“That’s none of your business. I have my reasons,” I huff out.
He lets out a deep breath. “Fine, you’re right. She needs space, just don’t give up on her.”
I look up at the roof of my dorm building. “Ethan, we’ll never fully trust each other. She knows it, and so do I.”
“Then why are you waiting for her to end the break?”
“Because…” I stutter. “Because?—”
“I’ll see you next week, Cam. Good luck.” He hangs up.
I sit on my bed, going over the conversation we just had. Whyam Istill waiting for her?
That little devil pops out again, except this time it’s like he’s hounding me with questions I don’t know the answers to. Not yet, anyways. This isn’t like me at all. Kamila was always the one panicking and overthinking, not me. Not unless someone else drove me to the brink of insanity, which is what’s happening now, and I’m not fond of it.
God, if I ever tell anyone about the little metaphorical devil on my shoulder, they’ll institutionalize me. I never thought I’d be so relieved to celebrate Thanksgiving and leave Driscoll for a couple of days. Since I’m not leaving today, though, and don’t want to spend the night alone with this thing on my shoulder, I open the group chat.
Me: I need a drink or five.
Will: Your place at eight?
Zoey: I’ll bring snacks!
Me: And extra booze. See you then.
Chapter Thirty-Two
KAMILA
“Kamila, Ana,arreglen la mesa, por favor, que ya van a llegar tu tía y tu prima.” Kamila, Ana, please set the table, your aunt and cousin are almost here.
“¡Ya vamos ma!” We’ll be right there, Mom!
I bang on Ana’s door, again. “Ana, mamá quiere que arreglemos la mesa apúrate. Has estado en ese maldito cuarto todo el día y no has ayudado con nada.” Ana, Mom wants us to set the table so hurry up. You’ve been in that damn room all day and you haven’t helped us at all.
“I’ve been busy doing homework. I’ll be down in a minute.”
That’s code forI’m not going down to help anytime soon.Flipping my sister off through the door, I head to the dining room to set up the table on my own.
My mom scowls then looks away, and continues to toss the salad she’s making. “¿Dónde está Ana?” Where’s Ana?
“She’s doing some homework. She’ll be down soon.”
Mom gives me a look that clearly states she’s calling bullshit, but lets it go. She is already stressed about making dinner and her twin sister coming over so there’s no point in adding more.
Thanksgiving in our house usually consists of my aunt, her daughter, who’s four years younger than us, and our core familyhere in the house. Christmas is a different story. Every year we have a party on Christmas Eve where friends and family come, even relatives from Colombia and Venezuela sometimes. Although with how the airline prices are looking this year, I doubt that’ll be the case. Christmas is my favorite holiday, and Thanksgiving is my aunt’s for some odd reason since Latinos don’t traditionally celebrate it. It’s the only reason my mom puts so much effort into the day.
Her and her sister are very close, closer than Ana and I are by a mile. My aunt helped Mom out after she turned into a single parent, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. Her daughter and my cousin, Valeria, has grown up to be an amazing person, and I look forward to her visits every couple of months.
Once the table is to my liking, I turn around to see how my mom’s doing in the kitchen. The dining room and cooking area are open concept while the living room is on the opposite side of the staircase that serves as a divider between spaces. This small house is the only thing our father left my mom when we were babies, and thank God he did. With the current New York prices, this house is now three times as expensive as it was before. It’s no mansion, but it might as well be for the city. It has two bathrooms and three small bedrooms. Mine is the smallest. However, I managed to make it the coziest.
Rafael and my mom are singing and dancing in place on opposite sides of the kitchen counter to some older salsa music while cooking. The sight warms my heart. Ana and I never felt the need to know anything about our birth father after finding out what had happened before the divorce. We also never harbored any pain due to the fact that he left. We were only a year old when it happened. Rafael has been there for us through the most important years of our lives. He’s also taken great care of our mother and vice versa. Besides that, it helps that he’s a great cook too, just like my mom. We all contribute with holiday dinners. My part is always desserts, which are already done. Anadoesn’t really cook, so it was no surprise when my mom said dinner was up to her and Rafael.
My sister’s been acting weirder than usual the past few weeks. I’m not sure what Ana’s deal is. Sometimes, she’ll be super nice during our calls, and other times, she’ll just start a stupid random argument that’s usually one-sided. I’m not sure if she’s back on the partying bender, and I don’t bother asking my mom about it since she would’ve already told me.
My focus returns to what’s happening in the kitchen, where I see Rafael wrap his arms around Mom and places the knife she was holding down.
“Rafael, we’re running out of time.” She tries to shove him off while smiling.
