Chapter 15 #2
I was probably going to put her hair in cornrows before I left, or something maintainable until I saw her again.
Sondra might have been an Afro-Boricua too, but her hair was looser, and it was clear every visit she hadn’t mastered the art of doing Mónica's hair. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but I wanted my baby walking around with the confidence locs had given me, so building that confidence started young.
Having a daughter had been like a reset button to address my generational trauma.
All the things I'd normalized with my own mother, I refused to pass down to my daughter.
“Can I tell you a secret, mami Sierra?” Mónica whispered, reaching to cup the space over my ear as I folded clothes.
“Of course.” As I leaned in.
“Estás bella.*”
“Aw baby, you're so pretty too. With your pretty brown skin and your cute little nose. Don't ever let anyone make you feel like you're not the cutest little girl in the world,” I encouraged, pinching her cheeks.
“Would you like to go for ice cream?” I teased, as she clapped, as happy as a kid could be spending her morning at a laundromat. When I packed the bags of clothes in the rental car, I took a drive to Milk Jawn, one of the places I couldn’t afford before I left.
“Mami, can I have that one?” Mónica pointed to the flavor seemed to most interest her, but I had to remind her of her options.
“No baby, that has nuts in it. And you know you can’t have that.
Don’t you like vanilla?” Knowing she was on the picky side.
My daughter had a nut allergy that I didn’t play around with, and even though I had wanted to try an interesting flavor, knowing I would hug and kiss her before I go, I went for plain chocolate too, because it wasn’t worth the risk to me.
“Here, I’ll get you a scoop of both—”
“God damn, ma. Can I talk to you for a second?” a loud, booming voice came from behind me, as I ignored it, holding my daughter’s hand close, as we walked to the register.
“So, what, you just gonna ignore me?” They doubled down.
“Don’t you see I’m with my daughter?” I acknowledged, trying to check out and get to the car before anything escalated.
“You was probably a trick, anyways.” The man finally left me alone, as I buckled my daughter’s seatbelt and asked if she was ok.
“Did you know that man?” she wondered out loud.
“No, baby. He was just a mean man who wanted my attention. If someone ever approaches you that you don’t know, you know you don’t have to give them your attention, right?”
“Mmmhmm,” she nodded. Not feeling as much in a snack mood anymore, I let Mónica have my scoop as well, but was well aware I’d have to burn some of that off at a park, so Sondra wasn’t inheriting that sugar rush later.
When I finally reached her abuela’s, she’d let me unpack all the clothes and put them up for her, as well as spend a few hours drawing, a little hobby she’d picked up.
Last time I had seen her, she was getting really good at coloring inside the lines of things, that it surprised me when she attempted to draw me.
For three years old, it was really good.
It took a lot of spatial skills to draw with that level of control with her shapes and color choices.
It made me feel a little less insecure that she didn’t see me as her mother, because whenever Sondra would enter the living room, she’d run and say “Look mamá Sondra, look what I drew!”
I don’t think she did it on purpose, it was just at the time being, she was with her, so I had to understand my absence made her shift between parental titles.
Sondra insisted she knew Mónica knew she was her grandmother, but she was young and still fully grasping the concept of words and the differences between them.
“Okay, mami. Time for your nap,” Sondra insisted, as I was a little butthurt, but clearly it helped her sleep schedule and I wasn’t the one enforcing and creating structure. She was.
When Sondra returned, I joined her in the kitchen as she was putting up a bag of groceries.
“Thank you for letting me come and spend time with Mónica today.”
“She’s been doing good.”
“I can tell,” I beamed. “Thank you, Sondra.” I handed her an envelope with a few hundred dollars in it.
“Come on, Sierra. I’ve got Mónica handled, take that for yourself,” she initially refused.
“It’s not much, but I just started making better money. I should be able to give you more soon, I’m scheduled for a decent fight pretty soon. Maybe even to the point I’ll be able to take Mónica off your hands.”
“Get yourself together first, mija*. There’s no rush. She’s still gonna know you’re her mother, when you’re actually ready.”
Offering to help her put things up, I got visibly nervous when I saw a jar of peanut butter. “You’re not feeding this to her, are you?”
“No, Sierra. You tell me a million times. This is for me. I worked a double the other day, peanut butter just helps me get through a long day when I get short breaks,” she dismissed.
