You Should Have Been Nicer to My Mom, page 2
With an actual plan, Xiomara turned toward both ends of the hall. On one end, Aury sat at the dining room table, right between the storage room and the kitchen. In the other direction, Marisa stood in front of the steps to the second floor, which also happened to be across from Papi Ramon’s study. Between the two of them, only one would talk her ear off, but that didn’t mean that Xiomara liked Marisa any better. When the woman wasn’t attached to a man, she made every other woman her enemy. Xiomara remembered how Marisa made excuses to be alone with her father when Mami was alive. The sheer audacity of the woman made Xiomara want to crack open her skull and see what had gone wrong.
That settled it. The only other place Xiomara could find solace would have to be the library. The memory alone both lifted her spirits and calmed her nerves, birthing a near-instinctive feeling that said, yes, go to the library—she would be safe there.
Luckily, it was right across from the front door, just a few feet away from her. The tiny room initially functioned as a coat closet in her mother’s days. Then when Mami and all her siblings grew up and moved out, Papi Ramon turned it into a little library—just for Xiomara. Her cousins were never very interested in reading and rarely visited the house as often as she did anyway. It was just a bonus that it was the only way he could get her to stop running around and causing trouble for Julia.
Xiomara wondered if her old books would still be there. Or had Papi Ramon slowly gotten rid of them, the way he’d slowly removed all the coats?
A door squeaked open. To her right, Xiomara spotted Rafael exiting the storage room, rolling cobwebs and dust off his clothes. Like Aury, he glanced at her once, twice, and then smiled with all the warmth of a burning campfire instead of an all-consuming conflagration: cozy and contained and careful not to overwhelm her.
“Hola, Xiomara. ¿Cómo tú tá?”
Approaching him first, Xiomara sank into his hug. Unlike Aury, Rafael wore the lightest touch of cologne that complimented his natural scent. It was an odd comfort but a welcome one considering her sensitive nose was beginning to pick up on how old the house smelled. Like wet moss and fungi.
“Hi, Tío. I’m fine.” To her own surprise, she sniffled. She didn’t think she was on the verge of tears at all, but being bombarded with so many emotions had the effect of wrenching them from her.
“It’s going to be okay.” He patted her back. Over his shoulder, Naomi’s head poked out of the kitchen. Her eyes fell onto Rafael’s back, souring for a moment before disappearing again.
Rafael pulled away. “How’s school? Are your grades still okay?”
Xiomara’s smile became strained. “I graduated last semester.” Not that she expected him to know that. She kept away from him just as much as she did from her aunts. He was mildly better than Aury and Marisa by virtue of having been a little nicer to Xiomara’s mother—but when those two tried to tear Mami apart, he hardly ever had come to her defense. Maybe it was because he thought it was all just a catfight. Maybe he thought he was too much of a man to get in between women. Regardless, Xiomara knew that if any of the women in her family started treating her the same as they did her mother, she could rely on no one’s help but her own.
So it was best to keep everyone at arm’s length.
“That’s good to hear.” Rafael took in a deep breath.
“Is something wrong?” Xiomara asked.
He shook his head, but as he gave a sweeping look around the hallway, she noticed how wide his eyes were. Like he was doing his best to keep from crying. He cleared his throat forcefully and brought his shoulders up. “It’s just been a while. Being here, you know . . .” His words hung in the air. It was clear to Xiomara that Rafael was also not prepared for the emotions they were going to be battling all evening. Aury and Marisa may have quickly moved through the mourning period, but Xiomara and Rafael seemed to still be taking up residence in it.
She could sympathize with him.
She wasn’t going to, though.
“Why were you in the storage room?” Xiomara peered around him. The door was already shut, and Rafael hadn’t budged since Xiomara approached. If he was hiding something, he wasn’t doing a good job of not being suspicious about it.
“Ah, I was just looking for something.” He waved her away and turned back into the room. “Something from a few years ago.”
