“But—”
“Now, Isabella. It’s over. We’re not welcome here. We’re leaving.”
She grabs my arm and pulls me away from the table. I turn around as we walk away, looking at Sofia, Rosita, Luciano, and Valentina—everyone I let down.
Chapter Twenty
“Pack your things, Isabella. We’re leaving tonight.”
“But the wedding is tomorrow,” I mumble.
“Y que? I don’t care, and you shouldn’t, either. These people are poison. I told you from the start, didn’t I? I have always told you.”
I don’t answer her. I slowly start grabbing my luggage from the closet and placing it on the bed. I finally feel grateful that I’m the kind of traveler who completely unpacked all her things. The more time I can waste figuring out my next step, the better chance I have of convincing her to stay. I can’t leave yet. Not until I solve the secret. I’m so close.
“And look at you,” she continues. “Dressing like you’re some high-class Latina, finally. I’ve been trying for years to get you to look presentable, and you wait until you’re with the ‘other’ family to do so? Who are you trying to impress? Because it better not be them.”
I continue ignoring her and walk into the bathroom. The space is compact yet efficient, with everything I need in arm’s reach. The walls are painted a pale shade of green, which Valentina so endearingly described as the color of puke after a dog overeats grass. I personally like it. I start grabbing my toiletries, one by one, and placing them neatly into my bag.
“What are all these gift bags doing here? They’re full of expensive things, mija. Where did you get these? Did you buy these as gifts for them? I can’t believe you would do that when your poor mother is at home, lonely and sad. I like gifts too, mija.”
“They’re wedding favors, Mami!” I shout.
I grab my toothbrush off the holder on the sink. My eyes drift to the little empty space next to it where Valentina had hers. I sigh deeply.
Above the sink is a large, frameless mirror that stretches from one side of the wall to the other, reflecting every detail of my face. I look at my reflection. My dress. My elaborate updo the on-site hairstylist did. My makeup. It’s all so much. Even the necklace I’m wearing is from one of the wedding favors and cost at least $500. I look like I belong, but I feel like such a fraud.
The shower, tucked in the opposite corner of the room, is enclosed with a clear glass door. A small shelf is built into the wall, holding soap, shampoo, and conditioner bars. I grab them all and shove them in my bag, starting to care less about the mess the soap will make against the rest of my products.
I step outside to see my mother sitting on the bed, looking through all of the wedding favors, probably finding things she wants to keep for herself. At this point, I wish she’d take them all and leave. I slowly approach the dresser to start filling my luggage up.
She scoffs, struggling to put on one of the tennis bracelets. “I just can’t even understand why you wanted to come here in the first place.”
Should I just tell her the truth, finally? That we’re dirt poor, and the restaurant will undoubtedly close now? That I came here in hopes of saving the restaurant and being the hero? That now everything is ruined because of her?
“I—”
But I hesitate. I already failed at impressing everyone here as I planned. I failed to show them how successful I was and how great we were doing. The last thing I need is for my mother to think I genuinely am the failure she’s been worried I am. I refuse to give her the pleasure of being right.
“—I knew there’d be free gifts. I wanted to grab some for you,” I finally say.
“Hmm. Well, that’s the one thing you’ve done right in a long time, Isa.” She laughs. “Maybe next, you can change the horrid paint job in La Mariposa and make me proud. Or finally, get a new car, so we don’t have to go home in that basura your father gave you. I can’t even believe you showed up in that. I’m so embarrassed they saw it.”
“Miss Piggy,” I murmur low enough that she doesn’t hear me.
“What was that?”
“I said, how is the restaurant? Everything running smoothly?”
“Oh, I didn’t check on that, mija,” she says while lying on the bed, looking at how the bracelet glimmers in the light.
“You haven’t even gone in to see the restaurant? What if they didn’t open? Or there was a robbery? Or the employees all quit and left the place?”
“Eh,” she says, shrugging. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You don’t care, do you?” I turn around to look at my mother, my blood boiling.
Just as I was about to say something I would undoubtedly regret, I hear a banging on the door, jolting me back to reality.
