You Should Have Been Nicer to My Mom, page 11
“No, I’m saying there’s no need. Alluria only produces cruelty-free lines of makeup and skin-care products. Do you know what that means?” Aury hissed. She was close enough that Xiomara could almost hear a murmur on the other side of the phone. “Exactly. And if this issue didn’t come up during the testing phases, it shouldn’t be coming up now. ¿Oíste?”
Something slid across the floor. Papi Ramon’s desk creaked in a way that made Xiomara’s pulse jolt. In the window, Xiomara saw Aury’s reflection plainly. She leaned against the desk, almost sitting on it. If Aury so much as turned her head, Xiomara would be caught.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. If there was ever a God that cared about Xiomara’s family, He could show it now by keeping Xiomara hidden.
“Oh, so you want to tell me how this works? Is that what I’m hearing?” Aury asked. “Official statement, nothing. Did you see the news? Everyone is too busy with my older brother and his mess of a son. We don’t have to do anything. And if I hear anything else about this, I will personally hold you responsible.”
Xiomara watched her aunt hang up the phone. Aury clicked her tongue as she stepped away from the desk. “Unbelievable . . .”
Xiomara didn’t move until she heard the click of the door closing once more. Caution made her peer around the desk slow and sure before crawling back to the bookcase for the Bible. She flipped through the pages, keeping an eye out for any markings or hidden messages from Papi Ramon.
She didn’t get to search long.
Aury shrieked so loud, Xiomara’s heart nearly stopped. But worse was what came after it—Manuel’s laughter. Xiomara jumped to her feet and ran toward the sound. Three pairs of footsteps thundered down the steps in a hurry and followed her to the dining room. Wanda stood frozen in place at the entrance, and if it weren’t for the rest of the family at Xiomara’s heels, she would have careened out of the way. Instead, Xiomara barreled into her cousin just in time to see Manuel picking up Aury by her waist while she clawed out to the television.
“Manito, put her down!” Rafael’s voice boomed over Manuel’s laugh. The man hardly acknowledged him, overcome with a vicious glee that made Xiomara wonder what exactly was happening. While Rafael and Marisa moved to peel the two apart, Xiomara looked to the TV.
Aury’s face looked back. Specifically, a picture of a smiling Aury holding up a sleek bag with her company’s logo visible. Xiomara recognized it as one of the main promotional photos she used when selling her skin-care products to other members in her multilevel marketing start-up.
“Aury Abreu comes under fire for allegedly selling chemically harmful face masks that are rumored to cause severe burns when worn too long . . .” the newscaster read. The report came with videos of crying women and blistering red skin.
Xiomara’s mouth dropped. Now Aury’s hushed phone call made sense. She likely had a subordinate who’d known this information would come to light and wanted to get ahead of it.
The TV suddenly clicked off. Rafael put the remote down. Manuel had let his sister go, and now he and Aury stood on opposite ends of the table, with Marisa standing in front of her and Henry joining his father.
“You were so high and mighty about what I did for my son, but what are you ruining lives for?” Manuel spat.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Aury yelled. She lifted her half of the table and pushed it into his lower half. Doubling over in pain, Manuel shouted obscenities at her between ragged breaths. Once again, Marisa and Rafael worked to keep the two apart.
“Two scandals in one night?” Yaritza said breathlessly. “I must be living in a telenovela.” Her eye darted down. “Why do you have a Bible?”
Xiomara didn’t have any words for that. Rafael looked to the remaining grandchildren and waved them away. “Go to your rooms. We’ll handle this.”
At first, none of them moved. Then Wanda peeled off first, returning to the kitchen. Xiomara began to step away, but Yaritza held her ground. Rafael sent a look to his niece, as if to say, get your cousin. She nodded and looped her arm into Yaritza’s, pulling her away.
“Come on,” Xiomara mumbled. Luckily, Yaritza didn’t fight her.
Xiomara’s head swam with the newfound scandal. It was bad enough to find out about Henry and Manuel. But Aury? Yaritza was wrong: it wasn’t two scandals, it was three.