“Do you need help—” Xiomara tried to ask, but Rafael had already closed the door behind him. He probably hadn’t heard her, she decided. Yet the lack of creaking floorboards clued her in that he hadn’t stepped away from the door at all. He simply waited in silence. Xiomara turned away, somehow feeling like she was intruding on his privacy.
Whatever. She wasn’t here to dissect every odd movement of her extended family. She was here to find out what Papi Ramon had left her—or hadn’t left her—and go home. With any luck, she’d be back in her own childhood bedroom at Papi’s house before sunset.
“He’s been in there all afternoon,” Naomi said, sidling up next to Xiomara.
“All afternoon?” She raised an eyebrow. “He got here that early?”
“Mm-hm. Won’t even tell me what he’s looking for so I can tell him where to find it.”
Xiomara blinked, perplexed by that statement. “Why would you know?”
“Because I’m the home aide . . . ?” Naomi gave her look that said, no one told you?
Embarrassment lit Xiomara’s cheeks aflame. It was bad enough she’d never gotten around to calling Naomi, but now she was exposing how little she knew about her former friend.
“Oh.” She swallowed her guilt. “When did that happen?”
“When Ma died,” Naomi said, so nonchalant that Xiomara took an extra moment to process that. She imagined the turn of events that had brought them here. Mami had died, and Xiomara couldn’t stand the house, so she’d left behind not just Papi Ramon, but Naomi. Then Naomi’s mother was killed, and unlike Xiomara, she didn’t have an extended family to lean on. It had been three years since that call should’ve been made. Naomi would’ve been freshly eighteen then, and in need of some income to take care of herself. Papi Ramon would’ve been too kind to turn her down. After all, he was getting too old to be without a home aide, so in a way, they needed each other. It made sense.
Xiomara watched Naomi from the corner of her eye. It had been years, for sure, but somehow Naomi looked just as much the same as a kid as she did now, growing into a version of her mother.
“I’m sorry . . .” Xiomara mumbled. “About your mom.”
Naomi’s arms tensed for a moment and dropped with a shrug. “Yeah.”
Welcome to the Dead Mom Club.
The words were so close to being spoken aloud, but they never made it through Xiomara’s lips. It was something that Yaritza had said to her once. Because Yaritza’s mother died during childbirth, she seemed like the de facto leader of the club, and welcomed Xiomara with something close to consolation. It only seemed right that Xiomara welcome Naomi into the same club . . . but she also should have done it ages ago.
So instead, she followed Naomi in silence. The younger woman opened the library door first and went in. Xiomara stopped right behind, afraid of what she would find. What if her books were no longer there? Suddenly, Xiomara missed the hours she’d spent reading Coraline and The Phantom Tollbooth and Bridge to Terabithia. She’d run straight to the little library as soon as she crossed the threshold of the front door and wouldn’t come out until it was time to go home. In the blink of an eye, the afternoon would have passed and she’d be content.
The memories were magical, and if the books were no longer there, it would only be further proof that her time in Papi Ramon’s life had come and gone.
Xiomara took a deep breath and entered.
At first, the dim lighting made it difficult to see the stacks of overflowing boxes huddled against the walls, with a promise to trip anyone who was not attentive enough in their entrance. A pang of hurt shot through Xiomara’s heart until her eyes adjusted to the dark. The boxes were all marked books. A wave of relief fell over her, and she mentally made plans to get all of them shipped to her new apartment.
“Hey!” Naomi’s head peeked up over a tower of boxes in the corner. If she hadn’t said a word, Xiomara might not have noticed the little nook at all. “Close the door,” she whispered loudly.
The door was closed. “What are you doing?” Xiomara asked. Naomi’s head dropped down. Xiomara carefully stepped behind the makeshift cardboard box wall. The light of Naomi’s cell phone was the only illumination upon her face as she texted quickly.
“Hiding,” she answered. “Every time your aunts see me, they start ordering me around like I work for them.”
Xiomara couldn’t fault her for staying out of sight, but it begged the question—why was Naomi here? Shouldn’t she have gone as soon as the funeral was over?
