ruby.ocampo:
Mom, why were you so critical of every guy I dated, but you also seemed unhappy when I was single?
Then my stomach drops, and I want to delete it. But Slack informs me thatsampaguita72 is typingalready.
sampaguita72:
Obviously I wanted to protect you from making my mistakes.
In life Mom would change the subject, or scold me for being nosy and disrespectful, or counter with an unrelated accusation directed my way. This is new, and my heart feels like a bird trying to flap its way out of a cage. Maybe we should have tried talking on Slack more when she was alive.
I realize I have my laptop here—for some reason, I grabbed my work tote when Mark Winterson suggested sleeping over. I guess I associate him so much with TKCORP, it was habit?
ruby.ocampo:
Want to watch a movie with me while I wait for him to come back?
Even though Mom declared early in my life that she didn’t believe in romance anymore, she always had a soft spot forclassic rom-coms. All through middle and high school, every Friday night, she’d sit down in front of the TV with a basket of clean laundry. We’d watch together, making running commentary until the clothes were all folded. She’d usually nod off well before the end credits, too exhausted to see the happily-ever-after she wanted so badly.
sampaguita72:
Oh, well, I’ll have to check my schedule
So very busy in here
I can picture her smug little smile, the one reserved for when she thought she was telling a real zinger.
sampaguita72:
I should be able to make that work
I settle in on the couch downstairs with my laptop, start a call with no one else in it and share my screen, streaming one of her old favorites.
The movie plays, and Mom’s running comments pop up on my phone. I write back, volleying jokes back and forth, giggling into the empty room. I can’t see or hear her, but the realization hits me in a flush of guilt mixed with gratitude, an uncomfortable ache—somehow I feel closer to her now than when she was here.
sampaguita72:
This is nice
But I miss popcorn
Have some for me?
So I get up and search in the kitchen, scared of smudging any of the too-smooth surfaces. But I do find some microwave popcorn, and I take extra care choosing the most aesthetic bowl I can find in the cabinets, fluffing the mound ofpopcorn to look as appetizing as possible for the photo I’m sending her.
sampaguita72:
That’s good
And my heart hurts at those simple words, the way I’d always scramble for these crumbs of validation.
Chapter
31
While I’m staring at my screen on Monday, drawing a blank on an assignment from Erica, I think about those documents in Mark Winterson’s kitchen and find myself on the Wikipedia article for shell corporations, opening every source in a new tab. Then I have the sudden urge to look up Winterson Capital, and of course I go straight to the “Scandals” section, which sends me down another rabbit hole about their involvement in pushing risky mortgage-backed securities in the mid-2000s.
And I think about helping Greg and his mom as they carried boxes to their car, a foreclosure sign on the lawn. Tita Wendy tearing up and Greg putting a hand on her back, telling her it was going to be okay.