And when Xiomara looked back, Rafael was still watching them with his arms crossed and a darkened look in his eyes.
Xiomara had a feeling the family’s sins were only just beginning to be revealed.
7:02 p.m.
Yaritza paced about the room. It had been over an hour since Aury’s scandal hit the news, but energy flowed through her like electricity in a high-voltage power line. She never stood in the same place once, and her eyes hadn’t once torn away from her phone as she searched for newly written articles about their family. Like she’d said, the whole situation seemed about as bizarre as a telenovela, sans any romantic tension. She waved a frantic hand to Xiomara and tried to get her attention.
“Oh my God, they’re lighting Aury’s ass up online!” Yaritza laughed. “Listen to this—‘I should have known not to trust Alluria products when I heard it was a pyramid scheme.’ Aury would have an aneurysm if she saw that!”
Yaritza’s amusement sparked confusion in Xiomara. What was her reason for being delighted in the awful news regarding her family? As far as Xiomara could tell, no one had ever spread rumors about Yaritza’s mother or been callous enough to suggest Rafael wasn’t her father to her face. If anyone should’ve been reading the comments with astonished glee, it was Xiomara.
Instead, she was sitting on Mami’s bed, puzzled by the Bible on her lap. It was light on her thighs and completely brand-new. Black leather shined, the spine hardly bent at all. It was like Papi Ramon had bought this from the nearest Christian bookstore right before he passed.
The weirdest part was that despite being found underneath the bookshelf, the Bible itself had collected no dust. She wondered when it might have been placed there, in the dark of the study, completely out of sight. If it were not for that strange smell, she wouldn’t have found it at all.
“What was that . . . ?” Xiomara muttered.
“Did you say something?” Yaritza looked up. Xiomara shook her head and flipped through the Bible. The thin pages felt like they could be torn at the lightest hint of force. She started from the back, allowing gravity to do most of the work as the paper flourished out from her fingertips. Her eyes quickly scanned each page. Was that a highlight she saw? Something underlined? Xiomara would work back to it, only to find she had imagined it.
Eventually, she made her way back to the front cover. Still nothing. This book wasn’t just brand-new, it was unmarked completely. Frustration mounting, Xiomara rubbed her eyes and met Yaritza’s stare.
“What’s with the Bible? Was it in the library?”
“Yeah,” she lied.
“Hm.” Yaritza looked back to her phone. Xiomara looked down again.
What should I be looking for? That was a tricky question if there ever was one. Xiomara wasn’t exactly following clues as much as she was following feelings. Something feeling off led to something else not making sense went to a third thing that didn’t match what she knew. It was a single thread that cleaved through her life in an odd pattern, and if she didn’t chase it to the very end, she’d be stuck with an itchy dissatisfaction. But now the odd pattern grew cold because what was she supposed to do with a completely unmarked Bible?
Maybe I missed something . . .
Xiomara flipped through the pages again, her vision blurring somewhere around Lamentations. There was something about staring too intensely at tiny letters that stung her eyes. Her chest tightened—oh God. Was she crying? No, no, no—not here. Not in front of Yaritza.
Xiomara shoved the book aside and dashed to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
She zipped down the stairs, passing Papi Ramon’s study, and stopped. Naomi was likely in the library. Wanda was in the kitchen. From the sound of the TV in the living room, someone was clearly taking up residence there. Xiomara needed to be alone, and the house was now much too stuffy for her.
She turned right, opened the front door, and stepped outside.
The cold was a shock to her bones. Rain and wind whipped through the air so chaotically that even though Xiomara was under the archway, she found her legs growing damp within seconds. Her cheeks became flushed, and her ears burned from the icy weather.
Xiomara welcomed this cold discomfort. It cleared her head, forced her to breathe. She hadn’t realized she was coming down with a headache until the wind cooled her temples. Xiomara dropped her shoulders.
