“I bet Abuelita can run pretty fast in heels,” Lou says, jumping in on the ribbing over the capabilities of senior citizens.
“Just the opposite,” Abuelita corrects, cracking open the door to the bathroom just wide enough for us to see her eyes. “Go make yourself comfortable on the couch, we’ll be in in a minute.” The girls and I look at each other.We? And then they dig back into the pudding.
“Oh my God, Abuela has a boyfriend,” I lean over and whisper into the ears of the girls who’ve decided to sit on the floor with their snack, backs against the couch.
“Do you think she called us over to tell us she’s getting married? Is he here?” Lou and Coco turn and ask me at the same time. They’ve never seen their abuela with a man, let alone heard her talk about dating one.
“We all know Abuelita has better skills with boys than any of us do,” Lou giggles, having witnessed her grandmother sweet talk her way into discounts all over the greater Bay Area. The trick, Gloria has instructed them, is to always get in the line where a man is working as the checker. Never a woman, they won’t fall for the game. Gloria’s life advice about seeking support from other women has gone against what I have drilled into the twins, that is to walk through the world as women who boost other women up. One of my favorite economic policy aphorisms is the belief that “rising tides lift all boats.” It works for female empowerment as well as economics.
“Hey, I had a boyfriend,” Coco protests. She’s not sure she wants to be associated with her sister’s or her mother’s lack of experience with the opposite sex.
“For about a minute,” Lou reminds Coco. Coco’s first boyfriend traded her in for an older woman of fifteen and then proceeded to ignore her. When I wasn’t consumed with wanting to throttle his pencil neck, my heart broke for Coco. Her desperate attempts to put herself in the twerp’s sightline at interschool events brought me back to Ash’s microeconomics office hours and me hoping that this time, unlike the last dozen, my perfect problem set would be the thing that made Ash notice me.
“If she is getting remarried, that must be one secure man because Abuela still wears Abuelo’s ring,” I blurt out.I should have probably kept that thought in my head.
“Shame on you, Toni. I am not getting remarried,” Gloria disciplines me from behind the bathroom door, her hearing as healthy as a horse’s.
“Then come out of the bathroom and tell us why we had to come over here so fast. The girls are about to make themselves sick off your majarete,” I report, the minutes ticking. I need to get to the airport, and I still have no clue what my mother’s texting desperation is about.“And for God’s sake, let out whoever you are holding hostage in there with you.”
Gloria strolls out of the bathroom in tailored black pants, a polished cream silk blouse, and the most sensible shoes I have ever seen her in, a low pump that doesn’t give toe cleavage. A simple gold chain is around her neck, her wedding ring now accompanying the cross.So, she isn’t wearing her wedding ring anymore.There definitely must be a love interest in the bathroom, and from the looks of my mother’s conservative outfit, he’s likely a strict Catholic. She would never go for a Protestant. I thought I had shed devout Catholics when Simon left, and with him went the mandatory attendance at Sunday mass with my in-laws. I fear Gloria may be bringing piety back into my life with this new person.
“Ehrm,either you are dating an evangelical, or the apartment complex is having a costume party. Which one is it, Mami?” I can’t think of any other reason Gloria would be standing in front of the three of us, who know her best as a woman in a waist shaper, disguised as an insurance broker.
Ignoring my petty humor, with a clearing of her throat Gloria announces, “I have something to give you,” and reaches into her pants pocket to pull out a folded piece of paper. She extends her arm to hand it to me. I’m terrified my mother has either been sued for negligence by the family of Richard Harris, who threw his back out at Saturday night’s salsa lesson last week, or she’s gone loca and is asking me to proofread the ransom note for the person she’s holding under duress in her bathroom.
I unfold the heavy paper carefully, realizing it’s perforated a third of the way down. “Last month the Senior Connection hired me as their arts and activities coordinator.” My mom claps her hands together, giddy with her news. I can’t believe it. At sixty-five, when most people are looking to retire from their very last job, my mom has accepted her very first. “I’m no longer a volunteer! I have a job with a salary and benefits.” Gloria puts her hand up for a high five from her granddaughters. Being employed and high-fiving are two things I have never seen Gloria do. I look at her in disbelief.
“Damn Abuelita, you’re killing it!” Lou cheers. I shoot her a look to watch her language around her grandmother.
“I am killing it, sí?” My mom nods in agreement.
“Open it, open it!” I’m commanded as my mother does a mini cha-cha across the carpet. A check for $948, after taxes, stares back at me.
Ah, I’m beginning to see. Gloria is playing the part of an employee donning professional attire. That’s what gives with the black slacks and pumps. “Now that I’m a working woman, I would like to be your first official investor in Brown Butter, Baby!.”
“Did you tell her yet?!” a familiar voice calls out loudly from behind the bathroom door. “Can I come out now?”
“Yes, yes, come out,” my mom calls and walks over to the bathroom door to open it. A walnut wood derby cane reaches over the threshold first, its tip confidently placed so the hand may follow. A leg with a shoe equally reasonable to my mother’s follows behind. And then I see a smooth brunette helmet perfectly hair sprayed into position.
“Hello, Antonia.” Mrs. Eisenberg beams, pleased with herself. She’s standing tall, chin held high, her hand gripping the ball of her cane for security and wearing a suit I recognize.
“Mrs. Eisenberg, is that the—”
“It sure is,” Mrs. Eisenberg confirms, patting the shoulder pads with her free hand. “If it was good enough for having an investment meeting with Steve Jobs, it’s good enough to have a business meeting with you. Plus, it still fits!” The three of us at the couch are graced with a little shimmy from our stylish blooming cactus.
“What’s going on here?” I move myself forward from my relaxed schlump into my childhood couch. I need to shake my head to perk myself up from what I thought was going to be a casual visit to restart my mom’s Wi-Fi. Scraping the bottom of the bowl like she’s never been fed, Coco glances up, finally interested in what is going on in front of her.
Gloria shifts to stand next to Mrs. Eisenberg. “Well, after a couple of times going over to Sylvia’s house to do her hair, I could tell she was getting restless spending every day in her own four walls.” There aremore than four walls in Mrs. Eisenberg’s home. If you have to be on health house arrest, that’s the house to do it in.
“So tiresome,” Mrs. Eisenberg adds for emphasis. “I’m Sylvia, by the way,” Mrs. Eisenberg introduces herself to Lou and Coco.
“I love your earrings, Sylvia,” Lou says, staring wide-eyed at the biggest diamonds she has ever seen outside of social media.
“Mrs. Eisenberg!” my mom and I correct Lou in unison.
“So old-school,” Mrs. Eisenberg retorts in mock exasperation and winks at the girls.
“We have called this surprise meeting because the two of us have been talking,” Mrs. Eisenberg continues.Feels more like a hostile takeover.“We would like to join you onInnovation Nation.”
