Chapter 5
DIEGO
"Ma, did you call the doctor?"
Sunlight cuts through the kitchen window. She's at the table, coffee in both hands, already bracing for this conversation.
"Sí. They said the insurance kicked it back. They're limiting the amount now, nothing more covered." She sets the mug down. "I just have to figure something out. I was talking to Ernie and—"
"No, Ma. Absolutely not."
"No, Ma?" She tilts her head, eyes sharp. "Would you rather I stay in pain? Ernie swears he can get pure medication, no risk. It could be worth a shot if the pharmacy won't cover it."
She punctuates every word with her hands, the way she always does when she's made up her mind and is just waiting for me to catch up.
"That street stuff scares me. You know that."
"Worry about yourself, mijo. I'll be fine." She waves me off with a half-smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
I let it go. I have to. My mother does what she wants, has always done what she wants, and the harder I push the deeper she digs in. Hardheaded woman. I don't know where I got it from.
I've got a job interview this morning at the donut shop. Nothing glamorous, but steady income is steady income, and right now I'll take it. I wash my face, comb my curly hair, put in eye drops to clear the red out. Check the mirror. Adjust the collar of my polo. Decent enough.
The drive is ten minutes, which might actually be slower than running given the parking situation, but I'm not showing up to a job interview with sweat soaking through my shirt. Not in August. Not in Miami.
Walking through those doors is a strange thing.
Something in my chest shifts the moment I'm inside, the smell, the warmth, the light through the front windows, and suddenly I'm six years old again, hand in my mother's, staring at the display case like it held everything worth wanting.
That was sixteen years ago. It feels like yesterday and a different lifetime at the same time.
I'm oddly nervous. I'm usually comfortable here. That's the part that gets me.
"Hi, I'm supposed to meet with Rachel."
"That's me!" The woman behind the counter grins wide. "Thank you for actually showing up."
"Of course. I wouldn't want to waste your time or mine."
"Oh, I like you already." She nods toward a table. "Sit down."
I leave with a start date and a fresh apron.
I also mention, somewhere in the easy back-and-forth of it, that Boston creams are my mother's favorite.
Rachel sends me home with six leftover from the morning rush, tucked in a box like an afterthought, like generosity that small is just what people do here.
I drive home with the box on the passenger seat and something lighter sitting in my chest.
The light breeze hits me when I push open the front door. Uncle Ernie and Raul are at the kitchen table. Ma sits across from them, and the room has the particular quality of a conversation that paused when it heard the door.
I set the donut box on the table. Watch their faces do the thing faces do around free donuts.
"I got the job. Part time, but it's something."
"I'm so proud of you, baby." Ma is up before I finish the sentence, kissing my forehead the way she has since I was small.
Ernie reaches for the box. "I haven't had one of these in ten years."
Raul catches my eye from across the table. "Nothing crazy today," he says, answering the question before I ask it. "Just running errands."
"Car turn out okay?"
"Wasn't a bad fix. Just needed some TLC." He leans back, satisfied. Raul has treated that 2017 Cadillac XT5 like his firstborn since he drove it off the lot eight years ago. "Thought I was going to have to part ways with her, but we've got a lot of years left."
I look at my mother. Her eyes are red at the edges, the kind that comes after crying rather than before. "You working tonight, Ma?"
"No. Hours got cut again." She straightens slightly, habit, always trying to look less worn down than she is. "They're giving me a hard time about needing to sit during the shift. My doctor has to write another note, but he can't get it to me until tomorrow."
I don't push. I know the map of this conversation and where every road leads. She's already in pain, already stressed about money, and me pulling at it won't help anything. We can talk numbers later, when I have some of my own to bring to the table.
Ernie stands and pulls my mother into a hug. "Okay, Val. Take care of yourself."
She nods and waves them off, eyes still watering at the corners. The door closes. The house goes quiet.
"You okay, Ma?"
"Sí." A beat. "Ay, I'm so proud of you. I really want you to know that."
"Thanks, Ma." I hold her gaze. "I'm doing this for us. I start next week."
She hugs me, and I feel her try to sit straighter as she does it. Feel her work to hold the tremor out of her hands as her arms come around me.
She almost manages it.
I don't say anything. I just hold on a little longer.