My father passed away three years ago from cancer. I was in college studying business when I got the call from my mother that he was placed in hospice. I planned to get my degree and help him run the restaurant with all my new knowledge. His death was difficult for me. It still is. It’s like he’s still around me, especially at La Mariposa. My mother changed a lot. She had always been demanding, overbearing, and tightly wound. Now she’s worse—she’s bitter, too.
Growing up, he was the breadwinner, and my mother stayed home to raise me. She relied on him financially, but most importantly, they seemed inseparable. Every night, like clockwork, he’d bring my mother a candy bar and a bouquet of flowers he’d pick up on his way. He would tell her he chose that one with his heart and then kiss her forehead. She’d complain that it wasn’t one of the nicer candy bars that come with gold wrapping and taste of hazelnut. I’d giggle at their back-and-forth while I stole her candy bar. I was lucky to have grown up with him my entire childhood. Losing him at a younger age would have probably been even more devastating. We were a dynamic duo. Now it’s just my mother and me. Two broken women trying to move on.
“I miss him.”
“Me too, mija.” My mother continues stirring, not even bothering to connect with me.
“Do you ever wonder if Tía Rosita misses him too?”
She stops stirring. I take a gulp. I’m skating on thin ice.
“No, I never wonder that, because I don’t care if she does. Where were they when Roberto died?”
“Mami, maybe they wanted to be there. You haven’t exactly been the most welcoming family member.”
I start handing her the plantains as she fries them in bunches of five.
“Isa, please. Do you really think they cared about us? They had their amazing life, and we were always struggling. If only your father had chosen a different career, we would have been in a much better place.”
I knew she started to resent him a lot when she realized later that owning a restaurant wasn’t the money-maker she’d envisioned. I’m not saying my mother is a gold digger, but she has always wanted to present herself like we were more successful than we were. To always be perfect. Nothing can go wrong in her eyes, so they can’t go wrong in mine, either.
“Then why don’t you just sign over the restaurant to me? Then you wouldn’t even have to deal with it, and I can handle everything?” I ask, almost pleading.
She plates the plantains and adds more to the frying pan.
“Because it’s all I have left of Roberto. It’s how we make our money, mija. Right now, it’s working—everything coming in, we manage just fine. But if you took over…well, things might be different. You’d be making decisions, taking a salary, and there wouldn’t be as much left over for me. How else would I be able to live here? I’m just thinking about how we can keep everything balanced the way it is.”
“Mami, you bought this place and no longer have a mortgage. I’m the only one using my paycheck for rent. You’ll be fine. And you could still visit every so often.”
Hopefully, not too often. Her giving up the title to me would mean I wouldn’t feel tethered to her anymore. I could run the restaurant the way I want. I’d be free.
I shift between my legs, exhausted after running the restaurant the entire day.
I don’t dare appear tired in front of my mother, though. I wouldn’t hear the end of her rant about how tired she is, because I’m just not allowed to feel exhausted compared to her.
She grabs two plates and begins to serve the both of us, ignoring my plea—I knew better than to bring it up again. I remember when it used to be three plates. I’m sure she does too. I look down at the dish, the perfectly cooked steaming pile of rice with black beans poured over on top. Several plantains sit comfortably on the side, a garnish I can’t wait to shove into my mouth. I slowly chew on my food, thinking of how to unleash the secret weapon. The be-all and end-all. The “Can Only Use Once” card. It’s now or never. And by never, I mean the restaurant will inevitably close, and I will have single-handedly ruined my mother’s life and my father’s legacy and be forever known as the World’s Worst Daughter.
“Mami, I’m going to the wedding,” I state. “It’s what Papi would have wanted for me.”
She slams her fork on the table, causing me to jump.
“Isabella, how dare you! What do you know about what your father would have wanted?”
“Mami, he loved Sofia, and we all had a good relationship growing up. Did you think I’d forget? I’m sure he’d at least consider going to her wedding if he was alive right now. Whether you like it or not, we’re all still family. Not to mention, I’d finally be able to go to that summer camp. The oneyouwould never let me attend. I deserve at least that much.”
I watch her face closely, analyzing every muscle movement to determine how this conversation may go. I swear I can see a twinkle of sadness shining through. This is the moment. I take a deep breath.
“Also, attending this wedding will be a great way to show the family how well we’re doing. I mean, look at you.” I use my fork to point at her outfit. “You look amazing. And that Prada bag? Don’t you want the family to know you’ve made it? Rosita? Nosy Maritza, who would definitely tell the rest of the extended family. Alessandro? They’d all be very impressed with us. We have a thriving restaurant. And then I could make them feel bad for never coming to Papi’s funeral. They will see you in a different light. No more ‘poor Valdes family.’ Don’t you think we deserve this? And I won’t even bring up the business plan. They don’t have to know.”
I can’t believe I just lied so much to my mother. I’m using her worst trait against her for my own personal gain. I’m literally a monster. I’ll have to add this to my “things to talk to my therapist about” list.
“Claro, mija,” she says softly, digesting every word I say.
I can almost see the gears turning in her head. Her face lights up more at the thought of doing something petty against my aunt than letting me go because I want to.
“It’s for a whole week?” She groans. “How could a wedding be so long?”
I pick up my plate and walk to the garbage can to scrape off the last few grains of rice left behind. I open the fridge and take out the flan for dessert.