Unless she’s also a recipient in the will. Xiomara wouldn’t be surprised if Papi Ramon had left her with something. At this point, she was part of the family, even if Aury acted like she was still an employee.
Xiomara crouched next to Naomi, if only to make it seem like she wasn’t looking down on her. The home aide sat on a pile of coats, which Xiomara recognized as those of her aunts and uncle. Taking a page out of Naomi’s book, Xiomara rolled her coat into a ball and sat on it.
“Where is everyone else?” Everyone else meaning Tío Manuel and his two kids, Wanda and Henry. And technically Yaritza should have arrived with her father, Rafael, but it looked like she had yet to make it.
“Not sure,” Naomi answered, barely glancing up from her phone. Her thumbs danced across the screen. “Manuel and his kids should be in soon.”
“Why didn’t Yaritza come with Rafael?”
Naomi brushed a rogue curl away from her forehead. Much of her hair was pulled back into a bun, but the edges were loose and coiled with sweat. Xiomara wondered how hard her aunts were working Naomi.
“I don’t know,” Naomi responded. “She’ll probably be here soon, though.”
And if she isn’t, her flippant response implied, it’s not my problem.
Crossing her legs, Xiomara rested against the wall and closed her eyes in quiet reflection. Without Papi Ramon, the house was just a house like any other. It was wood and drywall and concrete, susceptible to infestations like roaches and termites and rodents. Without him, this hardly seemed like the place her mother had grown up. All that was left behind were fond memories found in books and the vermin known as her relatives.
Xiomara felt a twitch. It was on her upper back, right where her neck poured in between the scapulae, the tiniest sensation that could barely be called an itch and would have escaped her attention if not for a distinct feeling, a hunch, that something was amiss. If she’d poked and prodded at that little hunch, it might have grown, deep enough to call a rabbit hole and wide enough to swallow her whole.
Not safe, the feeling might have spoken in the same place she’d always felt secure, and she’d wonder why that was no longer the case.
As the situation stood, Xiomara had no reason to think anything of that hunch; she simply scratched the itch.
“Your cell phone’s ringing.” Naomi nudged her leg. Xiomara hardly felt the vibration of her phone in her pocket. Dread filled her stomach. There could only be one of two people who were calling her at this time—and she’d already spoken to Papi today.
“Hello?”
“H-hey, Xo,” Her ex, Marcus, spoke with a smile in his voice that only thinly masked the underlying shaking nerves. “Did you get there okay?”
“Yes, I did.” Xiomara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you need something, Marcus?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Xiomara held back a groan. “I’m safe.”
“And, you know, if you needed anything. I’m not too far.”
“I’m aware,” Xiomara said. Beside her, Naomi hardly perked up at the sound of conversation. If it was Aury, she would’ve been demanding answers to who Xiomara was talking to—not because she cared, but because Xiomara sounded annoyed and Aury was nothing if not a chismosa—a gossip.
“So . . .” Marcus seemed to be waiting for something.
“So what?” Xiomara turned to the wall.
“How are you?”
Xiomara paused. She considered not answering, if only because the answer itself was complicated.
“My grandfather died, Marcus. How am I supposed to be doing?” She tried to keep the bite out of her voice. Marcus didn’t deserve snark. He was sweet, really. Too sweet. The kind of person who was a chronic problem solver. Which could be great, but also meant there was no way to vent to him without him giving unsolicited advice. No thank you. She didn’t need advice right now—and she definitely didn’t need sweet. Xiomara needed space. She had told him well enough before she’d flown out for the funeral.
How was she supposed to know that the guy’s hometown was Brooklyn?
Maybe if I’d paid attention while dating him, I’d have known. That was just further proof the two were not a good match. Yet she found herself not feeling guilty, but annoyed.
Marcus stumbled through a well-meaning answer but was overshadowed by Marisa’s sudden shrieks.
“Ay, where is Naomi? Naomi!” Clacking heels went right by the door and continued down the hall.
Now it was Naomi’s turn to hold back a groan.
