I looked at my mom, who was still waiting for my answer, that fierce adoration which could be as comforting as it was stifling all over her face. I knew she’d done the best she could after my dad died, even though sometimes I wished so much of her happiness didn’t depend on me.
“Mijo, where did you go?”
“Sorry, Ma,” I said ruefully, as my mother’s worried face stared at me from the screen. “I spaced out. Saba’s coming to pick me up in a few hours and then we’re going to a fancy hotel for the afternoon. After that I’m going to her house for dinner.”
She gave me a thumbs-up like I was five. “Make sure you give her what I sent her. And don’t forget your sunblock, papí. You’re so light-skinned, just like your father. You burn in a minute.” Hearing her, you wouldn’t think I’d spent a good portion of the last year working in the Sudanese desert.
“Got the sunblock in my bag, Ma. They’re right in there with my towel and floaties.”
She hissed at my backtalk. “Fresco.” She sounded amused, but I also didn’t want to push it, so I shifted gears.
“How are things there, Mamí? Things okay with work? Jim?”
My mother had finally gone back on the dating scene two years ago. She’d been seeing a very boring and exceedingly nice man who worked some kind of finance job up at Cornell. Jim was from Connecticut, loved wine tasting and bird-watching, and seemed to be partial to cardigan and bowtie combos. But he doted on my mother, even though she took things at a snail’s pace and agonized over any request he made to move their relationship forward.
She waved her hand, dismissing the poor guy. “He’s good, and work is busy, lots of clients and training new staff same old, same old. That bitch Suzy is finally retiring, thank God. Mujer tan mala esa.”
I cracked up at my mom’s saltiness—she and her coworker Suzy had been nemeses for like, ten years, yet exchanged holiday cards religiously. My mother’s explanation for this: “She’s a bitch, but I still need to be polite.”
I gave her a look and pushed her a little bit. “Madre. I’m glad Suzy won’t be aggravating you for much longer, but tell me more about things with Jim.” I pursed my lips at how flustered she looked. “What, are you getting shy in your old age?”
She balked at that and wagged her finger at me. “Mira, muchachito. Who’re you calling old?” I chuckled, but she finally caved. “Ay, he’s been saying he wants to get married, and I just don’t know. It’s too fast.”
I sighed. “You’re both sixty and you’ve been dating for almost two years. How long do you need?”
She tried to answer, but instead her chin quivered and her eyes watered, and my face felt hot with shame for pushing her. I rushed to reassure her, but she spoke before I could.
“I know I’m being silly, papí.” She clicked her tongue. “Your dad’s been gone for so long, but some days I wake up and I can still smell him.” Her throat moved as she tried to choke down her tears, and I hated myself for starting this.
She wiped her eyes and slumped on the couch. “Jim’s a good man and I know he won’t wait forever, but I need more time.”
I reached out my hand so I was touching the screen, and she stretched hers to touch the same spot. I closed my eyes, feeling the rapid heartbeat and breathlessness that happened whenever I saw my mother still in so much pain over losing my dad.
“Mamí, forget what I said. Take your time. I just want you to be happy.”
She nodded and gave me a watery smile. “I know, papí, and I am. Now let’s stop this sad talk. Go get ready to see Saba. Tell her I’ll text her this week to set up a time to talk.”
“Are you doing anything fun tomorrow? Are you and Jim hitting the winter market?”
She nodded and gave me that look of I know what you’re doing whenever I tried to get her mind off of my dad.
“Yes, we’re going shopping, and then we’re getting together with his friends from the birding club.” She rolled her eyes. “God help me.” I cracked up at the look of horror on her face. But as much as she griped about Jim’s hobby, the last few times I’d seen her, she’d woken me up before dawn to take me bird-watching with her. “At least it’s at that new Caribbean restaurant that opened a few months ago. We need to go when you visit—the owner’s Dominican.” She delivered that news like the Obamas had just moved to her neighborhood. But she caught up to me soon enough. “Don’t distract me, Desta. I was going to ask you something. Has that man called you? I talked to your Tía Lily and she said she saw the wedding announcement in one of the Santo Domingo papers. The nerve that little boy has after wasting your time for two damn years.”
Oh man, if we went down this particular road, I’d be here until dinner. “No, I made it very clear to Miguel the last time we talked that I had nothing left to say to him.” The finality in my voice was a new development I knew was at least partly related to a certain Ethiopian psychologist. “I doubt he’s going to be calling me.”
She looked primed to go on yet another rant about how Miguel was the embodiment of evil, and I was not in the mood. At least her earlier sadness was fully gone now and replaced by righteous fury. That’d definitely take her mind off my dad.
“I got to go, Mamí. I have to shower and get a little bit of work done before Saba comes
