13. Sundays aren’t for Stalking
sundays aren’t for stalking
César
I round the dinner table to set it the way Mami prefers. Dinner is nowhere near ready and will take a while longer since we ran out of cubanelle peppers. Dad wanted to make carne de res guisada and volunteered to pick up some more.
Growing up with both Puerto Rican and Dominican parents, there was always a blend of cultures in everything we did, especially family meals.
Deirdre crosses my mind, and I wonder if she was close to her parents before she moved here. The thought of her not having anyone to rely on while she’s so far from home bothers me.
The urge to sneak off to check her cameras overcomes me. I have strict rules about not allowing work to spill into my off days and haven’t had an issue sticking to that until now. The distraction I desperately needed comes in the form of my nickname being called from upstairs.
“Chuki! We need a tall person,” Mami shouts from somewhere in the house.
“Can we borrow your height?” Mariana follows up with.
“Sure,” I yell back, laughing to myself as I follow their voices.
Frustrated huffs and bickering lead me to the guest bedroom closet. I find Mariana and Mami standing on their tiptoes reaching for the top shelf that’s at least a foot higher than their fingertips.
“What are y’all doing in here?”
“ Mami wants to show us some old photos, but we can’t reach the boxes,” Mariana grunts out.
“I got this,” I reassure them, standing outside the door as they clear out.
Moments later, I exit the cramped closet with several boxes I retrieved.
“Show off,” Mariana teases.
“ Gracías, mijo ,” Mami says, taking a few boxes from me and lowering herself to the floor to sit cross-legged as she sifts through them. My sister and I follow, removing lids to find what must be hundreds of photos in each one.
“Is there anything in particular we’re looking for?” I ask, ready to take on a task that gets my mind off of Doe.
“Yes. Pictures of Mariana as a baby.”
“I’m doing my clinicals for labor and delivery, and I delivered my first babies this week. I love it,” she says with a hopeful smile. “I think that’s what I want to do if emergency medicine becomes too much for me.”
“That’s amazing, Mari.”
“Anyway, I was telling her that some of the babies came out big enough to handle bills, and she swears that I was ten pounds when I was born,” my sister nearly yells.
“I remember. Your head was as big as a guanabana , too,” I tell her with a sigh, a smirk quickly following. “You never did grow into it.”
“It was not,” she argues, slapping my arm.
“How would you know? That’s why we’re searching for proof now.”
Mami cackles to herself as she sorts through the stack of photos in her hand. We stay like this for a while. Stopping to ask questions and listen to mom’s stories behind the photos.
“I don’t remember us having a sloth as a kid.”
“ ?Qué? We never had a sloth,” she says, her brows crinkling as she sits up on her knees to peer down at me.
She lets out a surprised gasp when she spots that I’m actually looking at my sister as a toddler. I burst into laughter when she snatches the photo from my hand, pressing her lips together to avoid smirking, and resumes her search.
After I settle down, I lean toward Mari as if I have a secret to share.
“I must be overdue for an eye exam, because that wasn’t a sloth, it was you,” I taunt.
She glares at me and continues flipping through stacks of family photos.
“Found them,” Mami exclaims.
She scoots in closer and shares baby pictures of Mariana and me, proving that she was indeed an abnormally large infant and reminding me of the Sesame Street obsession I had as a kid.
A photo circulating of me surrounded by at least fifteen different stuffed Elmos is a nightmare of mine.
My friends would never let me live it down.
I offer to put everything away while they join Abuela in the kitchen to help her prepare dinner. I place the lids back on the boxes, setting aside the stacks of photos Mami wanted to hold on to.
My dad returns with shopping bags in hand and meets me at the foot of the stairs, handing them to me.
“I went to two different stores for these,” he grumbles.
My eyes scan the bag before I set it on the kitchen counter, and I scrunch my face at the amount of peppers inside and back away.
Not my business. I’m gonna let Mami deal with that.
She immediately peeks into the bag and shakes her head in disbelief. “ ?Isidro! ?Qué es esto? ”
“ ?No me importa! ” He shouts his response as he steps into the kitchen, waving his hands. “Freeze the extra so I don’t have to go back.”
His arms wrap around her, and he presses a loud kiss on the top of head and whispers something in her ear. She rolls her eyes playfully and starts washing off the peppers in the sink.
This dinner was just what I needed after this week. I always feel recharged after spending time with my family. Mariana kept her word and didn’t mention the shooting to Mami , or I would’ve been asked about it all night long.