“When. Will. They. Learn. I. Don’t. Work. For. Them?” With each word, she dramatically hit her head against a box. She waited another minute and then slowly rose to her feet. Outside, Marisa was already accusing Naomi of moving her phone charger.
“Aury, did you see where Naomi moved it?” The door hardly muffled her shrill voice. Xiomara watched Naomi wrap a hand around the doorknob. She slowly inhaled and held her breath. On the exhale, her posture straightened and she opened the door.
“Yes, did you need me?” The door clicked shut.
“Xo?” Marcus spoke. “Is everything okay over there?”
No, she wanted to say. Nothing is ever okay over here. But if she said that, she would have to elaborate, and the only thing that put her in a worse mood than interacting with her family was talking to someone who thought they could fix her family.
“I gotta go.” She hung up.
It will just be an hour, she told herself. She could deal with her family for an hour, right? It’s not like reading the will could take all night.
2:47 p.m.
Whatever her aunt wanted with Naomi, it meant that Marisa was now away from the staircase. Xiomara peered out cautiously. Perhaps it was the fact she hadn’t seen the house in years that gave her trepidation—immense change unsettled her. She learned this when she got an official autism diagnosis. It came late, for sure, spurred by her initial troubles in college, but once she came to terms with it, change became manageable. The first thing she had to do was understand she didn’t have to like change—she just had to acknowledge it.
With the obstacle now gone, Xiomara set out to do just that and ascend to the second floor. Her foot nearly broke through the first step. She looked down in shock and found a large split in the wood that she hoped had already been there. A shiny nail stood out to her—Papi Ramon must’ve had to reinforce the step several times. Clearly, he was not a carpenter. Xiomara skipped over it and climbed the staircase.
Even then, the entire structure creaked loudly under her weight. It didn’t use to do that. Xiomara wondered just how much of it was the natural result of her growing up and how much was the house showing its age. The building seemed eager to respond to her, a groan for every step forward. My, look how big you’ve grown, it said. I remember when you were barely one hundred pounds. Now she was fifty pounds heavier, and the house could not stop reminding her.
She stopped at the second-floor landing, perplexed at how little time it had taken for her to get there. Didn’t it use to take longer? Weren’t the steps supposed to be deeper? And why had her shoulders instinctively tensed when she was halfway up? Suddenly, Xiomara recalled another aspect of the library. There’d been many times when she would hear strange noises from above. The sound of something clawing at the floor with a great thud. Papi Ramon would claim that it was only rats—which would be bad enough—but to Xiomara, the clawing sounded like it came from something much larger than a rat. Like a dog.
Or a wolf.
And right then, on the stairs with that memory, she was a deer. Her hair stood on end, an odd sense tingling that she was being watched, and not by anything human. It set off an alarm in her head, and while she jolted in spirit, her body took to freezing. But she was safe as long as she did not look back.
Why?
The question both surprised and scared her; the answer was rooted in childhood fantasies. If she didn’t look back, didn’t look under her bed, didn’t sleep with one limb hanging out from under her bedsheets, the monster would not get her. It was silly, the way this logic worked, yet she tended to not question her gut. After all, trusting her gut had never steered her wrong before. Why would it now?
Except it did steer me wrong. Right when she entered the house, unease had hit her like a wall. Sitting in the library, it had intensified. She felt like she should’ve turned tail and run, but she didn’t, and nothing so terrible happened to make her regret it, did it?
Maybe not yet.
Xiomara couldn’t help but question every feeling she discovered upon arriving. Ever since she’d pulled up to the house, things had felt . . . off. Or rather, the house had always felt off to her, and it was as if her time away had shielded her from that memory.
Well, the memory was back, and it was throwing her world out of whack and making her question so many things.
The only answer she got from her body was a set of tense shoulders and shaky knees. Her memories impressed upon her the need to not turn back. It was truly visceral too: the sensation began at the base of Xiomara’s spine and traveling upward, the conviction that something would be waiting for her if she so much as spared a glance.
