I felt a scowl form across my face. We had only been here a week, and she already had someone moving in. She was forcing me to live with another strange man. I felt sick to my stomach. Why couldn’t she ever stay single for a while?
“Nice to meet you, Andrés,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Pórtate bien,”my mom scolded.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” He winked at me, and my mom somehow didn’t notice. Her boyfriends have usually left me alone, but something about Andrés made my skin crawl. I had a growing pit in my stomach, unsure why his presence made me feel sooff.
“I’m going to go do my homework.” I walked toward my room without saying another word. I closed the door behind me and quickly checked the calendar to see when my mom’s next trip was scheduled. My heart dropped when I saw that she was set to leave on Thursday. Maybe I could ask her if she would take him with her on her trip, since I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in the house with him.
I anxiously paced my room, rubbing my hands together as they grew clammy. I had a very bad feeling.
FOUR
AGE 10
I’ve lived with my Gram for as long as I can remember. I never met my parents, and when I asked Gram about them, she always said: “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” I loved Gram to death, but I still wondered if I would ever get to know more about them. She only told me they weren’t dead, but gave no other details about where they might be.
“Honey boy, can you come here, please?” Gram yelled from the kitchen.
My room was next to the kitchen, so I arrived quickly. I wasn’t expecting the baking catastrophe I walked in on, though.
“What blew up in here?” I asked, eyes wide, scanning the covered countertops
“Oh, nothing. I’m trying a new snickerdoodle recipe I want you to try.”
I smiled widely, reflecting on my earliest memory. When I was three, Gram let me help her bake for the first time, and we made snickerdoodle cookies. Ever since, she has made adifferent recipe, trying to replicate the original ones we made when I was little. We still haven’t been able to make them quite the same. To be fair, we have always measured with our hearts.
“Have you tried one yet?” I asked expectantly as I reached for a cookie.
“I took a bite.” She grinned. “I think these might be as close as I’ve ever been.”
I bit into the cookie, and it was the perfect combination of soft and chewy, with a subtle crisp around the edges. The blend of sweet and spice melted in my mouth. The sensations took me back to the first time we made them, Gram and I laughing in the kitchen. There was another person who materialized in the memory that I didn’t remember before today.
“These are exactly how I remember them, Gram.” I paused. “Has anyone else ever made these cookies with us?”
I saw Gram’s face go pale, and her bright smile turned into a frown as she quickly looked away from me. “What makes you ask that?”
“The cookies are so good that a memory popped into my head, and I pictured someone sitting at the table while we were laughing in the kitchen. I don’t remember them being there before in my memories.” I watched as her expression changed, her eyes shifted to the ground, and she wouldn’t look at me.
“I should have been more honest with you sooner, but I think the thought of you growing up makes me a little sad,” she finally said. “Your mom was here when we first started baking cookies, honey boy.”
I thought my parents had given me up as a baby. “What do you mean? I knew her? She was here when I was a toddler? What happened? Did she just leave one day? Was she visiting? Was that the only time?” I rambled off my questions.
“Slow down, honey boy,” she said, walking toward me. “I’ll pour us some milk, and we can talk at the table.”
I moved toward the table without even thinking about it. I had always thought that my parents never knew me, so they didn’t necessarily abandon me; rather, they made sure I was taken care of.
“Your mom lived here with us until you were around three. You may not fully understand right now, and I promise I’ll give you more details when you’re older. She had issues with…keeping herself well enough to take care of you. She tried many times, but eventually she had to find a way to take care of herself before she could think about taking care of you.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mom was here with me for at least the first three years of my life. “What happened? When did she leave for good?” I asked hesitantly. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know, but I had a feeling I needed to know.
Her eyes grew glassy as she continued. “You were almost four when she left. She has called a couple of times throughout the years, but it’s always from a new number, and she never stayed on the phone long enough for me to ask where she was. I haven’t heard from her since your last birthday.” She sniffled, trying not to cry.
“What about my dad?”
“I never met him, but when your mom moved in, she said she was leaving your dad because she wanted to build a better life for you, but addiction is one son of a bitch—sorry for cussing. As far as I know, she left with him, but I don’t think she ever told him about you.”
I grew angry. “How could you keep this from me?” I yelled. I hadn’t ever yelled at Gram before, but learning that my parents chose their addiction over me ignited a new fire in me. How is anyone supposed to accept that?
