Chapter Four
Solange
Yesterday I crashed a wedding and rode an emotional roller coaster dealing with the aftermath. So today I’m desperate for maternal affection—and snacks. The absolute best place to get both is Rio de Wheaton, the Brazilian grocery store and café my mother and her two sisters operate out of a strip mall in Maryland. Lately, it’s become a Sunday ritual of sorts too: I gorge on free food and soak in their attention, then my mother and I volunteer together at my neighborhood’s community garden.
When I open the shop’s door on Sunday afternoon, I spy my mother muttering to herself, her brow knitted in concern as she wipes the top of the salgadinho display case. “Mãe, what’s wrong?”
She immediately straightens and relaxes her expression. “Everything’s fine. A lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“Filha, fecha a porta,” Tia Viviane says as she whizzes past me without pausing. “You’re going to let the flies in.”
I scoot inside and close the door behind me. “Sorry! I should know better.”
If my mother and her sisters were each one of the seven dwarves, Natalia’s mother, Viviane, would be Grumpy; my mother would be Bashful; and Lina and my cousin Rey’s mother, Tia Mariana, would be Happy.
With mischief in her big brown eyes, Tia Mariana puts her hands around her mouth and addresses the Brazilian regulars loitering in the café section. “If you’re planning to get married, don’t invite this one to the casamento.” She cackles through her next words. “Ela dá azar.”
Oof. I can’t argue with her there. Just yesterday, I was thinking the same thing. But knowing you’re a magnet for bad luck and having your aunt declare it in front of everyone are two entirely different annoyances. Shaking my head, I pretend to tap her with a magic wand. “Go to sleep, Ruthless Dwarf.”
“What does that mean?” Tia Mariana says, peering at me suspiciously.
I ignore her question and move around her so I can say hi to my mother—and get to the snacks.
Because she knows her daughter, Mãe has already opened the case and is waiting with steel tongs in hand. “O que você quer comer?”
“Coxinha de frango e empadinha de queijo.”
She places the savory morsels on a paper plate and hands it to me, a folded napkin tucked between two fingers. We make the exchange smoothly, as if we’ve done this a thousand times; considering my slight obsession with salgadinhos, we probably have. I groan as the intense garlic aroma wafts around me, then I squeeze my eyes shut when I bite into the coxinha. Yeah, sex is good, but this perfectly seasoned chicken wrapped in golden fried goodness never disappoints. Bonus? You don’t even have to engage in conversation with anyone to enjoy it.
My mother, her deep brown curls peeking from under a silk kerchief, sets the tongs down and shifts items on the counter for no apparent reason.
“So what’s with the long face and nonstop movement?” I ask between hearty chews.
My mother’s always been a nervous Nellie around people she doesn’t know; she’s rarely this fidgety around me, though, which means something must be up.
Tia Viviane zigzags across the aisle to our right as she places items on the store shelves. “Might as well tell her, Izabel. She’s going to find out eventually.”
My mother grits her teeth at her older sister, then takes my arm. “Come. Let’s sit.”
Oh God. We talked two days ago. What the hell happened in the interim?
We claim a small table in the corner of the café, our chairs positioned so we’re facing each other. Since the unease in my gut is messing with my appetite, I set aside my snacks and reach for her hand instead. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. I promise. Just tell me.”
She nods. “Okay. This is what happened: Lina told Mariana about the wedding yesterday, then Mariana went on WhatsApp and told the family in Brazil about it. So they called, and we were all on the phone, and we got to talking about all the kids and what they’ve been up to. Lina and Max. Natalia and Paulo and the pregnancy. Rey and his latest boyfriend. So Cláudia started yapping about how you’re never going to settle down, and somehow I told her that you were seeing someone and that it was getting serious.” She drops her head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I lied, but she was being such a metida about it, and I just wanted to shut her up.”
I let out a shaky breath, and my stomach unknots. Jesus, is that all? I’m never getting back the year of my life she just took from me. But now that I’m no longer imagining the worst, I can focus on easing my mother’s guilt. It doesn’t surprise me that our cousin Cláudia teased her on the phone; over the years, I’ve overheard my mother and tias talk about our wonderful family overseas, and Cláudia’s name has come up quite a bit. As far as I can tell, she’s the outlier, the traditional relative, the one who thinks her cousins are questionable role models because they’re all single moms.
Cláudia couldn’t be more wrong. My mother’s example has taught me to be uncompromising when it comes to love. She refused to put up with my father’s bullshit, and I, too, refuse to tolerate men who can’t or won’t give me one hundred percent of themselves. No more men who treat relationships as a game of “the commitment is lava.” If I’m all in, they should be all in too. Luckily for me, despite a few false starts, I can spot an emotionally unavailable man from a hundred paces. Not in a hat. Not cuddling cats. Not even if he’s gorgeous will I fuck with that. So what if this means I haven’t had a steady partner in ages? I know my worth, and I’m not letting anyone diminish it. One thing’s clear: Not being in a relationship is better than being in a bad one. Because one bad relationship can change your life forever.
Still, I know Cláudia’s criticism is a sore spot for my mother, so her decision to tell a little white lie makes sense in that context. It’s innocuous enough—especially since I hardly ever interact with Cláudia at any rate.
“Don’t worry about it, Mãe,” I say, picking up my plate again. “It’s no big deal. In fact, it’s already forgotten.”
“But that’s not all,” Tia Mariana singsongs a little too cheerfully from her spot near the beverage case.
I stare at my mother, waiting for an explanation.
