“What do you think, Rosa?” Jasmine yells to the cashierista at the next register. “Princesa is about to crack the case wide open like she’s on Law and Order. She doesn’t even know how to wipe her ass yet. Like this bitch never stole a thing.”
Her words sting because the realization finally hits me. It was only a few weeks ago when Papi grilled me for taking his credit card. I did exactly what this thief did. Maybe I told myself I deserved the money. That being a Sanchez meant I should live a certain way. My nickname is Princesa, isn’t it? I should get what I want when I want it. How is that different from what this thief is doing right now? I try to cloak myself with my justified anger but I’m a big hypocrite.
“Didn’t you steal six hundred dollars?” Jasmine says. “Isn’t that the reason why you’re here?”
My shame grows with each comment Jasmine makes. Rosa snickers along with her. It’s too much. I walk away from their cackles and Junior’s escalating yells. I step outside and keep moving until I stop in front of the community garden. Two men sit crouched to the ground, working the dirt. I lace my fingers in the chain link fence and lean against it.
Every time I charged a purchase on Papi’s credit card I knew it was wrong but my need to belong canceled any doubt. I had decided that I would no longer be the Princesa my parents want me to be. I would be Margot, a girl who could buy whatever she wanted. It wasn’t based on reality but if I willed that person into existence maybe it could be. I felt so close to Serena and Camille with every purchase. Our dynamics shifted that day. I was happy until I got busted.
Papi couldn’t understand why I would do such a thing. Why take the credit card when he would have given me the money if I had asked? I didn’t know how to answer him. There was no way I could explain how desperate I felt. Does the person stealing money from the supermarket feel the same desperation? Is that what propels them to steal? I can relate.
“Hey!”
Moises appears besides me. He playfully bumps his shoulder against mine. I can’t shake this funk with my usual verbal vomit. I’m too upset to try.
“Hey,” I mumble.
We just stand there.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
I contemplate telling Moises. The burden would weigh less if I shared it with someone but that thought only lasts for a second. I don’t know him and disclosing my family’s drama to a stranger isn’t what I was brought up to do. Instead I tell him everything is fine.
“Want to go inside?” Moises asks after a long silence. “I was going to pop in for a second. See what’s growing.”
“No, I should go back to work.”
“All right. I will leave you with your thoughts, then.”
He goes in and greets the two guys. After a few jokes, Moises drops his messenger bag and joins them in pulling weeds. Even with cars honking and a stereo blasting reggaeton nearby, the garden seems like an oasis, with rows of vegetables and so much green. It must be nice to work in a place where the focus is about growth.
Although Moises is on his knees working, every so often he looks my way. How does he do it? He’s had a rough childhood, from what Jasmine told me, yet that doesn’t stop him from always lending a hand. How does a person go from dealing drugs to pulling weeds? Maybe some people are born good no matter their circumstances. What if I was born to be selfish?
The gate to the garden is open. I could go back to the supermarket and feel bad. Try to avoid Jasmine and the rest. Worry about thieves stealing from my family’s livelihood. Or I could step away from it. I surprise myself and head toward the gate.
“You changed your mind,” Moises says. He introduces me to his friends. “Pop a squat and check these out.”
He points to a row of green peppers. They’re so bright and big.
“Willie here tells me they’re due to harvest these bad boys next month. They make this hot sauce that will burn your tongue off,” Moises says. “Do you have a green thumb?”
I’ve never grown a thing. Mami loves to garden and she’s meticulous about it but she only grows for beauty. Everything about her garden is to show how perfect the Sanchez family is. The perfect house with the two perfect kids.
“No, I’m not good with living things.” This makes Moises laugh. Sometimes I say things without thinking them through. But it’s nice to see his smile.
“At least you’re honest,” he says. “Come take a look over here.”
We slowly walk up the narrow rows.
“These blue flowers are called meadow heliotropes. You grind these up in a tea and they give you insight into the future,” he says. “These are called dragon’s calendula. If you smell them you will be cursed with bad breath forever.”
