“I still think about those times we spent together, constantly,” I press on. “And—and even though I’ve been struggling—you taught me a lot of good things. The grit I learned from you—I’ll figure out how to use it for something good one day. You gave me all the tools, and—what’s going on right now is my own issue, and—” I’m choking up, struggling against the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you more. In the months near the end.”
There’s an agonizing silence, filled with faint hissing.
“So you want to get rid of me, I see how it is!” Mom’s voice comes through suddenly, crystal clear. She makes an annoyed sound. “You’re saying I was a good example? I worked myself to death!”
She’s laughing now, a sound I missed. And I remember that about her, the way she could laugh at the darkest things when she was alive, turn everything into a joke.
I’m laughing too. Oh God, what is happening?
“Mom—” My voice breaks, dropping to a raspy whisper. “I don’t want you to be trapped at work forever. No one deserves that.”
“Ruby, listen to me,” she says. “I have regrets too. I think maybe I should have listened more. To how you felt.”
My hands are shaking, my chest is shaking. A tear rolls down my cheek.
“And I’m sorry I overreacted about Greg. He has a good heart, I can see that now.”
Greg is examining the ceiling like he’s found a particularly fascinating stain up there. But Tita Wendy is smiling.
“I made a mistake,” Mom goes on. “I wasn’t seeing him clearly before. I thought I was saving you some heartache. Anticipating my life replaying before my eyes, instead of seeing a totally different life—yours—unfolding in front of me.”
“Then…Mom, what is keeping you from moving on?” My voice quavers, and the sound of wind picks up in the background.
“If anything…” Mom sighs, exasperated, and clicks her tongue. “Ruby, my big regret is working too hard for a company that didn’t know me from a can of paint. And being so tired and driven by fear—so focused on this idea of success. But it turned out to be a mirage that I would never reach. I regret…” More static now, the sound of her voice breaking up. “I regret that it made me miss some things. I regret being socritical, so controlling. I regret that it kept me from reallyseeingyou. I’m glad we had this chance. To connect without all that.”
I’m a mess of tears, and Tita Wendy reaches over and rubs my back.
“Not having to work,” Mom adds, “has certainly given me time to think.”
“So when—” I choke back a sob. “When will you be able to let go, Mom?”
“Soon, probably.” The static on the line grows, almost swallowing her voice completely. “When I know you’re okay.”
The call drops. Tita Wendy rubs her forehead, exhausted. The stillness hangs over the three of us as we sit around the wooden kitchen table, afternoon light streaming in through the windows.
And then the doorbell rings. With a sinking feeling, I push out of my chair and stand.
“No, what if it’s—” Greg puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me in my seat, but I shake my head.
“I don’t think I can outrun it by pretending not to be home.”
I open the door, blinking in the bright sun.
“Ruby Ocampo?” There’s a man wearing a navy polo and jeans with a belt. Lawyer-off-duty, or so I imagine.
“Yes?”
“You’re being served.” He hands me a large manila envelope, and I take it with one shaking hand. “Breach of contract.”
I’ve already pre-wallowed in despair enough by this point that my perennial anxiety about being polite kicks in. I give the guy a tight smile.
“Well! First time getting one of these. Do I tip you, or…?”
He laughs and turns to leave. “You take care now.”
Chapter
55
