Slowburn

Chapter 3

         It was a Sunday, which meant I was on a facetime call with my parents. They work during the week and they're tired when they arrive home in the evenings, so we put Sunday aside as a day to keep in touch. They're catholic and go to church Sunday mornings, but that's fine because I don't wake up early on Sunday's, and that means we have an afternoon call. Noon to be exact. 

I get my curly hair from my dad, not my mother. Though he keeps his hair short enough that it just looks like small waves. My mom has thick wavy hair in the same brown shade. They look good for being in their late forties, but that's just our Portuguese skin aging gracefully. Thank goodness.

 I don't look forward to being old. I feel like I haven't even lived yet. Not really. I had two immigrant parents who worked custodial jobs all my life, and we had a modest living.

         I have a brother but he's a selfish person. He knocked a girl up when he was 17 years old, which my catholic mother cried about for days. Him and the girl broke up, but my niece Mya is still in his life, so he and her live with my parents. They support his kid since he's still only 19 years old with a two year old daughter.

I love my niece to pieces. I just think my brother could contribute more than he does, since he was the one who got a girl pregnant so young and added to our living expenses significantly. The mother is a piece of work and child support is steeper than I feel is fair, seeing as we have her half the week and she has her the other half. 

        Mya was on the screen of the phone right now waving to me. I love those chubby cheeks. "I miss you baby, so muchy" I waved back. She says 'muchy' instead of 'much' so when I say I miss her or love her I say 'so muchy." 

Something caught her attention off screen and she jumped off my mom's lap and disappeared from sight.  "The cartoons," my dad called it. 

        "So did Tia make it back home okay? The flight and everything?" I was asking about my aunt (tia) who had flown in from Portugal to visit family. "Ah, she always complains about something. Merda (crap)" My dad waved his sister off. It made me chuckle, but my mom shook her head.

"Where is Michael?" I asked, although my parents pronounce my brother's name as Miguel. And I am technically Katarina. My dad snorted, but my mom defended him right away as she always does. "Sleeping. The baby woke him up in the night" she lied. 

We talked for a little bit, but then Mya was whining about being hungry and they ended the call. "Saudades" we all said to each other. (Miss you) 

        My bedroom is very small. I have a twin size mattress that does not belong to me, it came with the room. A half closet where I've shoved all my belongings, and a nightstand. That's it. There is no stylish bed frame or anything. Just the box spring and the mattress in camo print sheets. I have no idea where that came from.

 I think the guy before me left sheets, and things behind like the mini fan under the bed that did come in hand recently for summer. I had white blinds over the one window towards the foot of my bed. I tell my parents everything is so great here, because they gave me so much crap for moving here that I had to seem okay or they'd insist I fly back.

        I wanted to be out on my own. I've been sheltered because I've been responsible for a lot of things throughout my childhood. Like watching my brother when my grandfather was in and out of the hospital and we had no babysitter, and doing house chores all the time to take the load off of my hard working parents. 

My dad is also strict, so he didn't let me date boys in high school and go out to malls or movie theaters. That was like on the rarest occasion once I was older, like 18, and they relaxed a little bit.