Here to Stay

by Adriana Herrera

  I got in the car and instead of answering his text, I called my mom. I was hard up enough for a distraction that I was volunteering to be guilted by my entire family for not flying home for Thanksgiving. But if it would get my mind off Rocco, I was doing it. I started pulling out of the parking lot and used the Bluetooth to call, and my mom picked up after the second ring.

  “Y que, Mami? En que estas?” Asking my mother what she was up to the day before a major holiday would probably involve a long string of outrageous stories of clients at her hair salon. Exactly the kind of deterrent I needed in order to keep from opening that text app and asking Rocco to come to my house.

  “Alo! Oh dime, mija?” She sounded distracted, which was not exactly unusual.

  “Mami, que haces?”

  “Nada.” She clearly was not doing nothing, since there was noise like she was on a busy street and I could hear voices. But I wasn’t going to get testy and take a chance on her telling me to call her when I got my attitude adjusted. Talking to someone who was not Rocco Fucking Quinn, or about him, was my number one priority at the moment.

  “Julita, te llamo después. I have to go, mija.”

  “Pero, Mami!” I protested as my mom ended the call after only a few seconds. I guess my family were doing their thing without me. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.

  I parked my car in my building’s lot trying not to feel too sorry for myself. Moping around was not going to help me any. I felt lonely and needy, and I couldn’t tell if it was because I missed my family, or because I wanted Rocco. No, that was a lie. I knew the answer to that, it was both. I wanted my family and I wanted him. Almost as badly, which was so fucking foolish I wondered if getting dumped by Matt had taught me anything at all. I got out of my car lost in my thoughts, and was so in my feelings they caught me completely by surprise.

  Just as I was about to walk up to the little porch by my door, my father and sister jumped out of the bushes behind me and almost gave me a freaking cardiac episode.

  “Surprise!”

  I let out a shriek so loud, I knew the neighbors were going to come to see what was happening.

  My grandma and my mother walked out from behind the stairs leading to the upper-level apartments, with enormous grins on their faces.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I asked, not sure how to react. They were all here. My entire family.

  My dad was the first to grab me into a tight hug, and it felt so good. I hadn’t seen them since my visit on Fourth of July weekend. I’d still been mopey and out of sorts after the breakup with Matt. But now, even with all this shit with Rocco and the IPO going on, I was kind of excited for them to get to see my place.

  “Papi, pero y como llegaron?” I asked my dad as he went in for a second hug. His bald head was covered in his always present Yankees fitted. “I just talked to Mami.” I turned to her as she and Abuela grabbed me for hugs next.

  “Ay, mija, we were already here!” she said, chuckling as Abuela pulled me toward the door. They had all their bags sitting on the little bistro set I had in front of the apartment.

  Abuela started looking at the plants I had set on the corner. “Julita, these look beautiful, mama. I didn’t know you liked to garden.” She was wearing a thick parka even though it was in the sixties, her dark brown face only now at seventy-five lined with a few wrinkles. I knew under the parka she was probably wearing a jacket to match her gray trousers and under that a colorful top that most likely was the same color as her bright orange flats and dangly earrings. My grandmother planned her travelling outfits like she was getting on a plane to go to a meeting at the UN. She was constantly horrified when she saw people in airports walking around in their pajamas.

  “Abuelita, you look amazing. You cut your hair!” She’d let her hair go gray in the last few years, and she was sporting a pixie cut now. Most likely my mom’s idea. My gorgeous grandmother was my mom’s living model and very willing guinea pig for any new styles she wanted to try.

  She carefully patted the top of her hair. “You like it?”

  “I love it.” I slid an arm over her shoulder, feeling needy for more hugs from my family.

  “Mi muchachita,” my grandma gasped, calling me her little girl even though I was on the other side of thirty. “You look so pretty. This dry air suits you, mi amor.”

  I shook my head at my sister, who was letting the old people get a piece of me first. “Y tu? Traidora? You couldn’t give me a hint that this invasion was going down, huh?”

  Paula gave me a tiny smile and one of the awkward one-armed hugs she’d been giving us since puberty hit. She was dressed in her hipster/goth attire, black boots, jeans, and top. She had new fashionable purple-framed glasses and a cute bright yellow cardigan, and suspenders the same color as her frames.

  “You look good, baby sis. I like this bold use of color. How was travelling with the old people?”

  Her eye roll was a full-body thing. “Dad made me listen to a book about the border the entire flight up. It was good, but I had my own stuff to read.”

  “Don’t even front like whatever he made you read wasn’t already on your list,” I told her as we walked into my apartment.

  Paula dramatically threw her hands up and gestured toward the Herschel backpack my dad had put in the corner. “Yes! But I had a ton of shows I wanted to catch up on too.”

  Dad winked at me as he inquired about what to do with his bags. “Papi, the rooms are down the hall.” I’d been telling my family about how much room I had for months, but now that there were five of us in here instead of just me, the place was starting to feel cramped.

