Her brows rise. “I didn’t think you two knew each other.”
“Hmm… My roommate is dating his friend.”
I take a sip of the coffee, hoping it’ll prevent her from asking for details since I hate lying. The familiar taste of cinnamon spreads over my tongue as the warmth fills my belly.
I pull the cup back a little, and sure enough, it has the familiar Cup It Up logo on it. The smell of cinnamon is so strong I don’t have to bring it all the way to my nose to smell it. Just the way I like it.
How did he know?
“Callie, right?”
“Yup.” I let the P pop to fill in the silence, my thoughts still on that damn coffee.
He probably just asked whoever’s there to make my favorite.
Thankfully the arrival of Dr. Stevens saves me both from having to explain further and obsessing over Nixon. Leaving the coffee on the edge of my desk, I open a blank page in my notebook and immerse myself in listening about Shakespeare’s early work, writing down notes like my whole life depends on it. In a way, it does.
“¿Qué tal las clases?”
“Classes are fine, Mamá. I’m really enjoying this semester’s selection, although there’s a lot of work to do,” I say absentmindedly as I scan the book in front of me. I was doing research for an essay just when Mom called me. It was a spur of the moment decision to study in my dorm room instead of the library, and I’m glad because otherwise I’d have missed her, and we don’t talk much as it is.
Between the two of us, we have such busy schedules it’s hard to keep track of what the other is doing, so we mostly communicate by leaving voice messages for one another.
“I’m so proud of you. You know that?” Mom asks, switching to English. Her thick Spanish accent warms something inside of me but at the same time makes my heart ache.
I’ve missed her.
Until I left for college, it’s always been just the two of us against the world. And while we had our disagreements, I always knew I could count on Mom to be there and love me in spite of everything. She never gave up on me, not even when I was at my worst.
“You only say it every time we talk, Mamá,” I tease, a smile curling my lips. “I know. Thank you for believing in me.”
Mom never went to college, and she takes great pride in knowing I’m going to one of the best universities in the country. When I was visiting during the holidays, she showed me off to the whole neighborhood, telling everybody about her smart daughter who’s in college.
I tried to brush it off, claiming it’s not a big deal, but she didn’t listen. So I kept quiet, pushing back the guilt I feel for lying to her. She can never find out the real reason how I got here because if she did, she would be crushed.
“Te amo, mí niña. But remember, you can’t be all about work. Are you making friends and having fun?”
“Ma…” I groan, already hating the direction in which this conversation is going, although I know she just wants what’s best for me.
“Don’t start with that tone, señorita,” she reprimands me, and I can see her clearly in my mind. The scowl between her brows and her wiggling her finger at me. I’ve seen her do that so many times it’s etched in my brain. “I know you’re hardworking…”
“I learned it from the best.”
She huffs off the compliment like she always does, but it’s true. She’s the most hardworking person I know, and without her, I wouldn’t have made it half this far. “We Hernandez women have a tendency to take on more than we should just to show the world that we can.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Somehow we’ve always been considered… less. For most things I had to work twice as hard as some of my friends to get the same acknowledgment. And once I finally got it, it was always a bittersweet win.
The same goes for my mom. So we took it upon ourselves to show everybody where to shove it and do better. Work harder.
“What I’m trying to say is, that it’s okay to take a break sometimes,” Mom says softly. “You don’t want to overwork yourself. The human body can only take so much.”
“I know, Mom. It’s just…” I don’t get to finish because the door to the room bursts open as Callie enters.
“Holy shit, how is it possible that it’s getting co—” Callie says, her body shaking. She finally notices the phone plastered to my ear and whispers, “Oops, sorry.”
I wave her off just as Mom asks, “What’s that?”
“My roommate just came into the room,” I explain.
“Oh, okay. I should get to work anyway. Say hi, and we’ll talk soon. ¿Está bien?”
“Está bien, Mamá,” I agree. “Te amo.”
“Yo a tí también.”
Ending the call, I leave my phone on the desk before turning my attention to Callie. She’s taken off her jacket and is rubbing her hands together. “What are you doing here?”
She turns around as if she’s looking for something. “Umm, this is still my room if I remember correctly.”
I roll my eyes at her because this feels too much like that first conversation we had back in August. “What I’m trying to say is, you haven’t been here much lately.”
She lifts her brows. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
I take the pillow off my bed and throw it at her head. “You’re acting like a bitch, Cals.”
“I’ve learned from the best,” she says, laughing and throwing it back at me.
“Ha-ha-ha. No, seriously, what brings you here? Hayden piss you off or something?”
“No, I’m doing an intervention, that’s what I’m doing! I figured you’d be in the library with your nose stuck in a book or working or something, so I’d get a chance to corner you when you showed up later. But you ruined my plans, you know, being here and all…” She narrows her eyes at me. “What are you doing here?”
I spin in my chair and pick up the book. “Studying. Or I was, but my mom called.”
Callie crosses the room and pulls the book out of my hands. “Not anymore.”
“Hey, I have to…”
Once again, the door abruptly opens, interrupting me.
“Please tell me I’m not late!” Chloe says as she barges into the room. She’s panting, her cheeks flushed, and her dark curls are a mess.
“Right on time!” Callie reassures her. She throws my book on her bed and goes to her closet.
“Good, I was running down to grab our order.”
Only then do I notice the spicy smell spreading through the room. My stomach growls, reminding me I forgot to grab lunch between my classes earlier.
I watch Callie squat down, her face turning into a grimace just for a moment as she does, but as always, she ignores it as she pulls something from the bottom before standing up.
“What is all of this?”
Callie turns around and lifts a familiar bottle in the air. “I told you. An intervention.”
“It looks like tacos and tequila,” I deadpan. And now I’m really hungry. My stomach growls loudly, confirming it to the whole room.