Chapter 47
For Carmello. this isn’t a draft.
My Dearest Son,
You might notice that my other emails are mostly photos throughout the years and think that this one was written by an impostor.
But a friend helped me write it, so no tricks here, sadly.
And I know you’ll wish to tell me my English is strong enough that I could’ve done it myself, but I don’t have the time to waste trying to make it sound like I want it to, so please stop shaking that damn head you should always remember I had to push out of my own body.
Lately, you’re so annoying. Always telling me something.
Like to focus on drinking these nasty smoothies, and not to focus on what the doctors are telling me.
But I know you hear what I hear. I beat cancer once, but they’re saying sometimes it rebounds.
For me, it came back to win this time.
That being said, I’m sorry if I’m making too much light out of this whole situation we’re in.
I know how much it hurts you, my son, but I love to hear you laugh.
And I’m going to miss you equally, if not more.
That’s the only reason I let you come over and use my blender for these gross smoothies you make me, God dammit.
(I just said a prayer by the way, so I should also confess that I flush them down the toilet when you leave.) Before your brows get to meeting in the middle of your face, I do it because they might help someone less close to the afterlife than I am, but it’s too late for them to help me.
Therefore, I refuse to suffer. And I wish I had the heart to tell you that if you want an excuse to sit at my side, feed me a damn burger instead.
Steven eats them all the time and you don’t say anything to him about red meat and empty carbs.
But Carmello, you are my greatest gift. Your father and I agreed the other day we raised such a fine man.
And your strong love for me has motivated me since the moment you came into my life.
I am a better chef, and I believe I am a fairly decent human, because of that.
In fact, I know I should be telling you what else I have to confess in person, but I have a hard time getting my words out when they feel this big in my chest. And I don’t have many days left to waste trying.
I just want to hear you laugh and pretend I can make sense out of the theories you’ve heard about spider lilies and whatever else you think might cure me.
If you’re reading this, you may have found out about the little stunt I pulled with the will.
My friend here helped me get someone random to be a witness and pull it all together too.
You might know her. She’s at our restaurant all the time and eats the same thing for lunch every single day.
So boring. She paused her typing to stare at me just now. Okay, here we go.
The present you that is reading this letter is probably anxious for me to get to the point, but please cut me a damn break.
I deal with your nonsense. Past you is probably going to show up for me in the present any moment to make sure I’m okay, even after I told you that I already am over the telephone.
Anyway, this woman, my friend, told me recently that you used to come to her very nervous sometimes after school when you got a bad grade.
And maybe that’s because I put too much pressure on you to help at the restaurant while also maintaining your studies.
I didn’t want to hear it at first. She’s not a parent, so what the hell does she know?
But she had parents that did the same thing to her, and if there’s anyone I trust to tell me about myself, to tell me about you, it’s her.
Carmello, I haven’t been tough on you at the restaurant because you’re a great help for me (sometimes, you’re annoying there too). It’s because I need you in a different way.
Years ago, you were on a plane with your father and experienced bad turbulence.
While you were telling me what happened, it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my body, it felt like I was suddenly on the plane with you and we were both falling.
And after that, I wanted to keep you close to me so I never felt that kind of fear ever again.
I’ve been anxious about your well-being since you’ve been born, but that day it was worse, and that’s why I did this to you and Olivia.
My friend here wants to remind me that I also meddled in getting Olivia’s parents to agree for her to stay with us the first time.
I don’t regret that one. It was nice having you both around together.
And Olivia seemed happy to me until I realized she wasn’t anymore. But that is where my mistake began.
I know I am leaving my restaurant in the best of hands with you.
But my reason for creating this elaborate will situation is even more selfish.
Many years ago, I met a man who gave me butterflies and now I’ve come to realize they never left.
That man is your father, but we were both too focused on building the best chance for us and for you in America that we didn’t try hard enough to overcome any obstacles we faced to make our relationship work.
It was easier for us to get along and be the best parents we could be with some type of distance.
But now I know he still has butterflies for me too because when you leave me here with a disgusting smoothie, your father comes over and brings me pastelón or Dominican spaghetti or whatever else my heart desires.
Even though he hates cooking for himself, he cooks for me.
And I think you’ve already had someone that meets you where you’re at that way too. Because you haven’t moved on, Son. I can tell in the way you can’t even talk about her. Olivia hasn’t let you go either. I see that in the way she tries to subtly get me to mention you when we email sometimes.
But back when she turned eighteen and wanted to show you around the world, I was too tired from my first fight with this disease to not have you near me.
So, when I realized she was snooping outside of the door while you were telling me how scared you were to leave this place, I didn’t tell you what I should have: that if it makes you happy to go, you should try, because I will always have a stove waiting for you at my side whenever you’re ready to come home.
I’m sorry, my son.
I hope you can both forgive me for the years I may have stolen with my actions, and I hope my meddling brings you two back together like I can only have faith that it may.
I’m not that much of a genius though, and I’m definitely not a perfect person because I thought of making the will official at first and forcing you two together long-term by giving Olivia some of my shares as I planned.
She has grown up to be a fine chef and an even finer woman.
But she doesn’t seem happy living her life only traveling anymore.
I think she’d be happier having a home with you.
Still, my friend here told me to make the will as convincing as I’m hoping it was but that I should give you two the chance to make your own choices in the end.
Okay, well. I know I don’t have to ask you to take good care of my Teddy Bear because I already know you will. But Carmello, I do ask that you honor me by living a little more than I did.
All my love,
Your darling, hilarious, beautiful, kindhearted mother, Celia Rodriguez
PS: You might have guessed that the friend typing this is Paula. She knew of my plan all along, but please forgive her for it. I think she loves me a little more than she loves you.