LENORA
I buriedmy face into my mother’s hair and relished her tight hug. She smelled like my grandmother’s soap,jabon de cuaba. It was the only one she ever used and kept in her household. Despite marrying into a wealthy family, my grandmother held onto little things like that. I’d never understood why until now. It was her way of keeping pieces of herself. It was the only way not to get lost in a powerful man’s orbit. Mom pulled back and smiled at me, wiping tears from my face. Sofia De Luca always looked polished, like a president's wife, perfectly put together whenever she came and went from the house, even at seven in the morning. I got that from her. I had always tried to look flawless, though these days, I wore things my mother would never have worn. She hadn’t said anything about it. It was almost like she knew it was my small way of rebelling against all of this bullshit.
We were standing underneath an arch of white flowers in front of Maman, a cute little cafe on Centre Street that she frequented. This should have made my public crying humiliating, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. She turned to the bodyguards that flanked us and shot them each a pointed look. Their expressions didn’t change, but I could see a million questions in their eyes.
“You checked inside?” She asked. When they nodded, she smiled. “Good. You can stay outside while I have breakfast with my daughter.”
“Ma’am.”
“Outside,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the cafe.
The employees were already smiling, but their smiles grew bigger when they saw my mom.
“Your usual table is ready for you,” a young blond behind the counter said as a tall woman started talking to Mom while leading us to our table.
As we followed, my mother asked her about her family, the new apartment she moved into, how she was settling in, and whether or not she’d been able to register for school again. By the time we reached our table, which took less than a minute, I knew half of Riley’s story. My mouth dropped when I looked at the table. When the guy behind the counter said the table was ready, I figured he meant it had been cleaned. I didn’t think he meant there would be a tower of different croissants. Before we sat down, the guy behind the counter brought over two cups of coffee.
“We didn’t want it to get cold,” he excused himself.
“Enjoy.” Riley hugged Mom and followed behind him.
“Wow,” I said, taking the seat closest to me. “Did you buy the place?”
“No. Would you like me to?” she asked, and even though she was smiling, I knew she wasn’t kidding. Nothing sounded better.
“I wouldn’t be able to run it,” I said quietly, tears threatening again. “I’m getting married, remember?”
“Lenora.” She sighed, reaching for my hand over the table. “Let’s talk about this. Did you leave your cell phone in the car?”
“Yes. Always.”
“Good.” She took her hand back and sipped her coffee. Mom never spoke about anything important on the phone since we knew that the government or my father probably bugged them. Maybe both, but we were only apprehensive about Dad.
“Before we get to that, how’s Wela doing?” I asked, setting my hand over hers and squeezing it as she’d done for me.
“She’s. . .made peace with death.” Mom swallowed.
“I’m so sorry, Mami.” I sighed.
“It doesn’t matter how old you are. Losing a parent sucks.” The grief in her eyes broke my heart.
Growing up, I was never really close to my parents. At home, I had two nannies with me day and night since I was born. My mother still participated in things like picking out my clothes and food, and sometimes, though very rarely, she’d tuck me in. When I turned eight, I was sent away for school. There, I was free, or as free as you can be in a boarding school that felt like a prison at times, surrounded by guards.
I only saw Dad during the holidays. Mom tried, though. She visited me throughout the year. She convinced Dad to buy the property in Connecticut so she could be closer to me. Still, she was married to my father and seemed to tell him everything, which strained our relationship. Sometimes, that mother-daughter bond doesn’t form because of things like that. Trust is important, so it’s hard to get it back when someone breaks it.
“I can’t even imagine.” I took my hand back. “I won’t see her before she goes, will I?”
“I doubt it, babe.” She took a croissant and started tearing it apart on her plate. “I wanted to meet out of sight to tell you something.”
“You’re finally leaving Dad?” I asked, sitting up straight.
“What?” She laughed. “No. I don’t think your dad would let me leave even if I wanted to. He’s too dependent on me.”
No truer words had been spoken. Giuseppe De Luca didn’t let go of anything until he was ready, which was never since Dad was a hoarder — of people, land, and things in general.
“So, what is it? You’re not sick, are you?”
“Will you let me talk?” She shot me a stern look, and I shut my mouth. “I want to give you a chance to get away.”