“I know, it’s just…remember that she can’t have nut anything. No alternatives to dairy, no coconut milk, or almond. To be on the safe side, I don’t even like her eating certain spices—”
“Ma, you act like I ain’t never did this before.”
“I know you have, I’m just making sure. I know having a small kid back in the house is a big adjustment.”
“Well, I’d rather her be with me, than her father. I wish I could say he’s doing good, but he’s only ever doing better when he’s living with a woman. And I’d rather be taking care of an actual kid, than a grown man baby.”
“Is he okay?” Not sure I should care. He was her father, but I just couldn’t stand the sight of him for the last twelve months.
“He’s his regular self. Not really working, but got a roof over his head. By the way, I know you do this shit for a living, but is fighting really that stable?”
“No, but I have a really good trainer who’s managing me too, and he really knows his stuff. I used to get two hundred dollars if I’m lucky for a fight. Now I’m making two grand or more.”
“But what if something happens to you in the ring?”
“Cage. Ring is when it’s for boxers,” I corrected. “But I just need a few more good fights and maybe we can revisit that talk about if and when Mónica could come live with me again.”
“Mama, I see your efforts. Especially because Kelvin isn’t even trying.
But just focus on you. Mónica has a guaranteed roof over her head, food in her mouth, clothes on her back and that’s not changing.
I want you to have those things. Because you can’t give them to her, until you can guarantee it for yourself. ”
***
Me: On my way home.
Texting Josue on the way home. After returning the rental, I followed it with a train ride, eager to sleep in my own bed.
Or at least wherever Josue wanted to sleep.
Time with Mónica had been fun, but if that was going to be my every day, I needed both the money and the preparation to make it happen.
I had a lot on my mind, and I wasn’t sure what would distract me better, a grueling session or a really good fuck.
Hopping off the train, realizing I didn’t really have time to myself to go out and get cool things like designer sporting gear, I bussed it downtown to a luxury sporting goods store.
I was still the new kid on the block, but I’d always wanted something that felt more like me when I trained.
Especially because I was winning, and you couldn’t make fun of someone wearing something cutesy when they were actually winning.
It was still pretty expensive, but in the clearance section, the Hello Kitty headgear under the Winning brand was still available, as when they did collaborations, they were priced out of my comfort zone.
I just wanted something that felt more me, as I didn't even need to try it on, I knew I wanted it. There just hadn’t been that expectation someone would offer to pay for it when I got to the register.
I had had enough of men trying to talk to me to last a lifetime today, so when he insisted with, “Put it on my account,” to the cashier, I had to find a polite way to decline.
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure I have enough to cover it—”
“We haven't officially met. The name’s Vega.” And then the familiarity started to come.
Handsome if you like that pretty boy kind of look.
Clear indigenous heritage, but could still be mistaken for white, depending on the country and accent.
This was the man who gave Josue his final fight. This was Sebastian Vega.
“Nice to formally meet,” I held my hand out, took in the gesture, but not feeling very into it. “Sierra Medina—”
“Trust me, I know who you are. I've been watching your fights. Mendez has got a good one when it comes to you,” he observed.
“He took me in. I do the work, it pays off. Nothing really to it than that,” I dismissed.
“Looking to put that hard work to the test?” he challenged.
He was definitely trying to lure me in to something somehow… “I don't know. My trainer usually handles this stuff. It'd probably be best to talk to him.”
“Medina,” which didn't sound nearly as endearing coming from him. “I've got a girl who matches your energy. You've probably heard of her, Teresa DaCosta?”
The thing was, I had heard of her. She'd been at it two years before me, a couple years older than me, but she had the experience. Brazil usually brought out some of the best fighters. With her, it was no different. “I’ve seen her fight billboards in some cities. She holds her own, not sure what that has to do with me—”
“I’m going to cut to the chase. A match between the two of you would be a good show. Two proteges from two UFC champs.”
This sounded like a bad idea. But what he promised next made it difficult to turn down. “Could probably negotiate a one hundred grand payday. Fifteen grand extra for whoever wins.”
That was a lot of money. For me, lifechanging. “Again, I don’t know—”
“What if I sweetened the pot? Guaranteed signing bonus of five grand, whether you win or lose.”