“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” I ask, laughing. He’s making these names up and it’s hilarious.
“No, but you believed me there for a second. I could tell,” he says.
“Well, then. These are devil soapweed,” I say, and join him. “Chew on these and you land right in hell.”
“But why do you have to go so dark, though? All right. Let me see what we’ve got growing here.” We take turns making up ridiculous names of plants that don’t exist, laughing at our own creations and trying to one-up each other.
“These plants may look innocent.” Moises points to a row of leafy greens. “But these are . . .”
“Greenavorous herbs.” I jump in. “They turn your skin green if you touch them.”
“Right. But only at night, like el coquí.” He tucks his chin and speaks low. “If you took a bite and turned into a coquí I would still be your friend. I’d meet you here at night and we could stay in the garden. I give you my word, Margot.”
We’re both goofing around but suddenly I feel shy. He likes me. I can see that and it leaves me feeling anxious, like I should say something super witty or sexy. I’m tongue-tied and because of that I make up an excuse to go back to the supermarket.
“Thanks for showing me around,” I say. “It’s nice here.”
“Sure, anytime. I’ll see you on the block.” He walks back to Willie. I close the garden gate behind me. For a moment there I felt like myself. The hang-ups that usually tie me down were gone. I didn’t think for a second how my interactions might seem to him. But it didn’t last long enough before I realized my place. I take another look inside the garden.
Moises gestures to me. He meets me by the fence.
“Willie says lavender is a great way to deter the pests that like to eat their crop,” he says. “I figured you could use some to ward off whoever is messing with your day.”
He hands me a sprig of lavender through the chain link fence. The aroma is mild with a hint of camphor.
“It smells nice,” I say. Then pause. “But why give this to me?”
He tilts his head.
“You are emanating sadness from miles away,” he says. “I thought you could use a natural weapon to fight back. Besides, sometimes it’s just about kindness. There are no strings, or flowers, attached. I saw them and thought of you.”
Kindness when I need it. Moises, with his poetry books and his flowers, is making me fall for him.
“So . . . does it work instantly?” I jokingly aim the sprig at him.
“Aw, man! I left myself wide open for that one,” he says. “I’m going to give that one to you because it was worth it. Later, Margot.”
Although my mind is still weighed down by what’s happening at the store, I can at least smell the lavender.
Inside, the screaming match has apparently ended and Jasmine is too busy dealing with customers to pay attention to me. I tuck the lavender in the pocket of my uniform jacket and grab a hairnet.
• • •
Papi usually drives us home a little before four to avoid traffic but not today. His office door has been closed, with either Oscar or Junior coming in and out. When I walked in to see if Papi was ready to go, he grunted no and said soon. It’s five and I wait for him in the break room.
; The daily check-in call to Serena was brief. They’re spending their day on a friend’s sailboat and the connection was spotty, which was fine by me. I’m not in the mood to act gleeful when my thoughts are consumed by money being stolen. There’s already a fear of a new supermarket taking over our second location and now this. No wonder Papi is so worried and angry. Then there’s Moises and the lavender he gave me. He was just being nice but it’s hard not to make a big deal out of it in my head.
My thoughts turn to Elizabeth and that time when Junior lost his wrestling scholarship. The house was kind of unbearable with Mami and Papi raging against each other. My solution to avoid the cross fire was to schedule sleepovers at Elizabeth’s house. Those times with her were the most fun we had before we went to separate schools.
I scan the old Instagram account WEARABLE ART and find the picture of us dressed as the Ronettes. Elizabeth painted a backdrop of a 1950s convertible and we posed in front of it. I couldn’t stop laughing, which made our cat-eye makeup look more like crazy cat lady makeup. It seems so long ago. I miss playing dress-up and acting silly with Elizabeth. Camille and Serena are so into being adults that there’s no room for weird. When did everything become so serious?
Junior storms into the break room. He slams open the refrigerator and takes a sip from a bottle he keeps stored way in the back. I better steer clear. Nothing but hate pours from him and I don’t want to get spilled on.
