“I saw pictures.” He pointed to the bookshelves where I sawsomething that made me weak in the knees: a dozen photographs, all of them of me at different ages.
Then Guille asked me, “Do you know me?”
It was hard for me to answer him: I didn’t know what to think when I saw those pictures or what they meant. Were they a cruel joke, or a missed opportunity, or the seed of a chance to make things better? I had no idea.
My mother was looking at Guille as he scratched his head and I told him, “Of course I know you.”
“You want to see all my dinosaurs?” he asked. “I’ve got lots of them. My favorite is the diplodocus.”
“Guille, it’s late and you’ve got school tomorrow. You should be in bed,” my mother admonished him. He grunted and crossed his arms angrily.
“Pay attention to Mama,” I said, being especially careful with that phrase, because I wasn’t sure whether he knew if we were related, and I didn’t want to confuse him. Feeling my mother’s eyes on me, I added, “You can show me your dinosaurs tomorrow, OK?”
He shrugged, and Mom said, “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to put him to bed.”
When I was alone, I looked again attentively at the photos, and a million questions popped into my head.
Alexis said from behind me, “She’s got an album with many more in the closet.”
“Why?” I asked, sounding bitter, almost disrespectful.
“It’s her way of keeping you close.” I laughed almost contemptuously at that response, but Alexis ignored it, asking if I’d had dinner and offering me a sandwich and some juice.
Iwashungry, and Iwastired, so much so I was starting to sway and my vision was unclear. I nodded, thanked him, and sat on the couch to take a look around. There were toys all over, folded clothingin a chair, and on a table, a sewing kit and a half-finished scarecrow costume.
It was all so normal, so authentic.
A home. It even smelled like home.
Alexis soon returned with my dinner. I thanked him and wolfed it down. I could hear giggles coming from one of the bedrooms flanking the hallway. Alexis smiled and said, “It’s hard to get him to sleep some nights.”
I swallowed my last bite and washed it down with a sip of juice. I could hear my mother reading him a story, and Guille replying to some of the dialogue. He must have known the book by heart. In a way, it hurt, hearing her be the mother for him that she’d never been for me. It was an ugly feeling, but I couldn’t help it. Shehadbeen mine first, hadn’t she?
I was jealous of Guille. There was no point in lying to myself about it. And realizing it brought up feelings I’d kept suppressed for a long time, feelings I’d rejected when I told myself she didn’t matter to me anymore, that she was no one to me. That was just another lie I’d swallowed to try to deal with the anguish, my inability to understand why she’d rejected me, why she hadn’t loved me as I’d wanted to love her.
I’d gone there to get closure on our relationship and lift that weight off myself, and I’d told myself it would be easy because I thought I was over it. But I was wrong. It was as if I’d traveled back in time, and was a teenager again. That was when it had been hardest for me. There hadn’t been space for anything but anger and hatred, which ate at me at all hours, making me ask questions and look all over for somewhere to cast the blame before concluding I could only blame myself. I was the problem she’d run away from. That was what I always believed.
“I’m pretty tired,” I said. “If you don’t mind, maybe I’ll go to bed.”
“Sure, it’s the last door on the left, and the bathroom is right next to it.”
“Thanks.”
I walked down the hallway in the darkness. Through the sliver of soft light coming from the right, I could see my mother and Guille curled up in bed, almost hidden behind a gigantic book with dinosaurs on the cover.
I walked into the guest room, where my things were sitting by the door. I left again to brush my teeth, then slipped into bed. The sheets were cool and slightly damp from the humidity. I balled up and closed my eyes, feeling terribly empty inside, and asking myself how it was possible that an emptiness could hurt me so—how a void could take up so much space.
67
The next morning, I had to nearly drag myself out of bed. I had struggled to get to sleep, and when I did, I kept having the same strange dream: I was on a stage beneath a blinding spotlight, and I could barely see the audience. And yet, I knew who was out there: everyone. My grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins. Catalina, Giulio, and Dante, and everyone else I’d met in Sorrento. My mother, Alexis, Guille…and Lucas.
They were all watching me try to do a pirouette. But every time I tried, my knee crunched louder and louder, until it finally broke and I fell on the floor and cried out in pain. Nobody moved to help me. They just watched me like mannequins.
When I woke, I needed what felt like ages to gather the courage to get up and face what lay past the door. I had told myself I wouldn’t be weak, that I wouldn’t allow it, but I felt small and vulnerable and, worst of all, adrift.
I walked out to find the house silent, but with the strong scent of coffee in the air, and found my mother sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window. She turned, swallowed, and stood.
“Are you alone?” I asked, uncomfortable.
