Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
That night I holed myself up in my bedroom surfing through Costa Rican travel sites.
Teresa’s suggestion about finding long-term work here was intriguing.
Maybe after I finished arranging the Truth Trip, I could get a job organizing other kinds of eco-tours.
That had to be better for the world than being a divorce lawyer.
Or maybe I could get another project with Justice Alliance.
That seemed like a long shot though. After all, I hadn’t accomplished even one of the tasks I’d been sent to do.
That realization made me sweat. So I stopped looking for new jobs and concentrated on the one I had. I had just finished making a list of proposed homestays for the Truth Trip when I heard Eva calling to me from her bedroom. “Dee! I forgot to tell you something.”
“ Voy .” I walked into their room. Eva was stretched out in sweats on her queen bed, surrounded by dozens of well-worn stuffed animals. To her right was a vanity table with a lavender organza ruffle. I wondered what sort of negotiations she and Luis had engaged in over the interior decor.
“What were you doing?” she asked, rubbing her eyes until mascara formed dark rings under her eyes. “Where have you been all day?”
“Working.”
She looked at me closer. “Are those hickeys?”
I blushed. “I have an iron deficiency.”
“You weren’t working!” But she didn’t look mad. She looked amused. “So things are going well with Adrián.” I nodded. “I’m glad. But do not have sex with him.” She looked at me intently. “You haven’t?”
“No!”
“Good. Remember, your body is a temple. You can’t let just anyone in.” That was an interesting way to look at it. Could you be sex-positive and also think of your body as a restricted area? How did I think of mine?
“Got it. Anyhow. You wanted to see me?”
“You got some mail.” She pointed to a manila envelope in the corner of her room. I picked it up. FedEx. “You know,” she said. “If you want to watch TV, you can come in here with me.”
“Thanks.” I looked at her petite frame lost in the large bed. I wondered if she was lonely. “Maybe later.” I noticed she had a hot water bottle on her torso and prescription pain pills next to the bed. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, resigned. “It’s my feminine time. I have a lot of trouble with it.”
“I’m sorry. Let me know if you need anything.”
She smiled wanly, lay back into her embroidered pillows, and returned to gazing at the intertwined bodies on-screen. I wondered if her painful “feminine time” was connected to their lack of children. And I wondered how it made her feel in a marriage that was clearly designed for procreation.
I returned to my room, making sure to leave the door partially open.
Earlier, Eva had told me that it made her feel blocked out if I shut it completely.
I had trouble understanding why until I remembered what she had said to me in the airport.
I hope you will be like a real daughter to me.
I wasn’t exactly nailing it as an ideal surrogate daughter.
I spent most of my time out of the house, and when I was home, I locked myself in my room.
I sighed. I couldn’t even be a good real daughter, so how was I supposed to be a good host one?
I ripped open the FedEx envelope. It was an (opened) letter from UC Berkeley inquiring if I intended to reenroll for the fall semester.
Dad had written an accompanying note urging me to apply RIGHT AWAY as my place was NOT GUARANTEED and I had to REAPPLY for admission .
I sighed. It was always like this with him—one step forward, two steps back.
We were stuck in an endless pattern, destined to always circle each other, never connect.
I tossed it into the corner, rubbed my temples, and stood up.
A clap of thunder shook my room. I looked toward the window and saw that it had grown dark.
Clouds were coming in, hanging thick and heavy over the valley of San José.
Lightning crackled far away in Cartago, on the other side of the mountain.
I could see it hit like thin fingers striking a piano.
As I watched the nearest clouds drop lower, large drops of water started to beat against the windowpane.
Soon torrential rain was turning the backyard into a whirlpool.
I walked away from the window and sat at my desk.
I tried writing my dad an email:
Dad, thanks for forwarding the letter, but I told you I have no immediate plans to go back.
Dad, I know you really want me to graduate, but I’m a big girl and I can make my own decisions.
Dad. Why can’t you understand that I can’t be who you want me to be?
My fingers became heavy as I remembered a big fight we had last summer.
My mom was on vacation with Aunt Jackie at some “wellness” camp up in Ojai, torturing herself to lose the five pounds she didn’t need to lose.
