Concealed - A Hiding From Love Novel #2 (22 page)

It’s nearly midnight, I can’t sleep, and I’m sitting on the front porch of my parents’ house, listening to the
Tejano
music station on the old radio my dad keeps out here. The accordions are rendered even fuzzier by the static, and I swing slowly in the ancient metal two-seat glider that’s sat here my entire life. Every three or four years, my dad hauls it out to the driveway and spray paints it with a new coat. Then he puts it right back on the porch, saying that none of those fancy new gliders at Walmart can hold a candle to this vintage piece of steel.

“You were always special.” Tomás’s voice comes to me from the dark doorway of the house where he stands and leans against the doorframe.

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

“No, seriously. I remember when you were a tiny thing, maybe two or three. You used to go outside by yourself before anyone else in the house was awake. You’d find all of these roly poly bugs around the yard and you’d relocate them. We’d find you out here, moving handfuls of those stupid things from one end of the yard to another. When I finally asked you one day why you did it, you said, “I move the ones who don’t have a good home to where they will ‘cause it’s not fair for some of them to live where it’s nice and the rest don’t get to.”

He moves quietly over to the glider and sits next to me, putting his arm across the back of the seat and letting his hand drift down until it rests on my shoulder.

Together we push the old glider back and forth gently, picking up a rhythm easily, because we’re brother and sister and somewhere inside we feel each other, even when we’ve been mostly apart for years.

“You were always looking to make the world better, Lex. For other people, for yourself. And I know Mom and Dad are proud of you for that, but it also scares the crap out of them. Their world has changed so much during their lifetimes. From a tiny village in Mexico to this giant emporium in the north, where the money and the possibilities seem limitless. I think…” He pauses as if he’s searching for exactly the right words.

“I think for some people, like Mom and Dad, they sort of have a certain capacity for change, and once it’s all used up, they can’t take any more. They’ve spent the last thirty years of their lives trying really hard to keep everything the same. It’s like immigrating broke them in a certain way, as much as it gave them life.”

I sigh, watching my brother’s big feet next to my smaller ones as we rock, back and forth, back and forth.

“I can’t spend my whole life not changing, Tomás.” The despair in my voice is evident even to my own ears.

“I know.” He turns and looks down at me. “And as much as you owe them for giving you life and a good childhood, you don’t owe them your future. You have to do what’s best for you, Lex. Go out and change the world, take that guy with you, and create the life you want. I know it seems scary, but your family won’t abandon you.”

I look at him and arch a brow, skeptical of this advice.

“Maybe Dad cuts off your money. So what? Beth told me your boyfriend’s ready to pay for your school. You can get a part-time job. You’ve only got one more year.”

“But what if they won’t see me anymore? What if I can’t come home to visit?”

“You know what? Mom and Dad aren’t your only family,
hermanita
.” He looks at me seriously. “You have four brothers and sisters, and we aren’t going to abandon you. And the ‘rents? They’ll never be able to hold out, Lex. You really think Mom could stand the idea of her
hija
celebrating Christmas and birthdays without the family? Call their bluff, and I guarantee they won’t make it three months before they give in.”

We rock in unison for a few more minutes while I ponder what he’s told me. “How come you were never this smart when I was little?” I finally ask.

“I was, but you were so damn annoying I didn’t think you deserved to hear my wisdom.”

“I was not annoying,” I argue.

“Lex, seriously.”

“Okay, I kind of was.”

“So what’s next?” he asks as he stands and stretches.

“I guess I’ve got to face some music,” I answer. “Here and in Austin.”

He nods. Then he leans down and kisses me on the forehead before going inside the house.

After my talk with Tomás, I know it’s time to take charge. To live my life the way I want. The first stop the following morning is Marco’s house. I sit down with him, apologizing for calling him to come drive me home when I found out about my mom. It gave him the wrong impression and took advantage of his feelings for me. It was selfish and I genuinely feel guilty for it. I explain to him that no matter what happens between Gabe and me, he and I are done. I have to admit to myself that Marco isn’t what I’m looking for no matter what I may or may not feel for someone else.

It’s a hard conversation, but I think Marco finally understands. We want different things. I was in love with him when I was sixteen, but I’m not that girl anymore, and I can’t pretend to be any longer. I know there’s someone out there for him. Maybe even my cousin Bea, who I know has had the hots for him since he and I first started dating.

While talking to Marco was tough, I know the discussions with my parents that follow in the days after are going to be even harder.

I start with my dad because Mom’s health is fragile and I don’t want to upset her more than I have to.

Dad and I sit down in the
sala
on Mom’s red velvet sofa with the gilded arms. Yeah, it’s a Mexican thing – Beth and I gave up trying to understand it years ago.

“What’s so serious,
mija?
” Dad asks as we settle into the overstuffed cushions of the world’s tackiest sofa.

“I need to talk to you about some things, Papa.”

“Okay,” he answers, although I can tell he doesn’t really want to have the conversation.

“I’ve broken up with Marco, Papa, and you need to know I’m not going to be getting back together with him.”

