Mom hated even talking about Dad’s former struggles. She glossed over it as if it hadn’t even happened. My grandmother, Mima for short, wasn’t as closed off to talking about my father’s past. She’d moved in with Mom and me when Dad got locked up for dealing. We needed the help around the house, and Mima stepped right in to help cover the bills. I was thankfulfor that. For how cold my father was, my grandmother was the complete opposite. She was warm, open, and giving. Mima’s heart was made of gold, and she went out of her way to make sure the ones she loved were taken care of.
When it was just us three girls, the house felt so light, so fun, so free. During that period of time, I slept so much easier without the fear of the unknown that came with my father. At least when he was locked up, he couldn’t get into any more trouble. At least when he was locked up, he couldn’t end up dead from a deal gone bad.
It wasn’t a secret that my grandmother and father didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. When he was released, he came back home thinking he was just going to be in charge of everything, but Mima had a different point of view. They butted heads on the regular. Mom tried her best to keep our house a place of peace. For the most part, it worked. Mima avoided my father, and my father avoided her.
Except for when we all came together for celebrations.
If there was anything my family was good at, it was observing important milestones, and Mom’s birthday was one of them. She was thirty-six today, and I swore she didn’t look a day over eighteen. Oftentimes, people confused Mom and me as siblings—boy, did she love that. I was certain I’d be grateful for those genetics down the line.
My cousin, Eleanor, and her parents, Kevin and Paige, always joined us to celebrate birthdays and holidays. It seemed even more important to have family around ever since Paige learned she had cancer. We were all hopeful she’d pull through, though. She was a fighter, and she also had Kevin in her corner. Uncle Kevin was my father’s older brother, but I swore he looked five years younger.
Mima set the birthday cake down on the table and begansinging “Happy Birthday,” then everyone joined in. Sometimes, I caught Dad staring at Mom with wonderment in his eyes. When I called him out on his longing gaze, he shook his head and said, “I don’t deserve her. I never have, and I never will. Your mother is a saint, too good for me—too good for this world.”
We could both agree on that. I couldn’t imagine the things my father had put her through. Mom would never tell me about those things, though. I was certain that if I knew all their secrets, I’d end up hating my father, which was probably why Mom never told me. She didn’t want to damage my view of the man who’d raised me.
Mima started cutting the cake, and Paige smiled her way. “You’ll have to give me the recipe for the cake, Maria. It’s to die for.”
“Oh no, sweetheart. My recipes will die with me. I one-hundred-percent plan to be buried with my cookbook,” Mima semi-joked. I had no doubt she’d take that book to her grave. Mom would probably be crazy enough to dig it up, though, just for one more taste of Mima’s enchiladas. I wouldn’t blame her, either.
Dad stood up from the table after everyone had their cake in front of them. He cleared his throat. Dad wasn’t one for speeches. He was a pretty quiet man. Mom always said he thought all his words to death, and by the time they were ready to leave his mouth, he ended up mute. But every year, for every birthday, he gave a toast to Mom—excluding the years when he was away.
“I wanted to raise a glass of champagne,” Dad declared, “and sparkling grape juice for me and the underagers. Camila, you have been a light to this family, to this world, and we are lucky to have another go-round with you. Thank you for standingfor this family—for me—through thick and thin. You are my world, my breath, my air, and today we celebrate you. Cheers to another trip around the sun, and to many more to come.”
Everyone cheered and drank and laughed. These moments were my favorite ones, the memories being created over laughter and happiness.
“Oh, and of course, your gift,” Dad said as he walked out of the dining room and then came back with a small box.
Mom sat up. “Kurt, you didn’t have to give me anything.”
“Of course I did. Open it.”
Mom shifted in her seat a little as all eyes were on her. If there was anything she hated, it was attention. As she unwrapped the gift and opened it, she gasped. “Oh my gosh, Kurt. This is too much.”
“Not for you.”
Mom held up a pair of diamond earrings that shimmered and shimmered.
Mima raised an eyebrow. “Those look pretty expensive,” she muttered.
Dad shrugged. “Nothing’s too expensive for my wife.”
“Except when it is and you have a part-time janitor job,” she shot back.
“How about you worry about your own finances, Maria? Let me deal with mine,” Dad hissed her way.
And there it was, the tension that lived in the house. I swore the air grew thicker whenever the two of them fought.
“Well, thank you, honey,” Mom said, standing up and hugging Dad. “Though, they do look expensive.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been saving up for it for some time. You deserve nice things,” he told her.
Mom looked as if her mind was spinning with things to say, but she didn’t often speak her thoughts. Most of the time, shesimply overthought them. “Well, OK! Let’s all eat some cake, drink some more champagne, and keep this celebration going.”
The subject of the diamond earrings was put to rest, and I was thankful for that. It probably helped that we had guests that night; otherwise, Mima and Dad’s argument would’ve escalated quickly.
Eleanor sat at the table with a book in her hand, and her eyes danced back and forth nonstop.
“I’m glad to see you’re not much of an introvert anymore, Ellie,” Mima joked, sliding her a piece of cake.