Chapter 30
C ornwall is exactly how I remember it.
Dead streets, fishy, and that one park with broken swings remains unfixed. It’s a good day in Cornwall when the sun is out, the water is glittering, and you can hear laughter from backyard BBQ’s.
The first month living in Toronto, there was this ache in my abdomen. I went to a walk-in clinic, trying to discover what it was—if it was the food, people, or the darkened loneliness. I remember the understanding look the doctor gave me when she said, “You're homesick.”
I didn’t want to believe it. So, I focused on school. Ate whatever bad junk food I found and refused to answer anyone’s calls. I considered it a punishment for letting myself get sick over a home that didn’t feel familiar.
But I was a child, barely entering adulthood when I felt that way. Now I get it.
How could I have known what familiar felt like when I’d never been parted from it ?
I’ve lost count of days. If it’s been a week or two since I’ve seen Dean, I couldn’t tell you.
Azar picked me up after and we didn’t mutter a single word about him.
Sunny was still sitting on my couch when I started crying.
She helped me transfer the money back and patted my back.
She’s not great at emotional support, but Sunny stayed by me while Azar watched with scrunched brows and worry.
I didn’t want them to worry anymore because Sunny needed to go back to her family, and Azar needed to return to his pretty popstar.
So, I did the first thing I thought of.
The three-story, brick house stares back at me like it doesn’t harbour memories of my tears on the porch or the donkey laughs in Nadine’s room.
Taking a well-needed intake of air, I roll my bag over to the porch.
After ringing the doorbell, it crosses my mind that they might not be home. According to Nadine, Ma’s been going to weekly book club meetings and Tatay’s doing his own thing. They have their own life. One that doesn’t involve taking care of the youngest Rivera child.
I turn around when the door swings open.
“Nova, baby , is that you?”
I’ve never been sick of home, just sick because of it.
Ma’s voice is the same as I remember. Butterscotch cookies coming fresh out of the oven or the sweet sound of lullabies through the thin walls. The heating pad on my cramps during my period. My name never feels right until she says it.
“Hi Ma.” I’m a kid again. Sitting outside her bedroom door, listening to the sobs bulge out of her chest when she wraps her arms around me. Rosewater and pine trees. A smell I’ll never get used to.
“Come in,” she pulls me inside. I time travel back to when I lived here.
Everything’s the same. The hardwood floors, the wall of random art behind the seventy-inch TV. Leather’s still ripping off the couch and there’s too many plants.
“I would’ve cleaned up if I knew you were coming,” she squeezes past me and picks up a couple of Tatay’s socks.
“He still leaves them around,” she’s chuckling almost psychotically.
She’s vibrating with giddiness. She yeets the socks somewhere behind her then leads me to the couches. “Have a seat, I’ll go make us tea.”
Our kitchen has always been small but seeing Ma’s small frame in it somehow turns it smaller.
Her hair is at her ears. Wrinkles drag her cheeks down, but she isn’t old to the point of unrecognizable.
Her and Nadine have the same mole on their cheek.
Rosa and Ma share the same smile. But her and I?
People have always told us we looked alike. Maybe that’s why it hurt more.
She drums her fingers along the counters, playing with tea sachets, catches me staring and warmly smiles.
I wish she’d ask me why I’m here.
“Where’s Tatay ?” I ask to give silence company.
“Somewhere,” she hums under her breath. “Your dad is always doing the most around here.” She pours the hot water in two cups. “Yesterday, he told Niamh—our next-door neighbour’s dog—to shut it or he was going to get a rooster just to spite her.”
“Wouldn’t she just… eat it?” I take the cup from her. She settles down next to me like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“That’s what I said to him,” she blows on the water. “But he didn’t listen. I’m pretty sure Niamh’s pregnant.”
“Is she?”
“ Dunno , want me to ask?” She’ll genuinely go out there and ask our neighbour.
I shake my head.
“Nadine’s far along, isn’t she?” Ma squints her eyes when a bright sunray shines through the window.
“She is.” I take a scolding sip of the tea, burning my tongue. Chamomile .
Mothers know exactly how to make their children talk.
“Why aren’t you asking me?” I put the cup on the broken coffee table.
She turns to study me. “If I did, you’d find a reason to run away.”
“That isn’t true.”
She gives me a look.
“Okay, it’s a little true.”
“ Baby , this is your home. I don’t need to ask why you’re here.”
I have to look away from her comforting eyes.
“How do you know I belong when you’ve never noticed me?”
She does a double take, lining her cup with mine. “Is that what you think?”
It takes effort, but I nod.
“Nova, depression didn’t make me forget you.