“Where did you go for your break?” he asks.
“What do you care?” I say.
“I asked you a question. Someone said you were talking to some guy.”
“Who said that? I can’t believe this. Are you spying on me?”
He takes a long gulp from the bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There are sweat stains on his favorite shirt. He didn’t even bother shaving. Junior looks like a hot mess.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says. “Where were you?”
He grabs my arm. Hard.
“If I find out that you went out with that asshole out front, I’m going to kick your ass.”
His breath reeks of alcohol. How insane is his life if he can’t even wait to finish work to drink?
“I’m not explaining anything to you,” I say. “And why can’t I be friends with Moises? You were friends with his brother.”
A flash of shock sweeps his profile. It’s quickly replaced with anger. His grip tightens.
“Moises and his piece-of-shit brother are drug dealers. And no sister of mine is going to be seen with a thug. It’s bad enough I’ve got to take care of shit in here but now I have to look after you too.”
“Shouldn’t you be worried about finding the person who’s stealing money instead of wondering who I’m talking to?”
Junior’s eyes are bloodshot but even in their bleariness I can see the saucer size of his pupils. He looks possessed.
“Let go of me, Junior. Let go!”
“What else did that motherfucker say about me?” he yells into my face. “What else? You’re not hanging with them, you hear me?”
I can’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks as I try to pull away. There was a time when Junior planned whole Saturdays for us. He called them Serious Sanchez Sábados. A movie, arcade games, whatever I wanted for dinner. The night always ended with a sundae so big that I could never finish it. It was our special day together. Where is the Junior who used to buy me sundaes? There’s nothing left of that brother. This person who wrenches my arm acts like he wants to kill me.
“Let go, Junior,” I say, wincing. “Please.”
“Déjala!” Oscar enters the room.
Junior pauses, drops my arm, and pushes past Oscar.
“There, there.” Oscar hands me a tissue. I’m so upset, it’s hard for me to calm down. “He didn’t mean it,” Oscar adds. “He loves you. Es el stress.”
That wasn’t stress. I don’t know what that was. Junior is out of control. Something is eating him up. It might be the job but I feel that there’s something more and that somehow it’s my fault. It’s hard to keep tight the fleeting memories of when Junior was a decent brother.
“This work isn’t meant for everyone.” Oscar wipes the beads of sweat above his lip with a napkin. “There’s so much to look after, and your brother wasn’t born to do this type of work, but he tries.”
“If he sucks at this job he should quit,” I say. There are large red marks on my arm, evidence of Junior’s “stress.”
“Do you know how much your papi loves having you both here? The supermarket is your papi’s life and he wants to share it with you.” Oscar touches my shoulder. “Your father is thinking about your future. Junior will eventually be the owner. He wants you both to see how important el mercado is to the family. Entiendes?”
I nod. The supermarket may be in Junior’s future but it’s not in mine.
“Have you seen pictures of the kids?” Oscar tries to lighten the mood.
He pulls out a bulging, worn leather wallet and shows me pictures of his three boys, all under the age of five. The youngest, not yet walking, is the exact replica of Oscar. Pudgy and bald. The twins have grown so much.
“Son traviesos. Do you know what they were doing the other day?” Oscar says. “Jumping off the cabinet like they were Superman. Este got five stitches.”
He couldn’t be prouder of their dangerous antics.
“Having boys is hard,” he says. “Just ask your father.”
WHAT’S REALLY HARD, AN ABBREVIATED LIST
Running a marathon
Running a marathon in heels
Running a marathon in heels while breastfeeding a newborn
Chapter 9
My hands are numb from working in the cooler stocking the gallons of milk and juice. I walk outside to warm up with a nasty verse of a rap song stuck in my head, thanks to Dominic. He’s good for that sort of thing. But it’s not all bad. He did ask me for dating advice, somewhere to take his girlfriend on their four-month anniversary. When I told him to take her to this nice restaurant in the city he said, “Forget it. She ain’t worth it.” And that was that.
