the way my dad’s kept his promises lately. Maybe it just doesn’t matter.
“What’s your problem, Maggie?” asks one of the guys as he pops open a beer and holds it out to me in what he probably thinks is a tempting way. “Too good to have a beer with us?”
“Nope,” I say suddenly, taking the beer. Why not?
He looks slightly surprised, and Ned just grins as I take a swig. It still doesn’t taste too great, but I pretend I like it. And I force myself to drink the whole thing. If only Dad could see me now!
We sled some more, and I even drink a second beer. To my surprise, it doesn’t taste quite as bad this time, although
I’m not too crazy about the aftertaste. But with each sip, I think about how my dad would react. I imagine that this would hurt him, and that makes me feel good.
We’ve made lots of sled runs, and it’s starting to get dusky and I am getting pretty cold. “I should probably get home,” I tell Ned.
“How about one last run?”
I agree, so we get back onto the sled and Ned takes off. I can hear the crunchy sound of the ice-crusted snow as we go down the hill, and I can tell we’re going lots faster than before. But I hold on tight and just pray we don’t crash. We’re still going fast when we reach the bottom, and instead of stopping at the mound at the end of the hill, we end up going right over it, catching air. Then womp—we land on top of some slushy ice that instantly turns into ice-cold water, and we are up to our waists in some kind of pond.
I’m screaming from the cold, and Ned is trying to climb out. When he finally makes it to the bank, he uses the sled to pull me out, and then we both fall down onto the bank in a freezing wet mess. But he just starts laughing, and despite my feeling a little irked, I start to laugh too. And we sit there and laugh for several minutes, but we quickly realize we need to get out of here and into dry clothes.
The others are yelling from on top of the hill, asking if we’re okay, and Ned tells them that we’re leaving. “And you guys might not want to take any more runs!” he yells as we walk toward his car, totally soaking wet.
“Are you sober enough to drive?” I ask as we both get in, remembering that he’s had a lot more beer than I have.
“I am now,” he says as he starts the engine.
And I don’t argue with him because we are both shivering, and I’m pretty sure our icy plunge has sobered us both up. Soon we are at my house and, due to the fact that his heater barely works, we’re both still half-frozen.
“Come in and get dry before you go home,” I tell him. “You can borrow some of Marc’s clothes.”
So we both rush inside the house, and I show him Marc’s room and the guest bathroom. “Make yourself at home,” I say. “I’m sure Marc won’t mind what you borrow. He’s taken all the clothes he really likes to school with him.”
Bitter Rose Page 11