  The living room was spacious for two or three people, but not so much for five. And the dining room was just a small round table with four chairs next to the kitchen. I had a double bed in the extra bedroom, because I was Dominican and Puerto Rican and knew it was only a matter of time before my entire family showed up to visit. Our people do not do hotels.

  “Papi, put your stuff in the bigger room and Paula and Buela can sleep in the other one.” I pointed toward my gorgeous blue velvet couch. “I can sleep on this.” The outcry, as expected, was immediate.

  “No, mija, we can’t kick you out of your bedroom. I’ll take the couch.” That was my grandmother.

  Paula waved me off and took her backpack from where it was sitting on the floor and launched onto the couch. “I’ll sleep here, Buela.”

  My dad, who was the only reasonable person in the family, just shrugged and started moving toward the room. “It’s Julia’s house, Mama.” This was my mother’s mom. My dad’s mom had died when he was a young boy, but he loved his mother-in-law and had always called her Mom. “We sleep where it suits her.”

  Instantly my grandmother, who basically worshipped the ground my father walked on and never disagreed with him on anything, nodded and came to give me a peck on the cheek. “Esta bien, mami. We can let Paulita have the couch and you and me can take the guest bedroom.”

  “Julita.” That was my mother yelling from the kitchen, where she already had half her body inside the fridge.

  “Si, Mami.”

  “Mija, we need to go to the store.” The tinge of horror in her voice indicated that my pantry and fridge were just not cutting it for whatever Thanksgiving meal plan she and my grandmother had.

  She waved me over frantically, needing to show me the reason for her agitated state. “Mama, ven aca. We need to make a list if we’re going to make the pernil and moro for tomorrow.”

  I rushed over to the kitchen, to try and reel in whatever was about to happen. My mother did the most for holidays. “I have guandules.” I pointed to Paula, who was already dutifully holding a notepad and starting to jot things down as my grandmother listed them.

  “We brought some too,” my mother confirmed, and I congratulated myself on keeping my sigh on the inside. “One can never have enough g
uandules, Julita.”

  I begged to differ.

  “Whatever we don’t use we’ll make them for you and freeze them.” With that my grandmother sauntered into the kitchen, already wearing more casual, non-airport attire, and opened the freezer door.

  “Ay, Yolanda.” My abuela called my mother over like she was about to report I had a human head in the freezer. “All she has is ice cream and vodka.” Tongue clicking ensued while they continued to inspect my deplorable living conditions, and I left them to go check on my dad.

  I found him on my bed reading something on his phone.

  “Hey, Papi.”

  He looked up with his glasses perched on his nose, such a contrast from the fashionable sweater he had on. I laughed and pointed at his just-as-well-fitting jeans.

  “Is Mami still picking out your outfits, Papi?” He gave me a look that said, “You know she is.”

  “I lost that fight in ’93 after she caught me trying to wear white socks with dress shoes.” I chuckled remembering my mom’s astonishment whenever she talked about my dad’s utter lack of fashion sense.

  “Ay, no, mija, ese hombre no parece Caribeño,” my mother always lamented. According to her, my dad had been born without the Latinx swag gene.

  I sat down by him on the bed, taking off my own work shoes. “Thanks for the surprise, Papi. I’m glad you guys are here. I was missing home,” I confessed, although the fact they were here told me they had suspected as much.

  “We missed you too, mija. You look good though. How did the visit from the executives go?” My dad never ever forgot anything related to my work. Especially the stressful stuff. He knew how things were, being a social worker himself. Even though he’d been a professor for almost twenty years, he was always looking to get grants for his research.

  “It was good and weird.” I hadn’t talked to my parents about the connection between Rocco—who I’d told them a lot about—and my program’s potential funding issues. They would worry and start pitching solutions or ways to deal, and things were confusing enough already. But now that I had my dad face-to-face, I was ready to crack.

  “Aqui estan.” My mom’s voice snapped us out of our quiet chat. This was always the dynamic in my house—my dad the quiet, calming presence, and my mom the whirlwind who was always up to something.

  “Mi vida.”

  His life. That had always been what my dad called my mother, and the way he looked at her, even after thirty-five years together, showed that it was exactly how he saw her. He patted the empty spot next to him on the bed. “Ven, amor. Come sit with us for a minute. Julia was about to tell me about her job event.”

  My mom perked up at that, walking over from where she stood in the doorway to my room. She kissed my forehead before getting in the bed with Dad. “I’m going to the store with your abuela and Paula.” I was about to protest about the lines, but she held her hand up like she knew exactly what I was about to say. “I know it’s going to be busy, but Paula called the Mexican market that’s just a couple of miles away and they have everything we need. Now give me a quick update.”

  I smiled at her, knowing she was itching to go and get the stuff for her feast together, but also didn’t want to leave without hearing what I’d been doing first. I started to speak and stopped when I realized I was about to start with Rocco. If I did, they’d know that there was more to him than just the fact that he was part of my new group of friends. They’d know, because they knew me.

  I breathed in and regrouped. I realized after a moment that I had so much to say. Rocco was a big part of it, but there was a lot more. I had been building a life here. I could tell my parents about Salome and her badass research all over the Caribbean and East Africa, Dani’s Instagram game, Tariq’s drive and his cute and obvious crush on José. I wanted to tell them about how much I’d enjoyed the academy today and the families and how far the kids had come even in the three and a half months since school started.

