Eventually, my father kicked everyone out and wrapped me in his arms. He’d never been involved much in my life—he wasn’t the active father-figure type—but he was all I had left. His embrace was what allowed my dam to burst. The tears that had seemed to dry up flowed in heavy drops down my hot cheeks. He held me for a solid half hour, then got me in bed and gave me time to grieve alone.
Tita’s funeral was just what I had wanted for her, but it was little consolation. My life had been uprooted in every sense of the word. Emotionally, I was detached and heartbroken. Physically, I was forced to move in with my dad and leave my childhood home behind. Dad put the house on the market, and it sold in a matter of days. My life was quickly unrecognizable, and I floundered to figure out my new place in the world.
I was finishing my junior year of high school, so I wasn’t ready to live on my own yet. Dad wasn’t opposed to me living with him, now that I was old enough to take care of myself, but his place didn’t feel like home. Even more so when Dad began to bring his new girlfriend, Courtney, to the house. She was trashy and lazy, and I hated everything about her, but I had no say in how my father lived his life.
All I could do was keep myself out of the house as much as possible. I began to hang around my cousins more because they lived across the street from my dad. My tita had always warned me away from them, but now that she was gone, I felt like I had no choice. Hanging around them was also my misguided way of lashing out at her for leaving me. I knew it made no sense, but grief wasn’t based on logic.
A mere five months after Tita passed, Dad got married to Courtney.
I was livid. Granted, some of my anger was likely misplaced. I was still upset at Tita for leaving me, and Dad was an easy target for those pent-up emotions. Some of the anger was justified. Courtney was a leech, living off my father and refusing to contribute anything, whether it was money, cooking, cleaning, or just pleasant conversation. As far as I could tell, she was utterly worthless, and I hated her.
I drank every chance I got to escape the cesspool my life had become. Partying with my cousins made me realize they weren’t so bad. We had a great time despite getting into trouble. I was more of an onlooker than a participant and argued with myself that witnessing their actions wasn’t the same as committing them. But deep down, I knew Tita would disapprove.
I told myself all I had to do was get through my senior year, and then I would be free. I could get a job and move out on my own, never having to see my worthless stepmother again. But life rarely followed the blueprints we set out. Weeks after their wedding, Dad and Courtney announced they were pregnant.
My dad was in his forties, but his young wife was still in the prime of her childbearing years. I should have known it would happen, but I’d told myself that my dad was so uninterested in raising me that he wouldn’t allow more children in his home, especially now that he was older. But that wasn’t how their relationship worked. What Courtney wanted, Courtney got.
I was furious when I found out. For months, I ranted and raved to my cousins about what an idiot my father was. I stopped going home. For weeks at a time, I’d stay with friends, couch surfing and actively avoiding my family.
Because of my childish protests, I missed the birth of my little brother, Isaac.
In fact, I stayed away for days after his birth. I finally returned to my father’s house only when I had no other option, sneaking in at night to avoid seeing my new insta-family. When I entered the dark house, there was no avoiding that a baby had joined our ranks. His cries ravaged the night air, falling on deaf ears.
I peeked into the nursery to find it empty, except for the tiny screaming bundle. How long had they let him cry? There was no telling, knowing Courtney and my father. Neither of them was exactly the nurturing type.
Isaac’s little hands scratched and pulled at his puffy cheeks as he cried. Seeing him made my heart ache. I didn’t have much experience with babies, but that didn’t seem to bother me. Wanting to hold him felt natural, so I scooped him up, cuddled him against my chest, and sang him a lullaby I remembered my tita singing to me.
He fit perfectly in my arms. Within a few minutes, his cries tapered off, and he fell back asleep, comforted by my touch. As I gazed down at the beautiful features of my baby brother, the pieces of my broken heart rearranged themselves until they formed a new, patchwork version of what they’d been. Not exactly like new, but far better than it had been just minutes before.
This was my new purpose in life.
This little innocent bundle was going to need me, and I needed him more than I ever could have guessed. I’d been upset with Dad and Courtney about the baby, but little Isaac was just as much a victim to circumstance as I was.
The next day, I learned how to make his bottle and change a diaper. Courtney was thrilled to see me show an interest in taking care of him, shocker. We worked out an unspoken truce—I loved my brother like he was my own, and she gave me a wide berth. My father was grateful to me for helping keep Courtney happy, which improved our relationship.
When it came time to graduate, I wasn’t ready to leave. Isaac had quickly become the center of my world. My dad was more than happy for me to stay and help out. In fact, he started teaching me about the management of the family restaurant. Tita and my grandpa, who passed away when I was little, started the little Mexican restaurant when they were young. Dad took over when my grandpa got sick but had since hired managers and only checked in on occasion. I’d worked there as a waitress, but now, he taught me about the books, insurance, staff schedules, and the myriad of other intricacies running a restaurant entailed. When I took over as the general manager, I had a solid grasp of its inner workings.
I loved it, especially because the place was a part of our history. A part of my tita.
However, it didn’t take me long to realize the financial records had some oddities that didn’t measure up. Large sums of money would be received on days we hadn’t been particularly busy, and there was an employee on the books that I’d never heard of.
My father had been in Los Zares all my life. All of his friends and most of my family were involved in the club in one way or another. Sometimes, it was hard to tell who was a real cousin and who was family through the club. When my father did spend time with me growing up, it was often to bring me to club barbecues. My tita was never happy about it, but she could only do so much to stop my dad.
When I was little, I never understood the problem. The club gatherings were great fun. I ran around with the other kids and got to spend some much-needed time with my dad. As I got older, I began to understand that Los Zares weren’t exactly law-abiding. The family and friends who were associated with the club were in and out of jail. The circumstances were always downplayed to me, and the police made out to be the villains. Rarely did I hear about any major crimes, but the club members definitely weren’t the Brady Bunch.
After Tita died, I had the chance to spend more time with those people. I learned about their struggles and saw them for the dynamic individuals they were, rather than the label my tita had branded them with. They were no more good or evil than anyone else. They were just trying to make a life for themselves in a world that beat you down if you weren’t careful.
In fact, some of them were the most loyal and selfless people I’d ever met. Their good intentions were sometimes misguided, but they were always there for one another. It was the club that had been providing money to help support Tita and me all those years. She might not have liked it, but my dad’s other job was what kept our lights on.