Chapter 3
SOFIA
The second I shut the door with my foot, I let my hair fall. My keys hit the hook next to the front door, and I toe off my shoes. Careful not to track hospital germs onto the carpet. A holdover from how Mami raised me. Never wear outside shoes inside.
Tiny claws scramble against the hardwood of the kitchen floor before he launches himself from the carpeted living room at my ankles. He’s standing on his hind legs. His little butt dances as his tail slaps side to side.
“Ay, mi amor! Mami’s home,” I whisper, scooping him up before he can start barking and piss off the neighbors again.
He lets out a dramatic little grunt. His whole body wiggles as he smushes his snout into the crook of my neck. Snorting like I owe him an apology and some chuletas. After my twelve-hour shift, I probably do.
“Okay, okay. I know I’m late.”
I slip on my Crocs, grab his harness and leash.
He’s squirming so much, trying to get all his kisses in.
I cup his tiny body to mine. My cheek pressed to his warm side, inhaling the comforting scent of home.
His lavender shampoo. The faint hint of the arroz con gandules I made last night.
The Fabuloso I used this morning still clings to the air.
“Mami’s a piece of shit, huh?”
Unlike my ex-husband, who scorned all my double shifts but enjoyed the money I made. Paco loves me for me. Long work hours included.
I place him on the couch to wrestle his wiggly body into the harness.
Once the leash is clipped, I grab my keys and head out the door.
Living in Jamaica Plain gives me easy access to the Orange Line subway.
More importantly, it gives me green space to breathe.
My little street is lined with massive oak trees, providing enough shade to keep my AC bill low in the summer.
Paco tugs toward his usual fire hydrant.
Like he hasn’t pissed there every morning and night for the past six months.
He’s on a mission. Ears perked. Chest puffed out, acting like he owns the block.
Typical chihuahua energy. I got him right after my divorce.
Wanting company and unwilling to trust another man.
Not that my ex was abusive, I’d stab him if that were the case. But he was possessive and jealous. Too suspicious of everyone I spoke to, regardless of how innocent the interaction was.
Ironically, I caught him cheating. Literally walked in and saw them in my bed. I left early that day. Sick with the flu and bam, there he was. Fucking another girl screaming his name. That told me it wasn’t a one-time thing.
Come to find out, it was a recurring thing. Almost every workday. During my twelve-hour shifts, he had plenty of time to cheat. And cheat he did. Rotten asshole had a few women. It’s why I don’t date. Why it’s only Paco and me.
“Ay carajo!”
My dog’s head is in someone’s empty Dunkin’ Donuts cup, slurping up whatever was inside.
“Paco, no!”
I yank him back, and the cup falls away.
He glares at me. I glare back at him. Lead him over to a patch of grass he deems acceptable for tonight’s business.
I wrap my arms around myself while he circles.
My scrubs are thin, and the night air bites.
Boston in late spring is rude as hell. Warm one day and freezing the next.
It can’t decide, but I wouldn’t live anywhere else.
Unless it’s back home in Puerto Rico, but that’s not possible.
Coming to America meant living the dream and sending money back home.
The opportunities there aren’t the same as here.
If I go back, my family suffers. Something I’m unwilling to do.
Something I thought about long and hard after my divorce was finalized.
Returning meant giving up on me, my dreams, and my education.
It was tough in the beginning.
As much as I struggle sometimes, it’s worth it.
Peace and a balanced pH prevail over a possessive asshole who wants my GPS on at all times so he can check where I am.
Or how much longer he has to fool around before I’m home.
What I mistook for caring turned out to be control. I’ll never let that happen to me again.
A text message comes through on my watch.
Speak of the devil, and he’ll appear. He must be single again, or his latest woman caught him cheating, since he’s blowing up my phone.
It’s a repeating pattern with him in the few months we’ve been done.
Annoying and frustrating. But I don’t dare block him.
He’ll show up at my work, like he did that one time.
It was a mess with security having to walk him out.
Now, I wait a few days before responding. It works well enough for now. I just hope he finds someone soon, so he’ll go back to leaving me alone.
Paco is kicking up the grass. Acting all tough and badass.
I pull the poopy bags from his leash, where they dangle, and pick up his poop.
