sparkling with genuine affection as he ran a finger over the gold label of the beer. “Yeah, I talked to them for a little bit. My sister is in a young mothers’ group and they do a nice Thanksgiving potluck with the kids.” And just as soon as the smile for his niece had appeared, it was gone. When he spoke again, the tone was flat, like he didn’t want to give anything away. “She may stop to see my parents later too.” He fiddled with his bottle some more, face shuttered from any emotion.
“You and your family aren’t close?” That was my dad.
Rocco took time to consider his words. He lifted his head and looked at my dad, then moved just a little bit closer to me. It was a ghost of a movement, but my fool head went right to where it should not and decided the closeness made him feel more at ease.
When he answered, his voice sounded stronger and I wished I could thread my hand in his. Let him know I could tell he was making an effort to not let the conversation affect him or change the mood in the room.
“My family is a bit chaotic. My sister and I are close, but my parents are...hard.” He tried smiling through those last words, but his eyes did not match the expression. “Holidays can be stressful. I’ll be home for Christmas though.”
My dad was now fully into social worker mode, and it was taking everything I had not to bookend Rocco into an empathic-listening cocoon.
“Julia’s right, sounds like you have a lot to be proud of too.” Rocco stopped picking at the label on the bottle and looked at Paula, who was curled up on my armchair with her Beats perched on her head, engrossed in whatever she was watching on her tablet.
“I had to stay strong for my sister. She’s about nine years younger than me. I stayed there as long as I could, but I left when I realized me being there made things worse for everyone. What took me a lot of therapy to untangle was that my dad not hitting us didn’t mean he wasn’t abusive.”
He shook his head then, and seemed to be getting tired from having to talk about this stuff. “He talked down to us a lot, told me I wouldn’t amount to anything. He never helped my mom with the house or with us but nitpicked everything she did. We never knew what we’d get when he got back home from work; sometimes her making the wrong thing for dinner would send him on a rampage. With my sister, he was a little better, but not much, and it was relentless. That’s why this project is sort of a big one for me. If I do well here, I’m in line for a promotion.”
He lifted a shoulder and when he looked at me, there was more than a little regret in his eyes. “I’ll have Sofia and Blue come live with me. Move to a place outside the city with better schools.”
The reminder of what was at stake for Rocco hit me like a ton of bricks. This wasn’t just about him. He had his sister and little niece depending on him.
“We’re glad you’re here now, son.” With that, my dad stood up, put his hand on Rocco’s shoulder, and squeezed. “Aqui estas en familia.”
He blushed at my dad’s words. “You’re with family.” It was something that Latinx people said to friends and visitors all the time. Mi casa es tu casa, and all that.
We were big on hospitality. That was a stereotype that actually fit with reality. But hearing my dad say it to Rocco and seeing the reaction it had on him, how his shoulders relaxed and his smile widened, made me wish for things I could not have.
Just as I was mulling over those very things, my mother yelled from the kitchen, “Vamos a comer.”
“You ready for this?” I couldn’t tell exactly what I was referring to, but dinner didn’t seem to be quite it.
Still, he gave a sharp nod and started moving. “I am.”
We all stood to attention as my mom’s voice rallied us all to the kitchen. While we walked the few steps, I felt his hand brush against my lower back. A light touch, it could’ve been accidental, but when I looked up I could see it wasn’t. The tender smile on his lips gave it away. I stood there, just