28. Vinny
One year later
Every morning begins with heat. The air is thick and the smell of guava floats throughout the house. Marisol blasts a mix of Seu Jorge and Eddie Santiago. There is always something delicious cooking in the kitchen, and I can count on the laughter of my sons to bolt me awake. Like clockwork, they ram into my room smelling like dirt and coconut oil.
“Daddy, wake up!” they squeal in unison, jumping on the bed. I instinctively place my hand over Rosa’s side of the bed, but I realize she’s already gone.
“Where’s Momma?” I ask as I groggily sit up in bed. The boys run out of the room, leaving muddy footprints. I sigh as I prepare for another day full of running and cleaning up after my active boys. I can already smell the pancakes downstairs and my stomach is ready to be filled with Marisol and Rosa’s special recipe.
“Is breakfast ready already?” I chirp as I stroll into the kitchen. Rosa has let her hair grow down to the small of her back and it makes her look like a mermaid. I spot traces of crumbled flowers in her tresses, likely from the boys when they went on their morning walk together. They love putting flowers in her hair. Rosa holds her arms open and I give her a huge hug. Even if we sleep in each other’s arms, the mere sight of her makes me weak. Even now.
“Pancakes, sausage, and pumpkin coffee from friends next door,” Rosa tells me as I plant a kiss on her forehead. Brazil has given us new friends who also know what we’ve been through. Without knowing it, we moved into a community of people just looking to start over and live a normal life. To maintain our new connections, we hold a big feast every Sunday and share food from our newest crops. It keeps every house on the block full to the brim with food, supplies, and healthy children. The back door swings open and a crowd of small kids comes inside, ushering mumbled greetings. We don’t bat an eye – these kids see ours as theirs, and theirs as ours.
“It’s good they feel safe,” Marisol says as she finishes setting the table. Though our Portuguese is still limited, we can communicate pretty well through food.
“Comida?” Marisol yells over the ruckus of the kids playing. They all rush to the tables. Rosa sets a plate in front of each one.
“Nick is coming home soon,” Rosa says, looking up at me with careful eyes. Since the trial ended, Nick has become distant. Again. I wasn’t surprised. I expected him to disappear once everything went back to normal. Turns out, placing his father in prison, despite plotting it for half of his life, was traumatic. Even Rosa took it hard. Her mother ended up getting arrested a few months later once her name was found on other documents. Just like that, the Newton name was scrubbed clean. As for my family, I haven’t heard from them to this day. I have no idea if they’re scattered across New York, the US, or hiding out in a foreign country like me. The only person I worry about is Larry, but he is safer in the prison. If I think too much about it, it’ll hurt. I grew up with a house full of boisterous kids — much like our house is now. We had meals together and would play until we were all muddy and bruised. But those days are over. We made our beds and we have to continue on no matter how difficult it may be.
Rosa pokes me. “What’s on your mind?” she asks gently. The kids are quiet now that they’re stuffing their faces.
I shrug. “We have everything we need.”
“But?”
I can’t describe the feeling. I turn to Rosa as I search for the words. She pushes the hair off my forehead. “No one said this would be easy.”
“I hate them, Rosa. Our parents ruined our lives, and even in their absence, we’re still…grieving over them,” I whisper. I peer over at the table as Marisol helps the boys eat. My grandfather will be home closer to dinnertime since he went on a hunt with the neighbors.
“Then grieve them,” Rosa continues. “Who said you couldn’t? They were your family once…they were my family once.” Rosa tugs at my sleeve and pulls me down the hallway towards the living room. The windows are open and the soft breeze brings in the sweet smell of the flowers Marisol planted. I stand close to the window, noticing that the flowers took forever to thrive, but are finally blooming.
“I didn’t think she’d be able to make them grow here,” I say with a smirk. The flowers were from seeds Marisol bought in a small market just outside Mexico City. They were stubborn seeds to grow — the temperature, sunlight, and water had to be perfect. We figured they'd never bloom and forgot about them. Yet, here they are in full bloom with gorgeous, fluffy pink petals. It brings tears to my eyes.
“Anything blooms in the right soil,” Rosa says to me. I face her and dab my eyes.
“I guess I’m not used to things being simple,” I admit. “I’ve been chasing and running from things my whole life.”
Rosa sits on the ottoman pushed against the wall, and brings her knees to her chest. “You and me both. It's like you dream of the moment you break free, but once you have it, you don’t know what to do with it.”
I stare across the grassy front yard as I nod. The trees sway in the wind and I hear the distant sounds of cumbia from the market nearby. I smile, sitting beside Rosa.
“There’s so much life there, though. How could we not be happy?”
Rosa sits in my lap, wrapping my arm around her. “Then how about we just enjoy that? We soak up everything Brazil has for us, and try to let the past die in New York.”
The suggestion is sound. It’s also the only way we can promise our boys a shot at a better life.
“You’re right,” I whisper in her ear. Rosa chuckles and lays her head back, her eyes fluttering closed. I do the same, letting the brief stillness in the house lull us into a short nap. In ten minutes, the kids will be done eating and will run riot through the house, making up games as they go. The table will be full of half-eaten pancakes and sausage. The boys will eventually go down for their nap, and then night will fall. Rosa and I will fall asleep with the windows open to let air in. We’ll make love until our bodies are tired. It’s a sweet life.
It’s a life that somehow was chosen for me. Not because I got rid of my family, but because my family told me that in order to prove myself, I had to kidnap a girl. A random girl. A girl who had also been hurt and used by her family. I had no idea I’d fall in love with her and end up leaving everything behind just for her. Rosa Newton. With the many risks and turmoil that came from our union, pure love followed.
I’m sure, several years from now, this villa will be covered in fluffy, fuchsia pink flowers. The petals will wrap around the base of the house, forming a maze. That maze will be kept alive by my sons and their sons. But not in the same way my dad raised me. It's to be kept alive by love and safety. Mexico might call us back someday. Hell, maybe even New York. As long as the flowers are blooming and the doors are open for my kids to come and go as they please, Rosa, me, and the boys will stay.
That is the definition of true freedom. I believe it’s the freedom I’ve been searching for all along.