My family doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving.
Why? Because it's an American holiday, and while my siblings and I are American, my mother isn't. What's the point of celebrating an American holiday if you're Mexican? Besides the fact that we live here and we're raised here, we just don't celebrate it. The fourth Thursday of November has always been just another day to my family and I.
Like I do any other Thanksgiving, I sleep in. There's no way in hell I wasn't going to take advantage of this three-day-break and not sleep. My body has an internal alarm set, making sure I don't sleep in past noon. However, I still do wake up and I drag myself from my room to the bathroom. Brushing my teeth and washing my face, I slowly bring myself into the living room. Adeline is eating fruit loops, my mom is reading a book, and John is on his phone. Normal morning for a normal day.
My mother looks up at me for a spit second then looks back down at her book.
"You need to get ready." She says while turning a page. I raise a brow.
"Why?" Mama sighs and looks at me.
"Daniel called and invited you over to his family dinner. Preparate. Y por favor, miren bien por ellos porque son mis jefes." She orders.
A new wave of anxiety floods my body and I quickly walk back into the bathroom and scramble to get into the shower. It's not like I'm nervous to see Daniel, we left off on a good note yesterday. We lied in my bed just talking. Around 2pm he kissed me and right before I fell asleep, he left. I have never felt more at ease with a guy before. Maybe because now he knows who I am. I'm not carrying my secret on my shoulders anymore. It doesn't really matter to me why I trust him, only the fact that I do. With everything in me I hope we work out.
When I get out of the shower, I quickly dry myself and after standing in front of my closet for what seems like 10 years, I decide on maroon crop top sweater, a black high wasted skirt, black tights, and leather high heel ankle boots. Going back to the bathroom, I blow dried my hair, straightened it, and put on minimal makeup. I felt as if I could do more, considering the fact that I'm seeing his parents, but I don't want to appear as if I'm trying too hard.
I walked out at around 1 pm, flabbergasted at the fact it took me an hour to get ready, and see my mom in the kitchen doing something. When she sees me, her eyes light up and motion me to her.
I see her kneading dough, and she looks me up and down before putting her eyes back on what she's doing.
"Muy guapa." She compliments, making me smile.
"Thanks mama. What are you making?"
"Sopaipilla." I get excited internally, it's a fried dough with something sweet on top like honey or powered sugar, whatever you desire. "I'm proud of you Nida." Propping my hand on the counter, I arch a brow.
"¿Que?" Mama looks at me with glossy eyes and continues to knead.
"You opened up to someone. I know it's been hard for you-" If my mom said another word, I would cry and I've cried enough yesterday. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I close my eyes.
"Thank you." I whisper. That thank you is more than what it sounds. It's a thank you for everything she's done for me. A thank you for moving to America, for pushing me to do good, motivation, love, compassion, everything. She's been more than an amazing mother to me and one day I hope I can be a mother like her.
Mama wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, and starts to separate the dough into triangles.
"I feel bad for Daniel, you can't even boil water. Who wants a woman who can't cook?" She mutters. I laugh and start to walk away.
YOU ARE READING
Spanglish | editing
Teen Fiction"Daniel please-" He growled cutting me off mid sentence; making it obvious that he's pissed beyond belief. I never knew that telling him my past would upset him, at least not like this. I thought that after all we've been through, after everything t...