  I’d been so preoccupied in keeping my head down and working, to prove to myself I was surviving without Matt, I’d forgotten to take stock of what I’d been actually doing. The pang I felt when I remembered that Rocco would only be part of it for a few more weeks was something I needed to work on, but there was a lot there to be glad for. My parents both looked at me curiously, like they could see my head was a jumble of thoughts.

  My dad, who always had the uncanny ability to read my mind, reached over and squeezed my arm. “Cuéntanos.”

  “Job’s actually going well, other than Vicki, of course. She’s a pain in the ass, but Gail’s well aware of that and I think she’s actively trying to find a way to let her go, before she does something that gets us shut down.” I pursed my lips thinking about how flaky she’d been today. “It sucks having someone in a leadership position that’s such a mess, but I get a lot of support from Gail.”

  “That’s good. You need to be supported, so you can support your team.” That was my dad, always the social worker.

  “Tell me about the families, baby, and your friends. They all sound so nice.” My mom, the people person.

  “The families are awesome. The kids are doing so much better since the beginning of the year. Their grades have gone up and almost all of them are involved in one of the school’s extracurricular activities and adapting really well.” I could feel my cheeks popping as I talked. I felt proud of myself for having so much to report to my folks. “The attendance rate for the after-school program is over ninety percent. They love coming to the program.”

  That got me a sound of approval from my dad. He loved a heartwarming update backed up with some numbers.

  “Out of the juniors we’re working with, almost all of them are pretty serious about college, some community college to start, but they’re all interested in something after high school.” I shook my head thinking of all the adversity those kids came up against just to sit in the classroom and be ready to learn.

  “We’re working with the families too, because there is a lot of trauma there. Almost every single one of our kids has at least one family member—in many cases a parent—who’s undocumented. A lot of our kids are undocumented themselves, and the uncertainty is putting them through hell. It’s hard to stay optimistic sometimes, but they’re working hard and so are we.”

  “You’re doing such wonderful things, mija. We’re so proud of you.” My mom always got corny when I talked about job stuff.

  “Thanks, Mami. Friends are good too.” My face felt hot just thinking about Rocco and how bad I wanted to talk about him to my parents, but I shut that down.

  “Tell us about your friend Rocco.”

  I should’ve known. It was like my parents could sniff this stuff out. “He’s good, I guess. Everyone’s good.” My parents shared a look and I kept rambling. “He’s working as a consultant for Sturm’s, so I’m trying to keep things professional and not hang out with him a lot.”

  And before I could stop myself, more verbal vomit came out of my mouth.

  “His family is kind of chaotic, but he has a younger sister he helps out a lot. He’s a good guy.”

  More than. Rocco was an extremely decent human being and I liked him. But not for me and not that way.

  My father was seeing a whole lot more than I wanted him to. “Is he in town? You should invite him over for dinner if he is.”

  I shook my head hard because that was the worst idea possible. No way was I putting Rocco and my family together. My dad would figure out my crush within seconds.

  “Uh, I think he’s in town, but I’m sure he has plans.” Yes, I was lying through my teeth, but I was not going there. Nope. I got up from the bed and looked around to try to spot my yoga pants and sweatshirt.

  “Mami, let me change my clothes and I’ll go with you to the store.”

  My dad smiled at me and it clearly said, “We know what you’re up to, and we’re leaving
you alone...for now.”

  “No, baby, stay with your papi. Paula wants to drive there. You know how she gets about cars.” I laughed at that. My sister’s dream was to go to college in a city with no public transportation. She loved driving.

  “Okay, if you think you’re good, I’ll stay. I have no desire to go to the meat market and fight people for the last pernil in the store.”

  My mother actually hiked up her jeans at the mention of the last pork shoulder in the store and the potential scuffle. “No te preocupes, Julia. We’ll come home with that pernil.” Like I was worried about my Dominican mother and grandmother losing a fight over the last piece of pork before a major holiday. I was concerned for everyone else in the Dallas area trying to take it from them though.

  “I know you will, Mami.”

  My dad called out from the bathroom where he was arranging their toiletries. “Don’t get into a fight over there, mi vida. Just get a couple of chickens, we’ll survive. Being together is what matters.”

  My mother rolled her eyes and left without answering.

  After I went to the guest room to change out of my work clothes, I came back to find my dad in the living room watching ESPN.

  “So, tell me the real story with you and Rocco.”

  I chuckled in defeat as I sat next to him on the couch. He ran his hand over my thick mass of curls. “I’m glad you got my hair, so at least I can remember what it looked like.”

  I laughed at that and gave him another hug. It was good to have my family here, and also so weird for them to be in my space. When I lived in New York, I was always going to them. Living in a tiny apartment with a roommate was not exactly the best situation to receive guests, and home had always been their house. But this place felt mine.

  “Nothing’s happening. Rocco’s nice. So are all the exiles, to be honest.”