Facing the parking lot, I stand by the door and wait for my fingertips to defrost. I spot Oscar’s minivan by the Dominican flag that dangles from the front mirror. The rest of the cars have various flags—Puerto Rican, Mexican—with the exception of Dominic’s battered old Toyota. His car accessory is a picture of some half-naked girl. Papi’s sedan sits in the only parking space with a tent placed to block the sun. Papi doesn’t believe in flags, boxing gloves, or bumper stickers that proclaim patriotic love. He considers such displays low-class.
A car door slams shut. Loud and purposeful. Jasmine walks with her stomping heels. Whoever dropped her off honks the horn twice but she doesn’t acknowledge him. She’s very late but that’s nothing new. What is new is that she has no makeup on. No red lipstick. No glittery blush. Even her nails are bare.
I step aside. Without her armor of makeup, Jasmine is even scarier. She draws nearer and I mutter a hello but avoid eye contact. She doesn’t respond. Right before entering the supermarket, she stops. She’s reluctant to go in. Instead, she sucks her teeth, pulls out a cigarette, and lights it up. The person who dropped her off revs his car and drives away.
“Motherfucker,” she says.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“No.” She blows smoke with force. “It’s not.”
While her cigarette dangles from her mouth, Jasmine pulls out a rubber band and gathers her hair in a tight ponytail.
“He keeps pushing the date but I want it done now.” She flicks nonexistent cigarette ash to the ground. Sometimes Jasmine likes to talk to me but it’s more like she’s talking at me. I have no clue what she wants to get done.
“My demo!” she says, bothered when I don’t respond quickly enough. “I’m ready to lay down the tracks. Enough songs for two albums but he wants me to wait. The fuck I’m going to wait.”
The demo is Jasmine
’s obsession. She’s always jotting down a verse or working with Dominic on a rap lyric for possible guest rappers. Everything rides on finishing the songs, on hitting big time. But how realistic is that dream? She might as well play the numbers. I’ve heard her sing. She’s good but she’s not Adele-good.
“I’m not like those other pendejas who will suck his dick for some studio time. I ain’t the one.” She inhales again and taps her heel at a rapid speed. “Don’t let anyone steer you on the wrong path. I’m telling you right now. Men don’t want you to succeed. They just want you down on your knees. But not me. I’m going somewhere. Believe it.”
She scans the parking lot. It’s as if I can see inside her head the different schemes and calculations to get out of here. It’s how I feel but at least I’ve got Somerset. The supermarket is a minor setback but come September, it will be just a blip in my year. What Jasmine has is a pop dream.
“Okay.”
“What? Am I boring you or something?” She points at me. “You think I can’t make it. Just because you’re going to some rich white school doesn’t give you the keys to the kingdom.”
I can’t take another person yelling at me, not after Junior’s mental breakdown yesterday. Do I look like some walking target?
“It’s not my fault your guy isn’t finishing up your track,” I say. “You should hire someone. Not everyone owes you or is out to get you.”
But everyone here is definitely out to get me, to school me as if I have no clue about life. Even Moises with his poetry book. After going through the book, I felt so dumb. I didn’t understand most of it. Was Moises trying to insult me in some cryptic way? Or was he being nice? I fear it’s a little of both and that confuses me.
“Just throw money at the problem,” Jasmine says. “It’s how the Sanchez family rolls. Life as Papi’s Princesa.”
Jasmine scrutinizes me. She likes this, getting me riled up to see how far she can push me. It’s a game.
“Money. Yeah, right,” I say. “I work here just like you.”
The word “money” feels so light in my mouth for a word that controls everything. Papi still hasn’t mentioned the missing cash. I thought it would be the topic during dinner but he left soon after dropping me off at home. Something about having to go back to the supermarket to check the inventory. Mami didn’t say much. She always clams up whenever Papi works late and it’s been happening a few times a week. Even when I asked her about her latest flower arranging class she barely responded. I overheard her talking to one of her sisters in Puerto Rico but I couldn’t make out the gist of their conversation.
The Education of Margot Sanchez Page 7