He nods hesitantly. “And…”

“And I love Gabe. And Papa…” I raise my voice slightly as I see him start to protest. “I’m not traumatized. I’m not crazy, and I’m not irresponsible.”

“
Mija
,” he says sternly. “You’re too young to know what’s best for you. That’s why Mama and I are here to help you. Now, maybe Marco isn’t the man for you, but that doesn’t mean this soldier is either.”

“Dad! He isn’t a soldier anymore. He’s a mechanic. His name is Gabe, and I’m not too young to know who I love. Would you tell a child who loves his parents he’s too young to know? Love isn’t something that has a minimum age.”

My dad sighs. I’m obviously taxing his patience. “
Mija
, we’ve discussed this before. I can’t support you if you insist on throwing your life away on this
gringo
. It will break your mama’s heart. You’d better think long and hard about your choices when she’s sick like this.”

I steel myself against the guilt that is the first emotion to surface. Taking a deep breath, I thrash on.

“I’d never do something on purpose to endanger Mom’s recovery, but it’s also not my job to keep her healthy. Her heart attack isn’t my fault, and I can’t quit living my life just to appease her.”

My dad stands up and shakes a finger at me. “You think I won’t do it, Alexis, but I will. I won’t pay next semester’s tuition and you’ll be moving home in May. Don’t push me on this.”

I take a deep breath. “You can’t force me to move home. I’m an adult. I can date who I want and live where I want.”

He folds his arms and studies me for a minute. “
Si
,” he says. “But I don’t have to pay for it.”

“You’re right,” I agree. “And maybe it’s time for you to quit paying for my stuff. Maybe it’s best for everyone if I do this on my own.”

“What about your education? Your degree?” I can see he’s starting to panic.

“I’ll finish my degree. I want it as much as you want me to have it. But there are loans and jobs, and maybe it’s time for me to take some responsibility for my own life and my decisions. There are things I want to do. Places I want to see. And I can’t expect you to pay for those things.”

He sits back down. “What things? What places?”

“I want to do more aid work. I want to join the Peace Corps or maybe do more projects with the UN. As hard as Afghanistan was, I felt like I had a purpose there. It meant everything to me to be able to bring some basic comfort to those people who’ve suffered so much.”

“You can do those things here at home. The church needs people to work at the food bank and the homeless shelter. You can help your own people right here.”

“I appreciate that, Dad, but it’s not the same. It’s easy to walk down the street and put in a few hours at the shelter with Father Pacheco. I want to travel, to see the conditions in other places. I want to help those people who don’t have a Father Pacheco. I need to be in that place with them. As long as I’m here, my comfortable bed is down the street and the immediacy is lost. I can’t fully understand that experience unless I share it with them.”

He shakes his head. “I will never understand you. Why you would choose to leave a family who loves you and keeps you safe to do these things? You need to know what it’s like to live in places like that? All you have to do is ask your mama and me.

“You want me to tell you about my childhood in Santa Marta? You want to know what it’s like to live with the threat of
La Mana
taking people from your home for no reason or going days without food? Living in a shack with a tin roof that heats up to over one hundred and twenty degrees in the summers so it’s hotter inside than out? Or, God forbid, having to squat in a shelter you make out of garbage in the dump. Having human waste outside your front door. No plumbing, no electricity, no sewers.”

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head again. “Your mother and I spent thirty years making sure you kids would never have to see those things. Left everyone and everything we knew, learned a new language and a new culture, spent years to get our citizenship legally. All so you wouldn’t have to endure what we did as young people, and now you tell us you’re seeking it out? How can we ever support or understand that?”

I realize my father has just shared a part of himself with me he’s never let my siblings and me see. We knew Mama and Papa were poor in Mexico, and we knew things were hard. Otherwise why would they have immigrated? They’ve never discussed details though. Never described that life to us. They’ve protected us all these years, and now I understand. I’m negating their entire life’s work. Seeking out the very things they ran from, protected us from.

I’m telling them that their lives have been a waste of time.

“Oh, Papa.” Anguish throbs in my heart. “Don’t you see? It’s because you gave us such a wonderful life that I want to do this. I want to help other families in places like your village in Mexico to have some of the things you’ve given all of us. This isn’t me rejecting what you’ve done. It’s me wanting to be just like you.”

I see tears come to my father’s eyes. “Oh,
mija
,” he says sadly. “You’re a good girl. I wish I understood you better, but I won’t quit trying. I’ll never quit.”

“I know, Papa.” I sigh. “I know.”

The remainder of my visit home is spent trying to get the house set up for my mom’s recovery. Beth and I cook lots of healthy dishes and freeze them so Mama won’t have to cook for a while. We take all the traditional Mexican dishes the neighbors and aunts brought and give them to Father Pacheco for the soup kitchen. We clean the house top to bottom, do every bit of laundry in the whole place, wash the windows, and even decorate for Easter which is coming up in about a month. By the time we leave, Mom is well on her way to a full recovery, the house is set to go for several weeks, and my parents have grudgingly agreed to finish paying for the rest of my semester so I’ll have time to get a job.