You Moved In

Practice

After talking for about an hour, Miguel and I finally decide just to explain my situation to his family. We drive separately to his house and as soon as I park I see my father through his bedroom window. He just stares at me, emotionless... it's creepy.

"Something wrong?" Miguel asks.

"Nothing," I snap back into reality and look away and begin walking inside.

Miguel unlocks the front door and opens it for me. I thank him silently and walk inside. The house looks the same still, but more potted plants are here. It's like a jungle. The catwalk's  railing has been stained a hue of brown and a large book shelf sits with novels with titles I can't translate or would take me a moment. I walk in and I'm greeted with happy smiles and each one has more excitement on their face than I experience in a year.

"Oh, Miguel didn't tell me you were coming," his mother says in a tone that contradicts her happy face.

"Lo siento," he apologizes, "Nosotras necesitamos hablar."

"¿Acera de?" She asks with the same happy smile that scares me.

"Callie no tiene una casa, Mamá," he says and her true expression is revealed. Her face holds a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"I'm really sorry, Mrs Coriño," I apologize, "but due to my current home situation-"

"Miguel," she rolls her eyes, "Estoy harta de ti y de ella."

"¡Mamá!" He yells.

"No gritas a tu Mamá," his father scolds

"Your father already told me!" She tells me.

We all stop talking.

"Whatever he told you, it's probably not true," I roll my eyes and remember who I'm talking to. I cover my mouth.

"¿Ella es loca?" She asks.

"Ella está diciendo la verdad," Miguel speaks up, "Ella tiene no casa por Que de un Chico quien." He stops and gestures with his eyes.

"Ay dios mio," she says then gasps and covers her mouth.

"Mamá, Ella nesecita un lugar donde quedarse." He says.

"Yo se, pero no lo tengo." She says sadly

I know what that makes. "I don't have it".

"Then where?" I say politely and like a mouse.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I can't help you with that." She says, "and your father told me that it was your choice to leave."

"It was that or be forgotten," I cross a line that was never set up but still there, "he didn't care about what almost happened to me and he probably won't care about anything else. And I'm not asking you to take me in, you're flippin' son dragged me here!"

"Miguel," she glares.

"It was the right thing to do!" He defends.

"I'm fine with living in my car-"

"You're living in your car?" She asks.

"Yes, and I'm fine with it. But you should be proud oh Miguel for wanting to take me in."

"Only because he likes you," his father rolls his eyes.

"¡Papá!" Miguel scolds.

"¿Qué?" He asks, "es verdad."

"I'm really sorry that I'm dragging you into my problems but I really can't live in my car for longer than a month." I explain, "please, I'll carry my own weight and I help around the house. And I'll even sleep on the hardwood floor with a pillow and sheet if you don't have space."