Chapter 53
RICO AND ANA
THE SEASON IS HOT AND dry, and the electricity is cut again. Ana is on the couch, pulling thick hair off her neck into a ponytail. Rico grabs a mailer for the new El Rancho, and he starts to fan her.
“You going to feed me grapes next?” She giggles, reaching for the mailer. “Give me that.”
But he doesn’t. “No, mami, you’re doing enough.”
“I’m sitting on the couch eating chips.” She grabs a few more Doritos as proof, licking salt from one, two, three fingertips.
“And growing our chamaco.” Rico fans her again as they look down at her belly. Their son will arrive any day now.
“Aquí.” She snatches the mailer, but before Rico can protest, Ana puts her feet on his lap, his hands on her feet. “They hurt so bad.”
He makes a face of mock disgust and presses his thumbs into her arches. “You’ve got to stop taking so many shifts.”
“Sí, claro.”
She works a Texaco register; he washes dishes at IHOP. They need every cent.
His thoughts grim, he kneads her sore heels. As it is, Rico has a cavity tunneling toward his gums that he’s ignoring in order to make sure Ana can eat.
“Hey.” She fans herself with the mailer, sweat like adhesive between her belly and breasts.
“Hm?”
She takes a swig of Dr Pepper. “What do you think he’ll look like?”
“Ay dios mío, same as I thought when you asked me yesterday. Beautiful like you.”
Ana smiles, a dimpled girl of seventeen. She has always wanted to be a mother.
A passing fire truck makes them glance out the window. It’s getting dark.
“Mierda.” Rico sets her feet onto the couch. “Got to go.” He’s working the night shift.
With effort, Ana rotates herself, trying to release the pinched nerve in her lower back.
Rico ties his shoes. “Call the kitchen if anything happens.” They paid the phone bill instead of the electric.
Ana waves him off. “Sí, sí.”
The truth is that she doesn’t really know what will happen. Does it start with blood? Water? Pain?
Left alone in the darkening trailer, she waddles to the kitchen in search of anything with salt, and when the baby squirms inside her, she puts her hand on her stretched skin. She waits for him to move again. When he does, she can feel a foot, then the other one, exactly where they belong.
Three days later, it happens—and it starts with pain. And it continues with pain. But it ends with peace: a baby boy sleeping in his mami’s arms, a head full of hair. His eyes are dark as mud, but the nurse says they could change. A lot could.
Ana and Rico name him Leonardo because his papi declares that he will be as brave as a lion.
His parents trace his tiny ear, nose, tummy. Inside him are all the organs, somehow. Kidneys, liver, heart, lungs, everything.
They take diligent notes as the nurse explains diapering and burping.
They savor the hospital food.
They relax in the air-conditioning while they have it.
And they dream. Rico wants their son to play Spanish guitar, and Ana wants him to wear suspenders. She had said she would be happy with either a boy or a girl, but the truth is that in her heart of hearts, she prayed for a boy. For this boy, their Leonardo.
A nurse comes to do vitals. Ana extends her arm for the blood pressure cuff. The baby squeaks a bit, blinks into the brightness, and then lets his eyes fall shut again. Rico is asleep in a chair scooted up to the bed, his finger inside his son’s tiny fist.
The nurse pauses on her way out and says quietly, “You have a beautiful family.”
Ana smiles, one of the six happy ones. Because she does. She really does.