“What the fuck are you talking about?” He checks his phone and taps on it with anger. “Did you come in here to accuse me of something? You’re just like Papi. Always thinking the worst of me.”
“It’s not true. I’m worried.”
“You don’t give a shit about anyone.” Junior is right in my face. “Go back to your little sheltered world, Princesa.”
Where does this anger come from? It’s like that time he almost ripped my arm off when he accused me of talking to Moises. I slam the door behind me. My only safe haven is my bedroom.
Everyone in this house hides behind closed doors. We build fortresses to bar people from scaling the walls and getting in. But even with the amount of time we spend sheltering ourselves there’s no way of concealing our problems.
Life took a horrible turn somewhere. Oscar is fired. Junior is wasting away, and me . . . I don’t know a thing about people and the actions they take. Why did Oscar protect me? I don’t believe for a second that he stole money. He could have easily told on me. And then there’s Moises. Why did he say the things he said to me on the beach? I will never understand.
Chapter 20
Before the store opens, Papi gathers the workers and makes the official announcement. A longtime produce clerk demands to see the evidence that got Oscar fired. The butcher calms him down and advises him that arguing with the boss may not be the smartest thing to do, not when everyone’s job is on the line. Because if Oscar is not safe, no one is.
A cashierista starts to cry.
“Shut up with that crying!” Jasmine yells. The hate flows freely.
“Junior will take on Oscar’s responsibilities,” Papi says, eager to dismiss the mob that forms right in front of him.
“How’s that gonna work if he’s never here and when he is, he’s busy with the girls?” A young stock boy dares to speak his mind.
Papi and Junior glare back at him, an act that should instill fear, but the stock boy doesn’t back down. He’s voicing what’s on everyone’s mind.
“If you don’t like it, you can pick up your last check,” Junior threatens. Spoken like a true dictator. I have to give him points for at least dressing the part in a suit. He promised Papi he would bring his A game from now on. If by A game he means rule by intimidation, he’s well on his way.
“Now if there aren’t any other questions, I’ll be in the office,” Papi says. He turns his back on them.
Some of the workers give me the evil eye. They speak loudly, for my benefit, about how Oscar is the breadwinner. His wife stays at home to tend to the kids.
“How is he supposed to survive?” they ask, clucking their tongues.
“It must be nice,” a cashierista says to me.
“Excuse me?”
“Pues nada. Just that it must be nice. Gozando de la vida, without worrying about how to pay the bills. Your life is without complaints. Sin problemas.”
I sink my head and utter the only thing I’m capable of saying: “Sorry.”
She doesn’t hear me. The cashierista is too busy attacking my family. I take cover in the back aisle, where I stock and restock a shelf. From my safe perch, I witness extreme emotions vibrating throughout the store, some employees wanting to appease Papi to keep their jobs and others sabotaging Junior’s appointed role as “Oscar Dos.” Even the always-verbal Dominic quietly stocks the shelves next to me. Not a crude joke or a lewd rap song from him.
My phone explodes with texts from Serena and Camille on how Nick looks sad and lonely. They consider my Hamptons disappearance a good tactic. Leave him wanting more is what Camille said yesterday.
It’s easy to sound excited via text. A few exclamation points can cover my true feelings. Serena and Camille know about Nick’s call to me last night. I didn’t answer the phone. They advised me not to respond right away. To wait a couple of days. Let Nick sweat, Serena said. I follow their suggestions like a mindless robot.
“Doña Sanchez! Hace tiempo que no te veo por aquí!” Rosa exclaims.
Mami holds several trays of food. She wears a floral sheath dress with high heels. Her hair and makeup are immaculate. I don’t know why she’s here but she bears gifts and an unnatural smile.
Papi rushes downstairs but Mami ignores him. It’s clear from her cold reception that this visit was not planned. Papi is as shocked as I am. The last time Mami came to the supermarket was during Easter. She only visits during major holidays. This is some fluke.