Finally, she was calm and could process the last couple of hours. It had been nothing but confusion and frustration and tension—of course she’d become overwhelmed. Of course she’d gotten upset with herself—and Papi Ramon for doing this to her. This shouldn’t have been her problem in the first place. Xiomara wasn’t his only grandchild, and she most certainly wasn’t the last to ever visit. Papi Ramon hadn’t thought this through. Xiomara’s insides felt scorched by rage, but the high winds and cold rain tempered it.
The door moved behind her.
“Wanda says the sancocho is done,” Naomi said. The home aide looked at her blankly, waiting for an answer.
“Thanks.” Xiomara sniffled. Whether it was from emotion or the cold, she wasn’t sure, but she knew she would blame it on the latter if Naomi asked.
She didn’t. Naomi just stared blankly and widened the door.
“Well, all right, then,” Naomi said as she walked down the hall. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Xiomara’s stomach grumbled loudly. Hunger had caught her by surprise. She took one step into the doorway—then stopped.
Right below the where the doorknob would meet the door frame, three lines were carved into the wood of the house. Xiomara traced her fingers up and down each one, then stepped out and closed the door. The lines continued across the frame and even into the sidelight. It was a jagged cut, leaving splinters in the wood and cracks in the glass.
And it looked like a claw mark.
* * *
Manuel and Henry would not come to the kitchen. Aury stopped by to grab a bowl of sancocho before retiring to her room. The rest of the family sat and ate together in the dining room, unsaid thoughts about the night’s developments circling their heads like vultures. Marisa was too loyal to Aury to gossip about her, and Rafael seemed to just want some peace, so he was unlikely to say more than a few words about his brother and nephew.
“They said they’ll eat later” was all he said. It was a lie, though, Xiomara knew. As soon as she exited the kitchen with her own sancocho, ceramic bowl practically scorching her fingers, Wanda darted out and flew up the stairs with a tray. Manuel likely texted her to bring up their meals, so they wouldn’t have to deal with the family’s judgmental eyes.
Naomi didn’t join in either. She sat in the kitchen, on a stool pulled up to the counter, while Xiomara’s family skirted around the elephant in the room.
Who was next? First was Henry’s scandal, which led to Manuel’s. Then Aury’s scandal hit the news. The anonymous letter sent to the family now appeared to be unspecified on purpose because it wasn’t targeting just one of them.
It was targeting all of them.
And if Papi Ramon’s letter is related, then someone really isn’t who they say they are. Xiomara bit into a plátano. It singed her gums as she chewed, and she quickly washed it down with water. Her tongue may have been burnt, but under the circumstances, it was already difficult for Xiomara to enjoy the food.
It was an awkward meal, to say the least.
At some point during it, though, when they all continued to clutch tact, Yaritza brazenly dropped a bomb.
“They’re starting to cancel us online,” she said, licking her spoon clean. Her bowl held the discarded oxtail bones, which only solidified the vulture image to Xiomara. Her cousin had picked the bones clean and was now back to what truly interested her—drama.
“They’ve even got a hashtag going.” Yaritza continued, scrolling on her phone. “Hashtag AbandonTheAbreus. Apparently, we’re no longer considered the pillar of the Latino community, or whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“Enough!” Rafael dropped his spoon into his bowl. “Don’t read anything they’re saying about us.”
“Why not?” It was the first time she’d addressed her father directly all night. Her eyes lit up, and she chuckled as she double-tapped her screen. Xiomara watched Rafael flex his fingers in irritation.
“You think it’s funny?” he asked. “Your grandfather was just buried, and now we’re being dragged through the mud—and you’re laughing about it.”
Yaritza made a face. “I didn’t do anything wrong. If you’re so worried about our family reputation, go talk to your siblings.”
“Don’t talk to your father that way.” Marisa scowled. The sudden solidarity between siblings was almost enough to surprise Xiomara.
Almost. As she studied her aunt, she looked for any signs of guilt—shifting eyes, tense shoulders, fidgeting—but none were present. In fact, it wasn’t shame or regret Xiomara saw in Marisa’s face.
It was relief.
“Oh yeah, take his side.” Yaritza rolled her eyes. “But when something about him hits the news, don’t say you’re surprised.”
