“It was fine. Long.” My voice sounds distant even to my own ears. “I should warn you, these damn jeans might kill me before the heart thing does.”
Humor has always been my coping mechanism, which I learned is a standard trauma response. Leo, on the other hand, doesn’t laugh. The corners of his mouth only twitch a little. “Let’s get you home,” he says, ignoring my comment and grabbing the bag out of my hands before I can protest. “But it’s Friday, so you’re coming to family dinner first.”
Friday Family Dinner: the sacred ritual of the Diaz Family.
I nod, even as a sinking feeling settles in my stomach.
2
EMMA
We are both quiet for a while. Leo is what you would consider the quiet and mysterious one of the family. His aura screamsleave me alone unless absolutely necessary. He’s not one for small talk or asking too many questions about anything in particular. So silence, in general, is no surprise.Thissilence is different though. It’s him knowing when to let me stew in my own head, instead of forcing conversation.
A strange cocktail of nostalgia and dread simmers inside of me as we drive through the nearly-empty streets of town on our way to the ranch. The park where I’d scraped my knees chasing Frankie around as a kid. The ice cream shop where my brothers and I had practically staged protests for extra sprinkles on our pink and blue cotton candy ice cream. The bookstore where I had my first kiss.
Don’t you dare fucking think about that right now, Emiliana.
Am I having heart palpitations?
“How’s the house holding up?” I ask, deciding to break the silence myself and try to push away the memories coming to the surface to suffocate me.
“It’s… holding up,” Leo replies with a small smile. “I’ve been trying to fix or upgrade things as they break. Trying to keep it in good condition, you know. Mom would want me to.”
I nod, swallowing down the pang of guilt suddenly lodged in my throat.
Mom loved that house. She poured her heart and soul into it—every decoration was curated, the garden was always tended, every corner always spotless, like no one lived there. When Dad died, she started working two jobs, sometimes even three, to make sure we kept the roof over our heads and food in our bellies. She never complained, never let anyone see when she was overwhelmed or tired or sad. It was important to her that her kids never struggled the way she did growing up. She did what she had to do, without adornment, to make sure we always had ahome. A happy one.
Leo, as the oldest, stepped up at a very young age to help take care of us kids whilst Mom worked. He made sure we were all bathed, fed and did our homework every night. Even when we were old enough to take care of ourselves, he couldn’t shake the desire—maybe even the need—to be that constant for us. Leo was, and still is, the glue of our family.
When Mom died, we couldn’t bear to be in the house anymore. Our grief was etched into the walls, into the bones.
Shewas etched into the bones.
We all eventually moved out, except for Leo. After years and several attempts to convince him to sell and let that piece of our story go, he continues to refuse.
“I can’t wait to see Mia,” I blurt out, now desperate to change the subject.
“She’s gotten so big,” Leo smirks as a proud-dad look takes over his face. “She’s a menace now. Runs everywhere, climbs on everything. She reminds me of you at her age.”
I let out a small laugh. “Yikes. Poor you.”
The tires crunch on the dirt road as we turn onto the property, a familiar cloud of dust kicking up behind us like amemory I’m definitely not ready to face. A big, wooden sign hangs at the entrance, carved with the words “Luz De La Luna Ranch” in blocky, western-style letters. The name translates to “Light of the Moon”, which my parents chose for obvious reasons.
One of the most special parts of the ranch is that it is just far enough away from town that the glow of the streetlights and neon signs fade to nothing. Only the silver hush of moonlight over the fields remains, along with stars that seem close enough to touch.
The main road to the house is long and winding, past open fields and fence posts weathered by too many Vermont winters. Trees all around are painted in the colors of autumn, which is arguably the most beautiful time of year in Windhaven. Landscape like something out of a movie or postcard.
The house comes into view and I feel my breath catch as I take it all in. It’s an old, colonial-style house, white paint slightly peeling in several spots, black shutters all still hanging straight except one, and a wraparound porch that has always been my favorite part. I used to drag the easel out of my room and through the entire house, just to bring it outside to paint. My usual spot on the porch was at the back right corner of the house, overlooking the small pond on the property where the animals would gather during the heat of summer.
Mom’s garden is to the left of the house, wild and overgrown now. Hydrangeas spill over the edge of the beds, along with some questionable vegetables begging for attention. On the right stands Dad’s old workshed with the door hanging open wide enough to see the mess inside—tools, lumber, and parts of projects nobody ever finished.
Beyond the house, there is nothing but land. Miles of it. The ranch stretches out in every direction, dotted with cows, several grazing horses off near the tree line, and chickens, pecking near their coop. The animals have always been more of a hobby thana business for our family. The horses are ridden recreationally on the land and any milk or eggs collected, beyond what the family uses, has always been sold at a heavily discounted price, or often donated, to small businesses in town.
Somewhere across the property is “the yellow house”,where I will be living. We call it that because it is in fact, just an old, yellow house. Technically, it’s a whopping 1000 square feet guest house that no one’s ever used. I can count on one hand the amount of times anyone has actually stayed in it since I was born.
The ranch is a testament to our parents and their “American Dream.” In their early twenties, while Mom was pregnant with Leo, they immigrated to the United States from Cuba to escape a communist regime. They uprooted their entire lives and left all they had ever known behind, to move to a country where they didn’t even speak the same language. All the hardships they faced were worth the slightest hope of giving their child, and future children, a better life.
Dad’s construction business was very successful from the start and Mom made good money as a seamstress in town. They both also cleaned houses and local businesses on the side to make extra money. Eventually, they had saved up enough to buy the ranch. They did what they set out to do, achieving their dream: a beautiful life for their family, on theirownland. They achieved something they never would’ve been able to do if they’d stayed in their native country.