Toss it in the dumpster beside the apartments on our way in.
It takes a few more minutes before I’m back inside and locking the door when my Mami calls.
With a tired sigh, I answer, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I unclip his leash.
“Mija, por fin. I’ve been calling.”
She has, and I’ve been ignoring them. Not that I don’t want to talk to her. I love her more than life. With the long hours and coming in covered in hospital germs, I only have enough energy to shower, eat, and go to bed. Talking to her requires more energy than I have after a long shift.
“I know, Mami, I just got off work.”
I hang up Paco’s harness, put my shoes in the rack by the door, and wait for her scolding.
“You work too much.”
She says it every time. Both worry and a reprimand.
I roll my eyes. Put her on speaker, as I need to start heating my dinner while I shower.
She thinks I make a million dollars a year.
Doesn’t understand how expensive it is to live in the city.
I could move out, but that means even longer hours away from Paco and home. So, I sacrifice money for time.
“Mami, I need to jump in the shower. Can I call you back?”
She tsks. That sharp inhale through her teeth tells me I’ve annoyed her by asking. Both of us know I won’t call her back. Not tonight.
“I worry about you, Mija. You need to rest. Your eyes sound tired.”
I smile despite myself, rubbing at my face. I rummaged through my fridge for leftovers.
“Eyes can’t sound tired.”
“Of course they can. I’m your mother, I hear it. You don’t sleep enough. Every time I call, I can hear you walking. Even now, you’re walking.”
I glance down at my dog, who’s spinning in circles at my feet. Ready to eat his dinner. I close the fridge and move to his dog food, pouring out some for him and dropping a couple of treats on top to encourage him. He can be so picky sometimes.
“I’m walking because I’m feeding Paco and deciding what to make for dinner.”
“You didn’t make the soup I sent you the recipe for?”
That’s another thing. She loves to spend her days sending me recipes I’ll never make. Although I love to cook, who has the time?
“No, I didn’t.”
I lower myself onto the kitchen chair with a groan that I try to muffle. She clucks her tongue, clearly displeased.
“Mija, why? Why do you not care about yourself?”
There’s a pause. I should have expected this. She brings it up almost every time she calls.
“I care for people all day. I don’t have time to care for myself.”
The kid, Emilio Dimas, lying pale and stitched up in the ICU bed, pops into my mind. His brother has been glued to his side, reluctant to leave. Guilt covered his face when I sent him home, as if he were abandoning the other half of him.
From the second I glimpsed them, I knew they were trouble.
Not the bad kind. The dangerous kind. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that dark hair and cinnamon eyes.
Lady killers. Even sedated, my patient wore a reckless grin, as if he were dreaming while he slept.
His brother was quiet, but he watched me with a steady gaze.
I called him Papito without thinking. The word just slipped out.
He just looked protective to the bone. He didn’t even blink at the nickname, just gave me an exhaustive look and went back to watching his twin lie there. Like a shadow and a shield.
“You still there, Mija?”
Her raised voice pulls me out of the ICU and back to my apartment.
“I am.”
“Good. If you start chopping the vegetables now and throw them in the broth recipe, they will soften by the time you’re out of the shower. And if you take that leftover meat from the other night. . .”
Always giving advice. If she knew that I sometimes skipped meals or grabbed fast food on the way home, she’d die. We didn’t grow up that way, so she wouldn’t understand.
“I know, Mami. I will.”
Having drowned out the rest of what she’s saying, Paco hops into my lap after finishing his dinner.
His wiggly little body grounds me while Mami continues her loving interrogation.
Her voice is a tether to the island and a reminder of everything I left behind to be here. It makes me homesick some days.
With Paco tucked against my body, I get up and start on dinner. Inserting the occasion ‘yes’ and ‘of course’ to keep the conversation flowing. Even rolling my eyes, but I’ll stay on the phone until she’s satisfied I’m not wasting away. Having a nagging mother is more love than I get elsewhere.
And the thought of dealing with another lying, cheating man, even for something casual, has me wrinkling my nose. I’m tired of being told I’m too loud, too Latin, too much, and too everything. Do people tell men that? Never.
The only man I need in my life is nestled against my breast with his eyes closed.
That’s enough.