After everyone is finished eating, I volunteer to do the dishes as usual.
I circle the dining table, stacking the plates and utensils atop one another, and tread into the kitchen when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Before I can dry my hands to peek at it, I hear footsteps approaching, followed by Mariana calling out for me in a sing-songy voice.
“Chukiii.”
I glance over my shoulder to find her filling a plate with leftovers to take home. “Grab a plate for me, please?”
She nods and retrieves another plate from the cabinet, setting it aside. Once her plate is full, she disappears into the pantry, returning with a roll of aluminum foil in hand.
“I was about to tell you to bring a lot of food back. Don’t need to be worrying about you starving through those clinicals.”
She stares incredulously at me and says, “ Abuela is the one you have to scold for missing meals, not me,” she says rubbing her soft tummy. “I can’t get shit done on an empty stomach. Even if I am seeing things every day that make me queasy.”
“How are you feeling now that it’s almost over?” I ask, looking over at her as I try to decide whether to check my phone or not. Better not, I tell myself, returning to scrubbing the dishes.
“Relieved and nervous. I’m happy to be graduating, but I still have to pass my board exam before I can start looking for work,” she laments, a struggle I can empathize with.
“Ugh, boards. I had to do one to be a PI. Hated it, but I passed, and you will, too. Thankfully, you’re a far better student than I was. More expensive, too.”
“Yeah, because Google university isn’t my only source for information,” she teases.
“Hey, at least I look shit up before I ask stupid questions,” I retort with a chuckle.
“I’ll give you that. You’re still a dummy, though.” She pauses. “Seriously though, I wouldn’t be graduating if it weren’t for you. Thanks for taking a chance on me.” Her voice wavers with emotion, but I can’t handle that shit right now.
“Don’t mention it. Whether you wanted to be a physician’s assistant or a clown, you’d have my support. Plus, I won’t have to go to the ER ever again because of you,” I joke, lightening the mood.
“Speaking of, how are things going with that girlfriend of yours?”
I open my mouth to respond when Mami’s voice shrieks from behind me.
“ ?Qué? ?Tienes una novia? ” my mother exclaims, her hands together as if in prayer.
“Oops. I’ll be seeing myself out,” Mariana mutters with a wince.
“Nope, you’re staying.” I say, grabbing her arm with soapy hands to stop her.
“What’s her name? What’s she like? How did you two meet? Tell me everything, Chuki,” Mami says, her face lighting up, and it makes me feel like shit.
I have to lie because she needs this right now. Something to look forward to, a distraction from worrying about Abuela . I’m a shitty liar, but I tell myself I can keep this up for a while. Say it didn’t work out after I close the case and she doesn’t have to know.
I swallow, turn to grab a towel, and face her. A hopeful smile graces her face, one I haven’t seen in a while and would do anything to keep it there.
“Her name is”—I pause to glare at my sister—“Deirdre. She’s a whiskey distiller who recently moved here from Brooklyn.”
Mariana gasps, cutting me off. “I was talking to Daya the other day. You know she does tattoos in Brooklyn now. Broke up with that pendejo , too, and seems happier.”
I do want to know more about what led to my cousin leaving her long-time boyfriend, but I’ll ask more once I’m no longer in the hot seat. We all hated the guy, so I know Mari won’t spare any details about it.
“I didn’t know that,” I say before returning to the topic at hand, my eyes meeting Mami’s . “It’s still very new. We met not too long ago and have only gone on a few dates. She is not my girlfriend , but I enjoy spending time with her.”
Mami raises a brow, and the question I was dreading comes out of her mouth.
“When can I meet her? She’s welcome to dinner anytime! Please bring her,” she begs, reaching over to touch my arm.
I mull over my response, because there is no way in hell I can bring Deirdre to meet my family. As much as I want to make my mom happy, I can’t promise anything. My presence in her life is temporary, and what has transpired between us is rooted in dishonesty.
She doesn’t know who I am or why I’m following her, and if she did, she damn sure wouldn’t agree to meet my parents. I suppose she’d introduce herself at my funeral after she killed me, since mobsters tend to do that sort of thing. Finally an excuse flies from my mouth.
“She travels often for work and our schedules don’t always align, but when it feels like the right time, you’ll meet her,” I say, hoping that ceases any further questions.
“Okay. I’ll give it a rest. I’m happy you found someone, son.”
“Me too,” I murmur. “Me too.”