And with that, two people immediately come to mind. One, tall, dark, handsome, tattooed. Generous, gentle, thoughtful, quietly intense. The second, tiny, adorable, sparkly. Bright, curious. A sassy shrimp. My eyes sting. “But what if that happiness is wrong?”
Mai frowns at me. “How could happiness be wrong?”
“I used to take care of Mike because I thought it made me happy,” I say. “It’s what I thought I was supposed to do. Making him happy meant making myself happy.”
Mai takes a sip of hertisana.“That’s my fault, I think.”
I look at my mother, with her warm brown eyes identical to mine. I am struck by how the strongest person I’ve ever known looksold. Worn down. The new wrinkles on her face, the slope of her shoulders, the hunch of her spine. She looks exhausted. I bet I’m starting to look the same. “Why did you do it for dad?” I whisper.
She looks out the window. “I thought it was what I was supposed to do, too,” she says finally. “But looking back now, almost a decade later? I think it was a combination of a few things. It’s been passed down through generations, I think. I spent my whole life watching your grandmother and her mother do the same.”
“I think they call that generational trauma.”
She nods once. “That fits. I think there was also a level of manipulation on your father’s part. An expectation of me as a woman and a mother.”
“And I think they call that gaslighting now.”
“I also saw a meme on the Instagram that referenced something calledmachismo. That fit, too.” She heaves a sigh, deep from her belly. “Your father had that whole tough guy, man of the house attitude. No showing weakness, no talking about feelings. And women are supposed to be supportive and nurturing and keep house to reinforce that whole ‘man in charge’ thing.”
It’s tough to wrap my head around. I’ve always considered myself a boss-ass bitch, at least it some aspects of my life, but clearly not in my relationships. I guess it runs deep. Invasive. Insidious, unnoticed and untreated. This is what Dom was talking about, the issue he struggles with, that Tagalog word for shame. I find myself understanding why it’s not something you can just shake off, pretend it doesn’t exist.
“I can’t tell you how much it’s pained me to watch my daughter take this on, make the same mistakes I made, but you have to understand that these are pretty new thoughts and concepts and introspections I’ve had.” Mai laughs. “Is it sad that I’ve learned a lot of it from memes on the Instagram?”
I cover her hand with mine.
“I don’t think Dom is one of those mistakes, though,mija,” she continues.
I look at her.
“I don’t think you’re losing yourself with him, because it’s a true partnership. There’s a give and a take.” She removes her hand and places it on top of mine now. “There’s a reciprocal flow of love.”
Dom, the opposite of toxic masculinity. Dom taking on some of the Back to School Tasks. Dom making sure I’m fed, making sure I sleep, making sure I’m not overworked. Dom taking care of me when I’m sick, making sure I have fun, helping me build New and Improved Real Life Lina. Backing off when he senses I need it, but always steady, secure, safely there if I need that, too. My eyes burn again.
My mom sees, stands up, wraps me in her arms. I rest my face on her chest. “There are two things you should do next,” she says.
“Go apologize,” I mumble.
“And hire an AP,” she says, with a kiss to my forehead.
* * *
At work the next day, I send some texts to some DOE friends I’ve made over the years. I create a job posting on the DOE open market forum. By the end of the day, I have a sizable amount of resumes in my email.
After I read a few and send out some preliminary emails, I realize the school day’s been over for half an hour now, and Frankie hasn’t shown up to my office yet.
I have some time before a meeting with our custodial engineer, so I wander out of my office. I run into several of my staff members, shoot the shit, check in, make sure they’re doing okay. I’ve been so busy running the school that I haven’t had the chance to do some of my favorite admin things—being in classrooms, coaching teachers. Mia gives me a hug. One of the old-head teachers tells me I look like I’ve aged ten years.
Emmanuel’s lip curls when he sees me. “Ew,” he tells me, after looking me up and down.
“I’m working on it,” I shoot back.
I eventually make it down to the cafeteria look for Frankie.
“Hey,” I say to Kim, the after-school program manager. “Have you seen Francine Flores today?”
She checks her clipboard. “Dad picked her up a while ago,” she tells me. “She was only here for like ten minutes today.”
I almost don’t hear the second part because of the loud rush of blood through my ears. Because I know that was a calculated move on Dom’s part, not coming to speak with me, because every thing he does, every move he makes, is deliberate.
