“Y-You’re being nice to me and praising me,” I mutter.“What else am I supposed to think?”
She flushes.“You’re my daughter.I can be proud of you if I want.”
There it is.Another—She said she was proud of me.
“Are you doing drugs?”I whisper, horrified now, my own worries long forgotten in the face of such terrifying behavior from her.
“Eve!”
“Well, what is wrong with you?!”I burst out.“Something has to be wrong.You’re not acting like yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”she snaps, frustrated.“You’ve seen me be nice to your…”
Her voice fades, realization forming in her eyes, and I continue her sentence slowly.“...to my siblings, Mamá.Not to me.What’s going on?You can tell me.I won’t say anything.”
She turns her back to me.For a moment, I think I see her shoulders shake, and when she speaks, her voice is unsteady.“Why don’t you go take a shower,mija?”
“I—Okay.”I look around frazzled.“I have juice in the fridge.I’m out of everything else, but I was going to go to the store tomorrow.If you’re hungry, I can order in, or I can take you?—”
“Go shower.”Her command is absolute.
Confused, I go to my bedroom.I have a thousand questions in my head and can’t seem to find a reasonable answer to any one of them.With the door closed, I fumble with my phone, calling Marco.He picks up after the second ring.
Before he can say anything, I blurt out, “Mamá is here.In my apartment.”
Silence from the other end, and then, “And?”
“Marco, what does she want?”I can’t hide the panic in my voice.
“She wants to see you.”
“To do what?”
His voice turns gentle.“Hermanita, she regrets what she did.After the police station, she thought you would come to see her, but you never did.She is swallowing her pride and coming to you instead.”
I sink onto the bed, staring at the door.“But why?”
“Because she’s your mother?”
I wish I could say I understood him, but that statement doesn’t make sense to me.My mind is drawing a blank.
“Mamá’s a prideful woman, Eve,” Marco murmurs.“Like you.It’s not easy for her to admit her mistakes, so can you be a little kind?I know I have no right to ask it of you.”
“What mistakes?”I lay down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.
“How she’s been treating you.I don’t think she realized how far she had pushed you away.She’s trying, Eve.If you think it’s too late…”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, swallowing hard.“I don’t know, Marco.”
“Just try if you can, Eve.You’ve been through a lot.I’m not pressuring you.Whatever you decide, I’ll respect your decision.”I say goodbye and end the call, clutching the phone to my chest.
After a few minutes, I sit up and head to the shower, and by the time I emerge from my room, wrapped in my robe with my hair still damp, the apartment smells like home.Not my current home, but the home of my childhood—cumin and coriander, garlic and ginger, all the warm spices that used to fill our kitchen when I was young.I pad to the kitchen and find my mother bustling around like she owns the place.The counters are covered with ingredients I know I don’t have in my pantry.She brought them along with her, including the fresh vegetables and the cuts of meat on my kitchen counter.
“You brought all this?”I ask, stunned.“Mamá, how much food are you cooking?”
“I’ll freeze some for you.Your fridge is empty.Don’t you cook?”
“I forgot to get groceries delivered this week.But I don’t usually get time to cook anything extravagant," I admit, tasting one of the marinades.My mouth instantly waters.