“Tu. Nena. Take these and set them up in the break room.” Mami dumps the trays on Jasmine without even so much as a greeting. So cold.
Jasmine scowls at Papi as if he should control Mami. He does nothing. I wait for Jasmine to respond with her usual repertoire of curses but she doesn’t. Instead, she snaps her gum and strolls to the back. It’s so weird. Why would she take that from her? Jasmine has never been one to keep quiet. Oscar’s news, and now Mami’s visit, is throwing everyone off their game, including Jasmine.
Although Mami rarely makes appearances at the store, she’s well aware of everyone’s history—whether their child started high school, if another is expecting a baby. Mami shares small anecdotes with each person that prove she remembers them intimately. Although I work with these people, I don’t know half of what she knows about them.
“Muchacha, tú estás comiendo?” The cashieristas measure her thin arms. Mami shoos them away, insisting that she’s fine.
“Claro que sí,” she says. They tease her but there’s nothing mean behind it. The early wave of hostility slowly melts away. She’s the much-needed distraction. Add the fact that Mami brought food and people are like, “Oscar who?”
“Margot, can you make sure that girl back there knows what she’s doing?” She pats my shoulder.
“Jesus, Mom,” I say. “Her name is Jasmine.”
She pushes me along.
The break room is converted into a mini-buffet with burners lit up to keep the delicious food heated. There’s a tray of arroz con gandules. Another tray of roasted pork with garlic. Fried sweet plantains. Alcapurrias and empanadas. Mami did not skimp. I find Jasmine searching for paper plates.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
“Mami wants to treat everyone to lunch,” I say, but I wonder the same thing. Mami hates the drive here but the whole thing with Oscar must have gotten to her. The arguments with Papi lasted throughout the night until eventually he drove off. “Why are you acting nervous?”
“I’m not nervous!” Jasmine says. “I just don’t like surprises.”
“Neither do I.”
I help Jasmine fold napkins. We locate a small bouquet of fake flowers and place it near the food. Not sure why I bother. The minute Mami inspects this, she’ll find something wrong. Jasmine’s nervousness is contagious.
“I need to work. I’m not the maid.” Jasmine uses a napkin to soak up a bit of sauce that’s spilled out from one of the trays. She’s gained a bit of weight. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell that she’s pregnant but the signs are obvious to me. Her hips are more pronounced. And if it’s possible, her mood swings are even more intense.
Just as Jasmine approves the display, Mami sweeps into the room.
“We need some coffee and pastries. Here.” She rummages through her purse. Mami employs the same tone she uses with our housekeeper, Yolanda, not asking but ordering Jasmine to do her bidding. “Go next door and bring two dozen of their desserts. We need something freshly baked, not the dull pastries we sell here. You do know how many are in a dozen?”
Mami then turns to me and says, “Your father should employ people with at least a high school education.”
Jasmine’s face turns bright red. So does mine. But Jasmine does nothing to defend herself. I’m both embarrassed and confused by Mami’s cruelty and Jasmine’s sudden cowardice. What is going on?
“Bueno, nena. I don’t have all day.” Mami dangles the money in front of her face.
Jasmine snatches it and stomps out of the room.
“What’s your problem?” I yell. “Why are you being so mean to her? What has Jasmine ever done to you?”
Mami takes the fake flowers and places them back on the shelf where I found them. She folds the napkins into fans and finds a pitcher of water. She’s undone our efforts in one fell swoop.
“Esa idiota barely finished elementary school. We’re lucky she can count to ten.” Mami’s pleased with her decorative napkins. “Now hand me those cups.”
I throw the cups on the table, intentionally ruining her silly display.
“Jasmine is right, you’re so full of yourself.”
Before I can walk away, Mami takes hold of my arm.
“Fix this right now.”
“No! Fix it yourself.”
“Don’t ever take the side of strangers over family. Ever. Come over here and fix this now.” She pinches my arm. This visit has nothing to do with Oscar. She must know about Jasmine being pregnant. Maybe Junior came clean. This is her way of lashing out about it without confronting the two people outright. My family is so corrupt.