” She grabs my hand and pulls me closer to her.
“You are my baby. My last born. Sometimes I can still feel the moment I pushed you out. I wanted to hide you back in my womb because you were tinier than Rosa and Nadine. Your big eyes stared up at me before you burst out crying.”
It’d be easier putting my heart in a shredder.
“ Come here ,” she easily pulls me into her arms, and I don’t fight it. I’m done fighting myself about this. “Did you know your father and I have been watching Love? Check! since season one? We screamed when we saw you on the third season. He screenshotted your face. It’s his lock screen now.”
I dig myself deeper in her warmth.
“You’ve done your best to hate us, Nova.
I know you have. But I don’t want you to hate anymore.
Your father and I have made mistakes—me more than him.
I abandoned you when you needed me the most. By the time I was ready, it was too late.
You were old enough to have opinions, talk back, and leave home. ”
“I left because I felt like I didn’t belong,” I’m soaking her shirt. “Nadine and Rosa felt like home for so long that when they left, you and Tatay felt like strangers.”
Ma brushes a palm down my hair. “Do you want to go somewhere with me?”
She forces me to pull away, hands tucking away sweaty hair. “Where?” I ask.
“Come on,” she’s on her feet. Pulling me down to the basement. It’s been the no-entry zone since I was born. Something about Tatay’s office being down there and mom’s forgotten pottery studio. She turns on the light.
It smells old and repainted.
When I hit the last step, I see it.
I’m hit by a bulldozing crowd at a music festival. It’s loud, chaotic, and utterly magical. The walls are covered with frames. Not regular frames, but a single flower petal in each. There’s a post-it on each frame.
I move across each, letting myself be guided by an aura that isn’t mine. This is the universal freeze theory scientists talk about. World heats and it’ll be over in less time than I can process what’s in front of me.
Ma hums a tune under her breath, but she doesn’t interfere as I scour the flower wall. There’s a conversation on each note.
How are you, Nova? I hope you’re good.
I liked this floral arrangement. It reminds me of your mother.
Nadine tells me you’re happy. I’m glad.
There’s one that’s just bullet points of conversation topics .
I have to close my eyes and poke tears away because this is unbearable. I’ve been living my life resenting my parents, while they were secretly loving me.
I stop in front of a particular one. It’s not a dried petal, but a picture of my shop.
Rivera’s Roses.
You can see my shadow through the window.
“H-how long?” I’m hurting everywhere. It hurts where there are no wounds—after this, I’ll be applying iodine on phantom scars.
“Since you first opened your shop.” Every syllable waters the damaged seeds in my soul.
“Your dad and I came to visit you when we stumbled upon it. At first, we didn’t understand.
You told everyone you were an editor, but then we watched you put together arrangements from afar.
Parents want to see their children happy—you were ecstatic . That was enough.”
“You’ve been buying from me.”
Her silence is a quiet confirmation. “It’s wonderful how there’s people on the internet willing to take your deliveries.”
“I’ve only sent flowers to Calgary,” my voice breaks.
“They’d send it to us from there.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Your father and I are so, so proud of you. You made the best out of your life without us.”
All I can do is give Ma another soul-crushing hug and sob.
I cry about all of it. My life. The show. Dean. It’s a resurrecting experience, I recommend everyone try it. It turns ugly, completely savage to the point she has to tell me to calm down.
We go back upstairs, Ma forces me to finish my cold tea.
Then she gets working in the kitchen, while I watch her.
When I’m no longer crying, we talk about everything.
I tell her about the show, about how weird the cameras were.
She tells me about Tatay’s snoring issue.
I tell her about my first kiss with Dean, the conversation with Rosa and Nadine, and the point where I ran from everyone.
Not once does she judge me, but she goes quiet at points like she’s thinking her mother thoughts—having opinions but doesn’t want to spill them over my feelings.
The sun sets, she turns on the new pot lights, the neighbours with the annoying dog installed for them, and we eat chicken pot pie on the couch.
Hours later, when the sky turns black and I can hear the crashing waves over Ma’s laughter over watching New Girl , the door flies open and in comes the hurricane of Tatay .
He looks the same, yet older. The remaining pieces of his hair are now gone. There’re scars over his hands, but he bears the same dark skin as I remember. He doesn’t see me laying on Ma’s lap.
“Honey, you won’t believe it! We found Mr. Cartwright’s will! We can help Nova…”
His voice fades away when I get up. Hair all over the place, heart dripping all over my other organs. I hear what he says and it’s confusing, but I also can’t hear it because behind him are all of the reasons for my love, growth, and heartbreak.