Elliott in Love

Chapter Three

"Ma! I'm home!"

    "In the kitchen, mi amor!"

    Kicking off my Birkenstock mules by the door, I peel off the day and follow the smell the arroz con pollo. Mommy is a hometown legend outside of her family legacy. If she had her own restaurant would put every business plus my Madrina out of business twice over. Her meals have healed sickness and heartbreaks. Once Omar Nunez got the flu Mamí's sopa made him better overnight. No word of a lie. I've eaten food that has dried tears.

    Mamí is also a reader. She can see right through every wall you put up, lies you can tell, and secrets you try to hide. Of course, she knows me because I'm her daughter she knows strangers as if she had birthed them. Her eyes have this ability to speak before has the chance to open her mouth. Sometimes I wonder if she's even human because I am completely convinced she is celestial. 

    "How was your day, sweet girl?"

    "Fue bien, mami." I kiss her cheek and grab a cube of freshly cooked chicken, 

    I watched her hands closely, like I've done my entire life, as they chopped onions, garlic, and bell peppers. I caught a whiff of sofrito and my mouth waters.

    "That's it? Bien mamí?" Her Nuyorican timbre morphed into my Californian tone, "That's all your mother gets? I swear, a mother gets no respect around here."

    "Que dramática, Mommy!" I sat across her and held my chin in my palm. "Fue bien. The day was the same. Nothing new or out of the ordinary."

    "Mhmm." Mommy's hands chopped to their own tumbao. She switched to Spanish which meant she wanted to really hear about my day. She poured the onions into the pot with the sofrito and tomato paste pursing her lips with concentration. "What have you been thinking about, hmm."

    "Honestly, I've been thinking about everything," I replied in Spanish.

    Mommy and Papí made the house a Spanglish house when my sister and I were in high school. We only switch when we are wanting to connect on a deeper, intimate level. Lately, it's just been me and Mommy who talk in Spanish like this. With my Papí and sister, it's Spanglish or straight English.

    "Okay, mijita, tell me everything."

    "Did you hear about Gran Harris?" I asked, shifting in my chair

    "I did."

    "Why didn't you tell me?"

    "I thought you knew." She added white rice and chicken stock to the simmering pot and stirred with her eyes fixed on her rounded motion then back to mine.

    "How would I know? I don't talk to the Harris'."

    "You're still not speaking to Lukas?"

    "No, Mommy. I can't."

    "You can," She said nonchalantly, "but you still need time. And that's okay."

    "You should have told me."

    "What else happened?"

    "Moss wants me to be the shop manager. He wants me to think about it over the summer."

    "Is that what you want to do?"

    "No."

    "Do you know what you want to do?"

    "Maybe. I don't know."

    "Do you want to move back to Nueva York?"

    "Do you want me to move back to Nueva York?

    "That's not what I asked, nena."

    "I don't know Mommy. Even if I move back, I'll be doing the same thing I'm doing here."

    "Si quieres ir, pues irte. Si quieres quedar, entones quedar mi amor."

    If you want to go then go. If you want to stay, then my love stay.

    I hate when she says this. It's not a direct answer. I don't know what I want. if I want to go back to New York or if I want to stay here in this small ass town. I could open the bookstore anywhere or I could leave it as it is. I don't even know if I want to open a brick-and-mortar store. I definitely don't want to be a shop manager but I know Papí is going to say something soon. I know him. He works in quarters like a UC school. It's been a few months since our last talk/disagreement and he could bring it up any day. Please know that I love my father but he is very goal orientated and I know having too creative, spontaneous daughters drives him up the walls. I've convinced myself that if I was living out of the house, he wouldn't ask as much but I hear him when he talks to my sister. Yet ignorance is bliss.

    Mommy knows I'm stuck in my head because I feel her palm rub my furrowing brow away.

    "Don't worry my love or you'll get wrinkles." I put my hand over hers and let the peace of her presence calm my anxious heart. Her hand moves down to my cheek and I lean into it. "You'll figure it out, my love. I promise." She pulls my head to hers and kisses my forehead. Just like that, Mommy knows how to pull me out of my head. I worry if I leave this time, I won't know how to find my way out of the darkness. It's not the same as when I was little. But I can't live at home forever, right?

    "Come on nena! Let's watch The Kardashians. I heard Khloe has a new baby and her boyfriend cheated again."

    "Ay! Mommy, La Chismosa!" She smacked my arm with her towel.

    "Only a little." she laughed

    I laid my head on her lap on the couch and I thought about all the possibilities that came with today. My bookstore. Luka's being home. Moss's job offer. Moss's nephew. They all swirl in my head but I let Mommy's gentle detangling of my curls lull me into a trance where all I think about is the arroz con pollo in the stove and the latest of The Kardashian drama saga.