Marisa snapped to Rafael. “Is there something we should know?”
Rafael’s face was hardened, and his stare was fixed on Yaritza, who was doing the greatest job at showing how little she cared. She shoved her bowl away from her and leaned back.
“No,” he finally answered. “There isn’t.”
Xiomara wasn’t convinced.
Marisa huffed. “There better not be. You said it already—we just buried Papi. We don’t need any more surprises right now. So—Yaritza, put down the phone. I’m talking to everyone.”
Yaritza scoffed but conceded, dropping her phone to her lap instead. It didn’t take a genius to know she was still sneaking peeks below the table. Still, Marisa wasn’t dissuaded. She pressed both elbows on the table and laced her fingers together, taking on the appearance of a coconspirator.
Marisa took a deep breath and said, “Here’s what I think—we should confess.”
The phrasing made Xiomara’s ears twitch. So Marisa was now the only other person taking the anonymous letter seriously? Xiomara couldn’t help but study her aunt, following the hairline where it met her skin and wondering if she was just trying to get ahead of whatever scandal was coming for her. In all her years of knowing Marisa, Xiomara couldn’t imagine her aunt being able to hold any secrets—she wasn’t even good at being a Secret Santa. Anytime the family attempted it, she found ways to constantly drop hints to the giftee, like the time she suddenly asked Xiomara, “You wear heels, right?”
And she still got the wrong size.
“Um—” Xiomara sheepishly raised her hand.
“Confess what?” Wanda interrupted. She jutted her chin out, defiant, with a look that said, how dare you. Xiomara brought her hand back down, waiting to see how this played out.
“Whoever sent that letter knows too much about us.” With every syllable, Marisa tapped her finger against the table. “So if we already know what’s coming, we can work together, figuring out who’s targeting us. Who did we piss off lately?”
“Why, are you going to post about it?” Yaritza muttered.
“Yaritza!” Rafael scolded.
“What?” She crossed her arms. “Do you know how early news channels get their information? It’s not like they’re being told to wait for a signal or anything. If they already know something about us, there’s nothing we can do to stop them from telling the world.”
It was a valid point. Why bother confessing to a crime when they were already on their way to the executioner? Who did that really serve?
“What if it’s not a person?” Xiomara blurted. The shock of hearing her own voice seemed to spread to everyone. They processed her question in bemused silence and with weary sighs. As if they’d somehow known what Xiomara was going to say and they’d been really hoping she wouldn’t. She quickly cast down her eyes, kicking her own impatience.
“I understand your frustration, Xiomara,” Rafael said, wiping his face with his hand. “But Papi was old. He wasn’t okay mentally. So don’t start saying things to cause a fight, because if we start arguing, it’ll never end.”
The accusation made Xiomara’s blood run hot. First, Wanda had accused her of gossip, now Rafael was implying Xiomara liked to stir people up. Who did they think she was?
Rafael continued, turning from one side of the table to the other, “And like Yaritza said, I don’t think forcing a confession out of anyone is going to stop this person—whoever they are—from throwing our business out there.”
“But if we know what’s coming, we can get ahead of it. At least get some media training—”
Rafael clicked his tongue. “Here she goes again, with the ‘media training’ . . .”
“I’m an influencer! I have to have media training!”
“Yeah, yeah . . .” He waved her off.
The dismissive tone of his voice curdled Marisa’s face. “Why do I feel like you’re just saying that because you don’t want to say what you’ve done?”
“I haven’t done anything. Can you say the same?”
“Yes,” she hissed and then quickly cast a look to her nieces. “Yaritza? Wanda? Xiomara? What about any of you?”
Wanda’s answer was to collect her bowl and go back to the kitchen. She ignored the sneers and every shout for respect. Wanda clearly had none for any of them, and had decided that she was better off elsewhere. Yaritza stifled a laugh as she shook her head.
“Don’t look at me!” Yaritza exclaimed. “I’ve been a perfect angel.”
Rafael shook his head, grumbling otherwise.
