“Gracias,” Tía Laura said. Tío R. didn’t say anything, just started patting the top of Benjamin’s head like he was a dog. My brother looked like he wanted to evaporate. Christopher began eating cheese and crackers like he was in a cheese-and-cracker-eating contest. Mom glared at him and he cut it out real quick. It was hard not to laugh.
“So, Liliana.” Tío R. crossed his legs and leaned back on the couch. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
I practically choked on the cracker I had just bitten into. Dustin-Dustin-Dustin! “Uh… no.” Please change the subject. Please change the subject.
As my mother offered Tío and Tía napkins, in a no-nonsense tone she explained, “Liliana is not allowed to date until she is eighteen.” Saved by Mom! But—wait—eighteen?! Eighteen? I decided to let that go for now.
Benjamin and Christopher snorted. I wished I could aim the remote at them and turn them off.
But Tía Laura’s eyes grew mischievous. She leaned forward. “But my Sylvia. You dated well before that, didn’t you?” She took a dainty sip of tea, staring down my mother, who sat like a saint, her hands folded on her lap.
“Memory can get fuzzy with age, no?” Mom said it like a statement instead of a question.
“Not mine,” Tía Laura responded, holding back a smile.
Oh snap!
Here’s the thing. Tía Laura had had no formal education in Guatemala. She could not read or write her own name, but my dad said she remembered every little detail of everything. Like this one story she’d told me about Dad. Your father, oh. When I first started taking care of him, he was like a bird. So whenever I ate a piece of pan dulce, I would only nibble around the edges, save the inside part, the soft doughy part, for him. I’d walk to the school at recess and stick my hand through the fence and pop it into his mouth or sneak it into his hand. I did this a couple of times a day, and before I knew it, he was growing. Then one day, I handed him the ball of pan dulce like always, except this time, I lingered by the fence. And your father, bless him, walked up to a little kid, littler than him, and gave him the ball of pan. I started crying right there on the sidewalk, but they were happy tears, you know?
I loved Tía’s stories. Maybe she was so good at remembering everything—and I mean everything: songs, dichos, proverbs, and especially juicy memories—because she also seemed to save everything, including the napkin she’d just folded into fourths and tucked inside her bra.
“Let’s get you settled,” Mom said now, changing the subject from dating. Ha—now we were both off the hook! Of course this made me crazy curious about when she had started dating. “Do you remember where everything is? The kitchen is yours. The bathroom, too. Anything you need, we can get.”
“Sí, sí. But first, gifts!” That made Christopher and Benjamin sit up real straight. Tía Laura pointed at her suitcase. Tío R. unzipped and searched and dug and unzipped some more, before finally taking out a few items. My brothers were practically panting, but if they were hoping for some kind of Guatemalan version of video games, they were about to be super disappointed. Tío R. handed a wooden toy to Tía Laura, which she then handed to Benjamin. It was some kind of a wooden spinning top with a picture of a Mayan temple painted on it. “Gracias,” Benjamin mumbled. Mom’s jaw twitched.
“And for you, Christopher.! Tía Laura gave him a miniature chicken bus painted in bright orange, blue, and yellow, with the word guatemala written across the front of it. Little papayas, watermelons, and bunches of bananas had been glued to the top of the bus. As someone who appreciated miniatures, I thought it was cute, but Christopher, not so much. Maybe he’d let me take the fruits off for my bodega.
Still, he hugged Tía Laura and Tío R. “Muchas gracias.” My mother beamed.
“Wait!” Tía Laura suddenly yelped, as if we were all going to get up and leave. She pushed Tío aside, rummaged through the suitcase herself, and unwedged about a pound of white tissue paper. Then she took forever opening all the layers, until she got to the center—a magnet of the Guatemalan flag. She placed it triumphantly into my mother’s hand. Squeezed. “For you, Sylvia.”
“Oh, how pretty,” Mom gushed, like it was jewelry or something. Well, it was sort of practical, unlike the enormous—I’m talking how-did-they-fit-in-the-suitcase enormous—wooden fork and spoon wall pieces they’d brought last time, which hung in our kitchen to this day.
Tía was already rustling through more tissue paper. “Last but not least, for you, Liliana.” She passed me a royal-blue-and-purple textile thing. I held it up, planting an I love it look on my face. Was it a purse? A belt? A headband? “A holder for your water bottle,” Tía Laura declared.
I did not look at Christopher, who was one glance away from hysterical laughter. “Muchas, muchas gracias,” I said. When I got up to give Tía Laura a hug, I stepped on Christopher’s toe. On purpose.
* * *
After Mom finished the grand tour (even though my aunt and uncle had been there before, and hello, there were only five rooms, six if you counted the bathroom), Tía Laura gently led me by the elbow into the hallway. She stood so close that I could smell her old-country smell, like what every relative from Guatemala’s suitcase smelled like: burning firewood and sweet corn and dirt after the rain. And a hint of Head & Shoulders shampoo.
“Como te pareces a Fernando,” my aunt said, running her palm along the side of my face. “¡Igualita!”
Unexpectedly, the sound of my father’s name brought tears to my eyes.
“Don’t cry, mija,” she murmured, and squeezed me tight. She leaned in even closer (which, I’m telling you, was hard to do because she was already mad close). “No matter what, he will always love you, mija.”
What the heck did that mean?
“Thanks?”
She dropped her voice down to a whisper. “He is trying really hard to come back. You must know that. You have to believe that he will make it back safely. Si Dios quiere.” She made a cross over her chest.
I froze. Safely? And why did he need prayers? How exactly was he planning to come back?
“Tía?” I asked. “What do you mean, safely?”
“Laura!” Tío R-something called from down the hall.
Tía Laura’s eyes widened.
“Tía, please?” I begged.
She pressed a finger to her lips, then turned to catch up with my uncle.
* * *
Later, while Tía and Tío were taking a jet lag nap, I approached my mom in the kitchen. She was stirring batter for a Magdalena cake. The empty box sat crookedly on the counter. On the front a white hand presented the finished cake on a pink platter. I wondered if it would be a better cake than the one I had for my birthday last year. I cleared my throat. “Mom?”
“What is it, Liliana?” She poured the batter into the Bundt pan; it looked delicious. I reached for a spoon to lick what remained in the mixing bowl.
“Tía Laura said something about Dad making it back safely.”