“Mija, are you listening?” And it seemed my mother was still not done.
“Si, Mami.” I managed to keep the sigh all the way down in my chest.
“Did you get the thing I sent you?”
I was grateful for the fact that we were not on FaceTime and twisted my mouth to the side, because my mother truly did too much.
“You mean the box full of dry beans and adobo? Seriously, Yolanda.” I smirked picturing her narrowing her eyes at me using her name.
“Fresca.” I laughed at that, my mother was not down with me calling her by her name. “I’m not one of your little friends, Julia del Mar.”
I cleared my throat in an effort to at least sound a bit less like I was laughing at her. “How am I being fresh? You know it’s true. With all the Goya food you’ve sent me I just need to get a Yankees fitted and I’ll be able to open a bodega out of my apartment.”
“Tan exagerada.” She tried really hard to sound mad, but I could hear the hint of a smile in her voice.
“I’m not exaggerating. I got pounds of guandules in my apartment.”
My mother had taken my move hard. I knew she missed me. I missed her too, but I was determined to make a go of things here. I would not go back to New York City with my tail between my legs.
“I know it’s disappointing, but I need to do this right now, okay?” I pushed down the knot in my throat and tried to scare off the tears pooling in my eyes by staring up at the ceiling. Crying on the phone with my mother would really set off a rescue operation. “I need to stay here, and see this job through. Matt wasn’t the only reason why I came to Texas.”
I cringed at my slip. Mentioning my ex’s name would send my mother and abuela to the land of petty in a hot second.
It took less than that. “It’s all that pendejo’s fault, making you move down there and leaving you to chase after some sucia from his office.” I miraculously managed to keep another sigh inside. “I knew that boy was trouble from the day I met him. What kind of decent person comes to meet his girlfriend’s family empty-handed? Not even a loaf of bread or some fruit in all those years. Nada.”
Yes, she was still holding that grudge.
The disbelief in my mother’s voice would’ve been funny at any other moment, but the last thing I wanted to do right now was get into a conversation about my ill-fated move and my ex’s trifling ass.
“Mami, I don’t want to talk about Matt. Yes, he’s trash, but he doesn’t matter anymore. This year is about me, no romance, no distractions. Nada.” I sliced the air with my hand as if she could see me. “I’m focusing on my job, which I actually love, and trying to build a life here. Esta bien, Mami? Can you guys support me in that?”
That was a low blow, because my mom, all of my family really, was nothing but supportive.
“Mija. I just worry. It’s so hot in that place.”
Oh no, not the heat again. I was never going to get to that meeting.
“It’s so dry. Mariita told me when she went there her hands cracked. Did you get the lotion I sent you?”
My mother was convinced the regular drugstore hand lotions from New York City were somehow more effective than the ones in Dallas and sent me so many tubes I could probably stay moisturized through a zombie apocalypse.
“You know I did. Don’t send me any more, Mami. I only have two hands, and you sent me enough to keep my skin supple for decades.”
“Muchachita.” Her voice had that familiar mix of love and exasperation that defined our relationship. “Okay, bye, but remember to drink lots of water, mija. Our people are not built for that dry heat.” I ended the call after agreeing to do everything she said, including walking around with the jug with a straw she’d sent me.
I realized I’d accidentally had my mother on speaker—she was so loud I could no longer tell the difference—when I heard what sounded very much like someone trying not to choke from trying not to laugh.
Awesome.
It had to be about my call. My mother’s voice carried for miles. But I didn’t look up to find out who was laughing their ass off at my expense and focused on