“The person you should be hurting is not here. Go attack Junior. He’s the one to blame.”
Mami lets go. Her hands tremble.
“El que hace lo paga.” She goes back to the table.
“What does that even mean? The person who does it pays for it? You’re talking in riddles!”
I turn quiet when Jasmine returns with the baked goods. She places the box and the money on the table.
“You can keep the change,” Mami says.
“No gracias, Señora Sanchez. Your husband pays me enough.” They stare at each other as if they’re cocking their guns, ready to shoot. Jasmine blinks and leaves.
Mami grabs a plate.
“Quieres pernil?” She acts as if the whole exchange with Jasmine never happened. Mami blames her without once considering Junior is at fault too. It’s so typical to condemn the girl. Jasmine is the bad person, the one who “seduced” Junior, while my brother is absolved of any wrongdoing. He gets away with it.
“I’m not hungry.” I leave her with her banquet of total BS.
Unlike the rest of the workers, who enjoy the feast, Jasmine refuses to take any breaks. She even works through her lunch hour.
Papi stays in seclusion too. He never leaves his office, which is for the best since Mami’s charm works on the others. The workers feel safe enough to state how upset they are and she offers a shoulder. Junior, on the other hand, tries to force everyone back to work. No one follows his orders, not while Mami is there to make things right with food and soothing conversations. She stays at the store for another hour and urges everyone to take home leftovers.
Mami doesn’t fool me with her generous display, not after what she did to Jasmine. This performance is for the others, to show that we’re a united family that will take care of them. We will, but only to a certain degree.
Somewhere out there Moises shakes his head.
Chapter 21
Rain pelts the kitchen window. The wind picks up speed and thrashes against the trees in the backyard. It’s a sure indication that summer is near its end. The crummy weather is a perfect excuse to stay home and avoid everyone. But some people are unavoidable.
“Wassup, sistah?” Junior grabs a French fry off my plate.
“Why aren’t you closing the store?” I ask.
“I got business to attend to. Besides, everyone is on point at that place,” he says. “I’m meeting Ray to check out this new club by Fordham University. Rich college students means money to spend.”
Throughout the week, my brother has transformed into the perfect Sanchez manager. He comes to work early. He’s even started to employ a clipboard, jotting down ideas or customer complaints, a plan I suggested to Papi a long time ago. But I know what’s up. It’s an act, a way for him to butter up Papi to invest in that bar. Who knows? Maybe Papi will change his mind now that Junior is doing the right thing for once.
“What are you doing home, looking mopey?” Junior asks. “Don’t you have any plans?”
I push away my plate. It’s Saturday night and everyone has somewhere to go, including Mami, who was picked up early by a friend to attend some sort of Bible study. We’ve never been religious but as of late, Mami’s been going to church, perhaps as an act of penance for her recent malicious ways. She should, anyway.
Junior shoves a couple more fries in his mouth.
“You’ve been with that face for days,” he says.
“How can you be so happy with what’s going on with Jasmine and Oscar? You are so oblivious.”
“That’s not true. I’m trying to do right by people. Listen, Jasmine refuses to talk to me every time I approach her. I can’t force her to tell me what’s wrong,” he says. “I know we haven’t been nice to each other in a long time but I’m still your big brother.”
I laugh bitterly. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been a complete jerk to me this summer. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you right now. So what if you’re in a good mood? Your happiness is not contagious.”
Guilt invades his face. “You’re right. I haven’t been nice but I’ve been getting it from both sides. You know how it’s been. Things are settling down now. Papi will see I can handle the supermarket and he’ll forget about Oscar. He’ll come around with the bar. Just wait.”
Junior lists his plans for world domination without the slightest clue that I’m no longer listening. After a while, he stops. If there’s no audience, there’s no point in trying to impress. I throw out the rest of my dinner and leave. Let Junior live in his own delusional bubble.
