• A Venus flytrap
• A neon sign shaped like a cat
• New pair of Vans, high-top black ones
• Colored pencils
• Something called “primer.” I think it’s makeup??
• Pasta maker
True mystery, our daughter.
-Adrian
My breath caught in my throat. I got every single thing on my birthday list that year. From my mom. My dad took me to the beach, and I remember thinking my mom was so much cooler than him. How she was so good at knowing exactly what I liked. He had let her take all the glory for the presents.
Always.
I went as far back as ten years ago in e-mails and found birthday lists then, too. From my dad to my mom, every time. Dozens, hundreds of e-mails. Reminders for my mom about school recitals and upcoming visits. Photos of me on the first day of school in slightly bizarre outfits. Horrible class pictures. Holiday and birthday photos when she couldn’t make it—posing with the gifts she sent. Updates on my health, including medications I was taking when I got sick. Every lost tooth noted. The first day ofmy period and the sheer panic that came with it. Questions about birth control and makeup and clothes.
This folder was a record of my entire life.
My food arrived: a whole grilled fish with buttery rice, beans, and a fresh salad. I looked up and the same woman from behind the counter looked concerned. “¿Estas bien?” she asked.
I touched my face; it was wet with tears. Good God. Crying in public was my new thing now? “Yes, I’m fine! Just allergies.” She gave my shoulder a little pat, and I stared at the screen for a few seconds before shutting it off.
When I took a bite of the food, I immediately thought of how much Pai would like the seasoning. Sitting there eating fish on a white sand beach with a cool breeze drifting over me, more than ever I wished I were on the KoBra—enclosed in an overheated truck with my dad and my best friend.
CHAPTER 32
When I got back to the hotel, my mom was getting her hair and makeup done in her villa.
“Clara! You’re just in time. I’m about to start this interview forPleat and Gather,” she said as a stylist tugged viciously on her hair with a curling iron.
I plopped onto her bed. “What’sPleat and Gather?”
“You don’t knowPLEAT AND GATHER?” she yelped, whether from incredulity or pain, I couldn’t tell. “It’s only the biggest fashion website, kiddo. Anyway, wanna stick around?”
“I have no life obligations, so sure.” I was a little dazed from my afternoon snooping, and passively watching my mom get interviewed seemed like a great idea at the moment.
The interview took place outside, where my mom lounged ona pale pink sofa, the white sand beach and sparkling blue ocean as her backdrop. Her hair fell in waves over her tanned shoulders, and she wore a long white linen dress with thin spaghetti straps, her legs tucked under her casually. She looked like a fancy mermaid.
With a camerawoman behind her, the interviewer—a young Mexican blogger with a bleached-blond bob named Teresa—started asking Mãe questions.
“We’re here with influencer and tastemaker Juliana Choi in gorgeousitdestination Lotus Hotel in Tulum.”Gotta get that product placement.“Jules, as her fans like to call her, does it all with her four million followers—travels the world, sits in the front row of every major fashion event, and collaborates with designers to add thatextra. She’s also a mom to a very chill teenage daughter who’s here with us. Can youeven?”
Luckily, I was sitting in a chair behind the camera woman, so they couldn’t swing the camera over to me or anything. Nonetheless, I still felt uneasy being discussed. My mom winked at me, and I was sure her fans would love that authentic private moment between mother and daughter.
“So Jules, tell us about your creative journey.”
I resisted laughing.
Mãe settled back into the patterned cushions. “Well, since I was a child, I was always drawn to beautiful things. I grew up in Brazil, surrounded by lush tropical landscapes, and that sensibility still informs me.” I couldn’t help but wonder—informswhat? Social media people always talked about “creating content.”It seemed like a catchall to legitimize careers built on taking photos of yourself in aspirational settings. But people loved it, so who was I to judge? Also? My mom grew up in São Paulo, a huge city that I wouldn’t exactly describe as “lush.” She continued, “Not to mention the cultural influences—Catholic icons, the people, the food, the rich layers of diversity.”
Teresa nodded intensely. “Yes, girl. So inspiring.” Huh? She barely said anything! Didn’t “journey” mean talk about actual events? But Teresa moved ahead. “What was your childhood in Brazil like?”
I knew what it was like. Her parents struggled financially running a small grocery store and were so strict and religious that my mother grew up feeling stifled and alone.
