“It’s in California,” Holly said.
“California,” I repeated, like an idiot. Obviously I knew where California was, not that I’d been there, but I could identify it on a map, hello.
“Yeah, California. As in three thousand miles away. That way I can live as far away from my annoying brother as possible.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Kidding,” Holly added. “Sort of.”
“Right.” I folded my ice cream wrapper into fourths, then eighths. The brown-haired girls were now ping-pong talking about everything from how annoying gluten-free wannabes were, to whether or not a certain teacher would drop the lowest quiz score, to guys—guys with names like Aiden, Jackson, and Ryan. “Ryan is a douche,” Holly said, and crossed her arms. My mother would say She has a mouth on her or whatever. It’s not like I wanted to be this girl’s best friend or anything. But I needed somewhere to sit. Speaking of sitting, from the corner of my eye I spotted Steve play-pulling this girl Erin—I recognized her from Mr. Phelps’s class—onto his lap. She jumped up and jabbed his shoulder, but he pulled her onto his lap again. He was the douche.
“So. Lili—” Holly interrupted my thoughts. “What do you think of Westburg so far?”
“I love it,” I lied.
“Yeah, fucking right you do,” Holly said, one eyebrow raised. “Westburg is boring as hell.”
I laughed out loud. So, not best friends forever, but we would get along fine.
12
So get this. On Saturday morning, like crazy early, like, the sun was hardly up, Mom—with zero notice—woke me up to inform me that my tía Laura and her husband were coming to visit from Guatemala. As in, that day. Um… what? Once it actually woke up, my brain started churning. Obviously this had something to do with Dad. Then my brain stopped churning as Mom gave me clean-my-room orders. “I want it spotless by the time I get back from the airport.” She straightened piles of mail on the kitchen counter and then wiped away a few stray crumbs with the side of her hand. Whoa. The kitchen was practically gleaming.
“Why? They’re not even going to see my room.”
Luckily, it was my brothers’ room they would be staying in, not mine. The twins would be sleeping on the pullout sofa bed, and they were actually excited about it. Phew. I’d dodged a major one. No way I was going to give up my room, not even for old people. Does that make me a terrible person?
“Just clean it, Liliana.” My mother sounded exhausted. How could someone who slept so much be so exhausted?
“Okay, okay.” I hesitated, gauging her mood, then asked, “So, Mom, does this have something to do with Dad? It does, doesn’t it?”
Mom suddenly got very busy taking down a fancy crystal sort of bowl thing she’d gotten way back when she and Dad got married, one that she, like, never took off the top shelf of the cupboard, and started polishing it.
I tried a different tack. “How long are they staying?”
“Liliana. Por favor.” She set the bowl in the center of the counter. Began arranging a bunch of bananas in it, moving it to the left, then the right.
“Fine,” I grumbled, and went to clean my room.
I heard the front door close a few minutes later. Mom had left for the airport. So, yeah, technically I was cleaning my room—folding shirts, arranging my hair products on top of the bureau, but I was also talking to Dustin. Talking, not even texting! A few minutes of chillin’ on my bed, phone glued to my ear, turned into a couple of hours. You know how that happens. Don’t lie.
Suddenly I heard voices and laughter. Shit! I told Dustin I had to go, then bellowed, “Benjamin! Christopher! Shut off the TV!”
My brothers for once listened. Even they knew what was expected. Whenever relatives from Guatemala visited, my brothers and I had to be on our best behavior, like fake children or something. We wore clothes we never usually wore, like corduroys and collared shirts, like we were going to take a family portrait at Sears or something. Smile. Sit up straight. Give the guests something to drink. If there were kids, we had to play with them. Share our toys. When they left, we had to offer our toys to them—to keep. Yes. It was ridiculous. I learned not to show off my best stuff—the newer Barbies, or the bottles of neon pink and yellow nail polish. Yep. I really am a terrible person!
Luckily, Tía Laura and her husband—honestly, I keep calling him “her husband” because I forget his name, Rodolfo or Refugio or something—were childless. I mean, not exactly lucky for them, but lucky for me, because maybe the fact that she had had no children of her own was the reason why Tía Laura had agreed to take in my dad when he was little. Dad’s real parents were killed in some war. I don’t really know much about it—it wasn’t something Dad ever talked about.
“Hola,” my mother called out in her fake TV voice from the front door. Here we go. I yanked a brush through my hair and headed for the living room. I just wanted to get this part of their visit over with so I could get back to Dustin. But—wait. They probably knew something about Dad, so maybe I should stick around a while?
“Hi,” I said, hugging my aunt and uncle. “Bienvenidos,” I added like a good daughter. Then we all stood there like a bunch of idiots just smiling and nodding at each other. Sorry, but it was true. It was mad awkward that my father wasn’t there, and I was sure everyone else was thinking the same thing.
“A la gran…,” Tío R. was starting to say as he gave me a once-over that kind of gave me the creeps. He was old and freckled, and he had tufts of white hair pushing out of his ears. He was short, but not as short as Tía Laura.
She was soooooo short. The same height as Benjamin, who was the slightly smaller twin. For real, Tía Laura looked like a miniature person. I hadn’t seen her in probably three years. Her black curly hair had white roots showing, giving her head a skunk-like look. And now she had a missing tooth. I tried not to stare.
Tía Laura squealed in agreement. “Liliana! You look like a woman!”
I never knew what to say to comments like that, especially because then everyone just stared at my body.
“Do you need help with your bags? Moving them to your room?” I asked to distract them. Plus, look at how polite I can be, Mom! I gestured toward their maroon suitcases. Somehow this question ignited giggles.
“She’s so funny—” Tía Laura said.
“Verdad,” Tío R. chimed in, shaking his head. “Those aren’t jobs for girls.”
My mouth fell open. Mom didn’t even notice. “Por favor, sit down,” she was telling them. On the coffee table: Ritz crackers on a white plate arranged in a circle, a block of cheese and a small knife in the center. The cheese still had the clear wrapping on it. Then she turned to me and mouthed, Get the boys. They were taking forever to get dressed.
“And get drinks for everyone,” my mother whispered next, giving me the You should have already thought of that look.
A few minutes later I returned holding glasses of iced tea, the ice cubes clinking and popping. First I set one in front of Tía Laura, who promptly handed it to her husband. I gave her the second glass as my brothers scampered in, all decked out in the clothes our mother must have set out for them—checkered sweater-vests and white button-downs, khakis and shiny shoes like for church, even though it was Saturday.