“You…,” he said, catching the cry in his throat. “You… you look so grown-up. Una señorita.”
“Ew,” Benjamin wailed. And we all cracked up.
I swung round to my mother. “Why didn’t you text me? Dad! How long have you been home?”
“Mija, I did call you! The moment he got home. That was”—she looked at her watch—“forty-five minutes ago.”
“What?” I checked my phone. Still dead. Of course. “But—oh my God—Dad! How are you here? I mean, how’d you get here? Did Tía Laura and Tío R. give you the money? Well, of course they did. That’s how you got here. Hey, are you hungry? Benjamin and Christopher are mad good at cooking now. Me too! Well, sorta. But how do you feel? Are you tired? What happened?” I couldn’t shut up. I couldn’t even let my dad answer a single question. It was like I had to get them all out in case he disappeared again in the next three seconds.
“Whoa, Liliana, chillax,” Benjamin said.
“Okay, yeah, I’m kind of hyped! But yeah, Dad—so, tell us everything.”
So Dad sat down on the couch, and we all glommed onto him. Mom had her hand on his shoulder, Christopher clasped one arm, me the other. I couldn’t stop petting Dad’s hand like it was a kitten. And Benjamin sat on the rug, staring up at Dad like he was famous.
“Go. Tell us. Everything. Don’t leave out one single part,” I begged.
Dad grinned, his teeth so white against his brown skin. “First things first, mija. Tell me everything. How’s this fancy new school of yours?”
“I’ll tell you, but you first! Go.”
Benjamin poked me. “Dang, Liliana. You’re all bossy. He just got home. Give him a second.”
I resisted the urge to tell him to shut up.
“You sound so grown-up, mijo,” Dad said. Benjamin gave himself a pat on the shoulder. What a dweeb.
“Dad… please!” I cried out. “At least give us the short version. Oh! Do you want some coffee? I can make you some coffee! Oh, and the twins—wait till you see what they can make. So, would you like a coffee? Then later you can tell us the whole story.”
Dad was laughing. “Mija, you sound like you’ve had too much coffee. I’m good.”
“Daaaaad! Can you give us the short version at least?”
“Vaya, vaya.” He looked at Mom. She gave the slightest of nods, but it was enough.
He started by telling us how much he’d missed us, how much he’d thought of us every single minute. “Believe me, you are the reason I am here. You and God.”
He gazed from one of us to the other, his eyes glistening. “The crossing now, mijos, it’s very dangerous. More than ever. You have to believe me. I tried four times.
“The desert,” Dad went on, even though no one had said anything about a desert, “is dry, mijos. It makes you remember that we are just bodies, bones and flesh, thirsty for water. Any kind of water.” His eyes drifted, as if watching a scene we couldn’t see, wouldn’t want to see. He cleared his throat. “You really want to hear all this?”
“Yes!”
Mom made the sign of a cross on her chest.
Dad continued, “In the end, I was lucky. One time, a few weeks earlier, I was nearly seen, right by the border! But there were lots of tumbleweeds in the area and I hid behind one as big as a car, grabbing on as hard as I could. If I let go, I’d have been caught!”
“A tumbleweed? A tumbleweed saved you?” That was INSANE.
Dad nodded. “Big as a car!” Of course, I needed more.
“So then what happened? Wait—how’d you get to Boston? And where did you stay while you were waiting to cross? How did you—”
“Liliana!” my brothers yelled in unison.
But my dad only laughed. “Some things haven’t changed.” Then he grew serious.
“Well…” He let out a long breath. “I’m home now. That’s what’s important. Sylvia, would you please get me a glass of water?” It was as if just thinking about his journey was making him thirsty.
“Claro.” Mom hopped up with more energy than I’d seen in months.
“At the border, did you have to literally climb over a wall?” Now it was Christopher firing off all the questions.
Dad rubbed his hands together. “Vaya. So I was part of a large group of people crossing. Our coyote arranged it all. First, our group met in Tijuana, where we rented a small room and stayed one night. The day after that, close to sundown, we started walking. And we walked for hours. Then—” His voice caught.
Mom returned with the water. We all watched him drink like a new parent watches their baby take its first steps, all pressed against him on the couch, the room growing darker with each wintry minute.
“Then—there was a little boy,” Dad began again. “He was five years old, I’d find out later. We ran into him in the desert, all alone. He’d stepped on a cactus, and his group had left him behind. Who knows how long he had sat there picking out the thorns. He couldn’t walk, and he could barely talk. He was near hysterical. So I had no choice; I picked him up and carried him with us.”
“You did?” Christopher crept onto Dad’s lap.
“I did, mijo. The coyote told me to leave him, that I was a fool, that he wasn’t going to return my money if we got caught. But I had to. And I would do it again.”
“Ay, Fernando.” Mom began to dab at her eyes with a tissue.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Suddenly my calf cramped. I stood up to stretch, but then sat right back down and reached for Dad’s hand again. “Then?”
“Then we got picked up by a man in a car. We drove to a checkpoint, you know, where we met more people who were going to cross, about fifteen. From there another man drove us to an empty parking lot.”
Christopher’s eyes were huge. “Don’t worry, mijo,” Dad said. “I’m okay. I’m here. I’m home now.” Benjamin smushed his face into Mom’s leg, and Dad stroked his head.
“In the parking lot a huge semi-truck carrying bananas pulled up. The coyote told us to get in there. He said ‘It’s going to be cold. It’s a refrigerator truck, but there is an area where we’re going to put you inside. You get three gallons of water. Your trip will be about three or four hours long. You cannot talk and you cannot make any noise. You cannot do anything that could get us in trouble.’ And then he took off.”
“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth.
“There was a young woman in the group.” Dad looked at me. “She was pregnant. And another young father with a young kid. We all looked at each other.… Anyway, we got into this very tight place. It was freezing. I wished I had a coat for the woman… for the little boy. Three hours became four hours became five, then seven.”
“Dios guarde.” Mom pulled Benjamin up onto the couch next to her.
“What about the little boy?” Benjamin asked.
“He sat beside me. He told me it was his birthday the next day. He just kept whispering that over and over. ‘Mañana cumplo seis. Mañana cumplo seis.’ But there was no way to know what time of day it was. So, in the middle of the night—what I thought was around midnight—I held him close and told him, ‘Happy birthday, happy birthday. You’re six.’ I wanted to make sure that at least he heard it from someone.”