The body positivity movement hadn’t made it to her generation.
To be fair, I had a hard time with it, too.
It would be a lot easier to be body positive in a world that wasn’t so negative about our bodies.
So it was just me and my dad in the house for one awkward, silent week.
On the last night before Mom came home, I wandered into his office to borrow a charger.
He was listening to a baseball game on internet radio.
My dad was funny. He preferred listening to baseball games.
He said he could see them better that way.
He was looking for the charger and I told him I wanted to quit working at Uncle Aaron’s law firm. The next thing I knew, we were full-on yelling at each other.
“Why would you do that? You know you need that on your resume to get into law school!”
“Maybe I don’t want to go to law school! Maybe I don’t want to be like Aaron! And I certainly don’t want to be like you!”
Everything had stopped after that, everything except the announcer. And the deuces are wild, folks! Two out, two on, two strikes! At first, I thought Dad would rage, yell, make the room shake with his anger. But all he did was sit down and look at me in complete silence.
... he starts his windup. The runners are going!
“I don’t want you to be like me, either,” he said.
It’s a fastball in for a strike! Ninety-four miles per hour!
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing I could take those words back.
“You think I want my daughter to be like me?” His eyes filled with a rawness that terrified me.
“How do you think it feels knowing I can’t pay for my kid’s school?
How do you think it feels telling your mom she can’t paint the house, or buy supplies for her store?
How do you think it feels knowing we’re one medical emergency away from bankruptcy?
” I looked down. “Every time I see the paint chipping, all I can think is, ‘I am a failure.’ I can’t support my family. ”
I looked back and saw his face twisted into a sick approximation of a smile.
“No, Dee. I don’t want you to be anything like me. That’s why I want you to study law. That’s why I want you to work for your uncle.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, regret and pity and anger welling up in my throat.
My dad looked right at me, handed me the charger, sat back down, and turned up the radio.
It’s the bottom of the ninth and the heart of the lineup’s coming to the plate.
I looked at my computer screen and erased the message I was writing. I shut my laptop, lay on my bed, and listened to rain drown the valley of San José.
* * *
The next day, the sun had dried out all the puddles, but I was still feeling melancholy.
Had I made a mistake by coming here? I’d worsened my relationship with my father, jeopardized my future by dropping out of college, and accomplished zilch.
They say the antidote to anxiety is action, so I started making calls to arrange the homestays.
Once I had ticked an item off my to-do list, I started to feel better.
Maybe I did have a handle on things! Maybe I wasn’t an utter disaster of a person!
That feeling lasted a whole five minutes before my mom called.
“Sweetheart, we have to make this quick because your dad’s going to be home in ten minutes.”
“What is it?”
“He was fired.”
“God.” Pity welled up inside me like rough water.
“He won’t talk to me about what we’re going to do. And as you may have heard, my tea cozy sales aren’t meeting expectations. It’s been an abnormally warm winter.”
“Hmm, yeah. I can see how that would drive down demand.”
“Yes. Global warming is affecting so many industries. Of course, we could borrow money from Aaron, but your dad would never hear of it. He’s too proud.
” I swallowed the lump in my throat. Did she not know how many times we’d borrowed from Aaron?
Did she really think her cozies paid for anything more than the gas bill?
“Anyway, I just wanted you to hear it from me, because he’s not going to tell you.
And I know he’s concerned about your financial situation—are you okay over there? ”
“I’m fine. It’s a job. They pay me.”
“That’s what I told him. He thinks you won’t reapply to school because of money.”
“That’s not why.”
“That’s what I told him! Gap years are very common among your generation. Anyhow, don’t you worry about us. I’m sure he’ll find work for another brokerage soon. And I may expand my business into sweatbands so I can really have a four seasons shop.”
“That’s a great idea, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey.” I could hear the pride in her voice. “By the way, are you taking care of your eyebrows? Do they have waxing salons there?” And there it was.
“All under control!” I chirped.
“Good. It’s important to take pride in your appearance.” I heard her take a sip of coffee. “Sweetie, I hear his car in the drive. Next time you talk to him, act like you don’t know, okay?”