Chapter 29
“H OW DO YOU KNOW IT’S ABOUT YOU?” M ERI SOUNDS SKEPTICAL . I have the phone on speaker on the pillow as I lie spiritless beside it. A strong, early morning breeze lifts the curtains and threatens to untuck the mosquito netting.
“It’s obvious,” I say dryly.
She’s quiet for a moment. “And what do you mean ‘it’s a hate song’? Why would he do that?”
“I have no idea. All I know is I started packing last night.” I feel a little embarrassed admitting this. I don’t know if I actually meant to go through with it, but the act of opening my suitcase and throwing in a few things made me feel better.
Not only have I let Maureen down when my job is already on the line, but René ridiculed me in a song that will probably be a huge hit. Heck, my future generations will probably be ridiculed by it too. As I consider the scope, it only gets bigger. I wish I could sink into this bed and come out on the other side of the planet. Then I remember that reggaeton is pretty big in Japan.
“Do you think there’s a chance you’re overreacting?” Meri asks gently.
“It’s about a girl who wears blazers,” I say, interrupting.
“Oh, well, then it must be you,” she teases me.
“ And doesn’t dance,” I add to the list.
“A lot of people don’t dance.”
“And other stuff,” I murmur, because I don’t want to tell her René saw me taking selfies in my underwear. “I just know, Meri, believe me.”
“Okay. If it is about you, which I’m not saying it is, this is a great opportunity for you to turn it around. See the positive in it. You made such an impact on the guy that he was inspired to write a song.”
This is Meri’s approach to life. She doesn’t spiral. If a thought doesn’t suit her, she doesn’t let it in for too long. It’s why she’s been avoiding answering my texts about her upcoming exam or how it’s going with the tutor. She only welcomes the positive. I, on the other hand, let all the bad thoughts in. I clear out my closet for them, offer them dinner and my side of the bed. I’m very comfortable focusing on the potential negatives. Bad things happen all the time. It’s best to be prepared for them.
I turn to my side and away from the phone. I want to believe Meri’s right. For a moment, I let in a kernel of doubt. Maybe the song isn’t about me. Maybe only certain things are, and the rest he made up. The way a movie can be inspired by true events. There’s the possibility the song was only inspired by true events.
No one wants your selfie. It’s like a hot poker to the chest. There’s no way the song isn’t about me. But there’s still a chance I can do a good job. I hear our dogs barking in the distance and smile. I’ll be back there soon enough and everything will go back to normal. Better! We’ll have new double-pane windows to keep us safe.
I shut my eyes and focus on the sounds of home. There’s more barking as Meri feeds them. I hear Meri’s slippers on the tile floor walking to her favorite spot on the couch in the Florida room. I can imagine Mom heading outside to feed the birds and the duck. Just then, I hear the squeak of the door that leads to the backyard and the sound of someone singing.
“Who’s there?”
“That’s Mom.” I can tell that Meri is smiling.
“Our mother is singing?” I’m flabbergasted.
“Yeah, hold on,” Meri cautions as she shuts the back door. “She’s seeing someone,” she whispers into the phone. “He’s really nice. He came over last night and made the best Cuban fried rice I’ve ever had.”
I spring up and grab hold of the phone, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with my free hand. “What now? What did you say?”
“Um… yeah. I don’t know why she hasn’t told you.” Meri’s quiet for a moment. “I mean, they just met and—” She stops herself and I hear another slam of the screen door and Mom’s singing. I can’t remember the last time she walked around the house singing. She sounds so carefree, so happy.
“Hold on,” Meri whispers, waiting for Mom to leave the room. “I guess she was at lunch with a friend from her old job, oh, and she actually drove there, and she asked him out.”
I’m dumbfounded. Mom went out? Mom drove ?
“I’m sure she’ll tell you soon. So, act surprised.”
“Oh, that’s not going to be a problem.” My brain is slogging through what feels like mountains of information. Mom. A man. Fried rice.
We hang up and I stare blankly at the wall. Focus on the positives. Mom’s met someone. She’s actually put herself out there. But the negatives push down the door. Mom hasn’t dated. She’s barely left the house. She’s barely left her room ! She needs to slow down. What if she gets hurt? I mean, who even is this guy?
I drag myself to the table and turn on my laptop. I need to dive into work. I decide to hammer out a new marketing strategy to send to Mo. I review my notes on the footage we have so far and write out what I hope we’ll have by the end of the month.
A calmer breeze slips through the room. I can do this. Pumped on nerves and adrenaline, I type out a new plan detailing how we can use the material. When it’s done, I attach it to an email and contemplate a strong subject heading: NEW MARKETING STRATEGY . Eh, I don’t like the reminder that there was an Old Marketing Strategy that hasn’t worked out. REVISED CREATIVE FOR RENé “EL RICO” RODRIGUEZ . I quickly backspace to delete his name. Seeing it on the screen physically hurts. I take a deep breath and hit send.
I slip on the pair of black jeans that were lying near the top of the suitcase, put on my Fleetwood Mac tee, the one with Stevie Nicks on it and the lyric Back to the gypsy that I was , but then come to a halt in front of the small wardrobe. Three blazers are grouped together on the rack staring back at me. I scan the room. At the blazer on a hook by the door, at the bolero draped carefully over the chair by the window.
As I roll up my sleeves, I’m fully aware of the message not wearing a blazer today will send to René. He’ll think, I did it. I got to her. But it’s not like I want to stop wearing blazers indefinitely; I’m just not feeling one today. This has nothing to do with him.
As I corral my hair into a ponytail, there’s a knock on the door. I’m expecting James, ready to head down to breakfast, so I’m completely taken aback to find Camila, and a loud “Oh” slips out of my mouth.
“Good morning,” she says, letting herself in. She walks right up to my bed and rests a knee on the mattress.
“Morning.”
“I just want to go through your morning in Salinas.” Camila’s all business, in a way I’ve yet to experience. “The car will pick you up in an hour.” She lets out a deep sigh. As though communicating this has required a lot of effort. “Don’t assume everyone and everything is okay to film, in terms of, like, family and friends. So just be respectful and ask René first.”
“Sure, of course.” I’m beyond surprised René’s making good on his promise to take us to his hometown. But mostly relieved we can implement the new plan, the revised plan that I’ve just promised Maureen.
“You’re not coming?” I ask, suddenly aware I’m going to have to go on pretending he’s done nothing wrong.
“No, there isn’t enough room.”
I want to ask what she means by that, but she’s distracted by something on the other side of the bed. I follow her gaze and find my half-packed suitcase. “I guess I should probably unpack at some point, huh?”
Camila raises her knee off the mattress and combs her fingers through her hair. “Well, text me if anything comes up.” She stops by the door because something else has her attention. The blazer hanging on the hook. I watch as she looks around the room and finds the one on the chair. Her face scrunches, a detective scouring the room for clues. Her gaze lands on the closet I’ve left wide open, and the blazers hanging in there evenly spaced and facing in the same direction. I know there are only three of them, but seen through her eyes, I feel it may as well be the sales rack at Brooks Brothers.