“Well, uh,” she says, her gaze settled on the area behind me. “Cláudia and her family are coming to visit the first full weekend of August—her husband has something for work in New York—and she asked if they could meet the person you’re dating when they’re here.” She slumps against the chair. “I wasn’t thinking, and I said yes. Que confusão!”
What a mess, indeed. But I’m not going to make my mother feel bad about it. It’s against my three-part code: Help others to the best of your abilities, never do anything half-assed, and always honor thy mother. The latter principle is absolute. This woman was dealt a shitty hand when she hooked up with my father, a man who was in love with someone else from day one and treated my mother like a consolation prize. After he left, she and her two sisters raised me and my cousins, making tons of sacrifices along the way. So I have no patience for anyone or anything that threatens my mother’s well-being.
“Mãe, don’t feel bad. You actually didn’t lie.” I give her a small smile. “I am seeing someone, and it is getting serious.”
She gasps. “You are?”
I shake my head and give her a playful wink. “No. But see? I can pretend to be dating someone while our cousins are visiting. I even have the perfect person to play my partner.”
“Who is he?” she asks, sagging in relief.
“Could be a ‘she,’ Izabel. Or a ‘they,’” Tia Mariana observes.
I whip my head in my aunt’s direction, and she laughs.
“What?” she says. “Rey and I talk about these things.”
My mother waves her sister’s comment away. “It makes no difference to me. I just need it to be convincing.”
“I’ll ask Brandon to do it,” I say, wanting to rein these two in.
Her eyes grow as wide as a semitruck. Yes, my closest friend and roommate is going to be shocked to discover that he and I have finally admitted our love for each other and are now dating. Luckily for me, Brandon is an aspiring actor and always game for a bit of improv.
She claps her hands. “He’s perfect! Brandon’s a good boy.”
“Exactly. So whenever Cláudia and the family visit, I’ll be sure to bring him around. Then you can tell them later that it didn’t work out.”
Honestly, that’s the general trajectory of my real relationships anyway. Turns out vowing never to pursue emotionally unavailable men significantly reduces my options. Who knew?
Remembering the premise of the latest romance novel on my nightstand, I can’t help wondering whether this could be the start of my own love story: friends to lovers with a side of fake dating. Nah. Considering my track record, a happily-ever-after like that is about as likely as my meeting a shape-shifting bear in line at my neighborhood Dunkin’ Donuts.
“I’m so glad you’re not mad about this,” my mother exclaims, beaming at me as if I’m the best daughter in the world. “Ha, I’ll even be able to tell Cláudia you two are serious enough that you’re living together.” She winks at me as if we’re co-conspirators. “No one needs to know that you and Brandon are just roommates. Que maravilha!”
Seeing my mother happy again is exactly what I hoped for.
Pesky problem. Easy solution. Check and check.
“Now,” she says, her demeanor noticeably more relaxed than it was a few minutes ago. “Tell me what’s going on with the school. Have they offered you a job yet?”
Oh boy, here we go again. I’ve tried to explain the situation a million times, but she only registers the parts that fit her vision for my future. My position with Victory Academy was never meant to be permanent; it’s a condition of the fellowship that funded my graduate studies. And sure, it’s been an amazing experience, but my year in DC is a rest stop, and I don’t want my mother thinking otherwise. “Mãe, please don’t get your hopes up, okay? They’re not obligated to give me a job. In fact, money’s so tight, it’s almost guaranteed they won’t have the budget to bring someone else on.” Maybe if I say this a dozen more times, she’ll finally accept that it isn’t going to happen. “Besides, I have an excellent opportunity to go back to my old job if I want to.” Returning to BFI, a nonprofit that coordinates volunteer home construction for low-income families in America and abroad, would be a no-brainer; I’d get to travel all over the country, and as the organization’s workforce development coordinator in the United States, I’d be doing precisely what I trained for.
“But Ohio’s so far away,” she says, frowning. “And your whole family’s here. What if you need me, filha? What if you meet someone and have kids? I wouldn’t be there to help you.”
Peering around us as if I don’t want anyone to eavesdrop on our conversation, I lean over and thread my fingers through hers. “So I’m not sure how you’re going to react to this. I mean, it’s breaking news, and it might be too much for you to absorb. See, there are these things called”—I hunch down and lower my voice to a whisper—“airplanes, trains, and phones. You can communicate with people living in other states and even visit them if you want to.”
Disentangling our hands, she rolls her eyes at me, then flicks my forehead. “Você é uma sabichona, mas eu te amo.”
My mother always switches to Portuguese when she’s essentially calling me a smartass. “I’m just kidding, and I love you too.” I glance at my watch, then gather up my trash. “Ready to head out?”
“Soon. Let me use the bathroom first.” She unties her apron as she stands. “I can’t wait to see what the area looks like without all of the weeds.”
The community garden we’re working on together is in its infancy, so it would be more accurate to describe it as a plot of land we’re still preparing for planting. I asked my mother to help, hoping she’d develop enough of an interest in it to continue after I’m gone. More than anything, though, I’m treasuring our mother-daughter bonding time.
“The space is really coming along,” I say. “Wish I could hang around long enough to see everything grow.”
She pats my arm before she heads off to the back of the store. “You’ll still be here, filha. I can feel it in my bones.”
No, I won’t, but she’s obviously not ready to accept the inevitable. Which means my mother’s in for a rude awakening at the end of the summer. But it can’t be avoided. Because she doesn’t deserve to live her life in the shadow of someone else’s mistakes.