The only thing left to do is wait for school to start. Only two weeks remain in my ten-week supermarket sentence. Soon I’ll be back at Somerset but even that prospect doesn’t hold much hope. The thought of having to perform my fake act depresses me. So much of my time and energy has been invested in becoming this wannabe, but I’m no longer interested in that person or the final outcome. I want my life to rewind to two years ago when I cared less about impressing other people and more about having fun.
On my dresser is a picture of Elizabeth when we went to Playland one summer. We’re dressed in old-fashioned getups. She’s Calamity Jane and I’m Buffalo Bill. The costumes were way too big for our small frames. We were both around twelve. Why does that seem so long ago? I haven’t spoken to her since the concert. She’s probably already heard what went down with Moises and Freddie. No doubt Moises made a move on her after the way I flat-out rejected him. I fool myself into thinking that these hypothetical scenarios don’t bother me and that my moving on from Elizabeth is a sign of maturity. But I miss her.
There’s a soft rap at my bedroom door. Junior pokes his head in.
“Here.”
A glint of gold lands on my pillow. I pick it up.
A solid gold Tiffany heart with the word PRINCESA engraved on the back hangs from a delicate necklace strand. It’s stunning. Every year for my birthday, my parents buy me jewelry from Tiffany. But my birthday is not for another two months. Am I being punked in some way? Junior comes over by me to admire it.
“What’s this for?”
“I planned to give it to you on your birthday but what the hell,” he says.
I caress the heart. There’s no way he could afford a Tiffany on his own. It’s not possible.
“But why? How?”
“Now you can’t wish me dead or that necklace will burn your skin off.” He chuckles. “I’m telling you, things are going to be different. I’m going to be a better person, a better brother to you. Now stop moping around and cheer the hell up.”
I can’t help but love it. This is something to brag about come September. But there it is again: my desire to be liked, not for me, but for what I can acquire. Some superficial label. I will never stop trying.
“This is crazy. I can’t take this. It’s a Tiffany! There’s no way you can afford this.”
“It’s nicer than what those jerks get you, right? See, your b
rother knows how to take care of you.” He still tries to one-up my parents. Even this selfless act comes in the form of a competition.
“This is too much,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut up and take it.”
“But Junior . . .”
He steals a pack of gum on his way out with a grin that only dumb girls could love.
This charm blows the necklace Mami gave me last year out of the water. Still, it doesn’t make sense. It’s one thing to feel guilty but it’s quite another to buy a Tiffany for your sister. Even I would never do that if I had the money. How much could this have cost him? I go online to see for myself.
Jesus. The heart charm is listed at $600 with a chain at $225. My brother may have expensive taste for himself but not for me. There’s no way he would drop that much money on me. Either (a) this necklace isn’t a true Tiffany, (b) it is and it’s totally stolen, or (c) he’s the best brother ever. I aim to find out.
“Hey, Junior!”
There’s no answer. I run downstairs to see if I can catch him before he leaves but I’m too late. There must be a receipt somewhere. I head to his room. The door is always locked but Mami keeps a spare key in a jar.
Junior’s clothes are strewn over the bed and on the floor. He tossed me the necklace without allowing me the opportunity of opening the signature blue Tiffany box. He probably got it off someone selling it on the street. Random guys come to the supermarket and try to sell bootleg DVDs of movies currently out in theaters or “expensive” watches. Depending on his mood, Papi will either chase them out of the store or buy a couple of movies. This necklace has to be a fake.
On top of Junior’s dresser rest the pack of gum he stole, an empty box of cigarettes, and several matchbooks. I search the wastebasket. Nothing. I focus on the bottom drawers and work my way up. Then I make my way underneath the bed. With my haphazard search method, I’m able to locate a couple of joints and a dime bag hidden in a shoe box. But otherwise no luck. I look for a piece of paper, something that proves the necklace is a Tiffany and not a Riffany or a Kiffany.
The Education of Margot Sanchez Page 16
