That means a lot, sweetheart. I’m glad to hear things are looking up. Counting the days till I see you again.
In my bones, no matter how annoyed or upset I was over how things went down this summer, I knew I was counting the days too. Counting the days off the color-coded calendar until “Ken—out of country” was gone, counting the days till September first, when my sentence would be over, and counting the days, however many they might be, until I heard from my best friend again.
Chapter 12
I had to remind myself to stop checking my email for a response from Ash. I knew sitting in my room was only making it worse, constantly refreshing the browser in between working. I did get a note that Emily loved the book cover. She’d promptly filled my Paypal account with the full amount I’d asked for, and told me to expect emails from some of her writer friends. I was still freaking out that someone was paying me for creating art, but I’d take it. Between Emily’s fee, what Abby had given me for her logo, and the Sol Jam posters, I was close to the amount I needed to save for the fine. SK’s site and Tilly’s portfolio would push me over the edge, leaving what I hoped would be a nice chunk to use toward that coveted tablet.
In a fit of nervous—but oddly positive—energy, as nothing had come from SK, or Ashlyn, or anyone else, I slammed the lid shut and flounced down the stairs, stomping my foot on each step. Each loud thud I made was more satisfying than the next. A silly, childish grin was on my face by the time I made it to the basement, where Blanche sat on the floor, cross-legged, playing solitaire on the glass coffee table.
“Good afternoon, Tatum,” she said sweetly, without looking up from her cards.
“Good afternoon,” I said with a smile.
Blanche chuckled. “You’re in a good mood today for a change. I’m glad to see it. I worry about you sometimes, Tatum.”
My cheeks colored. “It’s not been the best summer ever, exactly, but you already know that.”
“I do know that. Speaking of, I was walking upstairs the other night and heard something. Arguing. It may have come from the kitchen, but I couldn’t be sure.”
I didn’t know how to respond. Did she want me to elaborate? She didn’t say anything else, just turned the cards slowly, one by one, arranging them in their straight columns. The grin that had graced my face on the way down to the basement slid off and fell to the carpet at my feet. I dropped to the floor next to Blanche. “I snuck out the other night. I got caught.”
“Probably not the wisest decision you’ve ever made.” She turned another card.
“No, probably not. But, in my defense, that’s the most disobedient thing I’ve done in my life. She thinks I’m always screwing up.” We both knew which she I meant. “The thing I choose is always wrong, in her opinion.”
“Our experiences inform our behaviors, Tatum. My daughter’s actions may not always be justified in your eyes, but I can understand where she’s coming from.”
“Do you think they’re justified?” I asked. Comparing the differences between Blanche and Belén, it was easy to forget that Blanche was the one who’d made the rules and enforced them for so many years. “I mean, you’re nothing alike. Sometimes, I have a hard time believing you’re her mother.”
Blanche chuckled softly. “I’m not sure my daughter would have ever followed my lead when it comes to parenting. Though the fact she asked me to come this summer warms my heart.”
“She never asked for your help with Tilly?”
“When Matilda was born, we lived in different cities, and Belén was in law school as a very young widow. She relied on her friends as her support network, mostly.”
“That makes no sense. You’re awesome. Abuela of the Century.”
Blanche laid the cards in her hand down on the table gently and faced me. “She hasn’t had the easiest time, you know. Let me tell you a story, Tatum. It may help you understand. When we first moved from Chile for my husband’s new job, she was still Belén. After the first week in her new elementary school, she begged to be called Brenda and put away the books she always carried. She didn’t want to be different, any more than she already was. There were only a handful of other minority children in her school at the time, even fewer who weren’t born here. The other children were interested in sports or playing princess, and she was not. She felt like she stuck out. Also, many students were not very tactful, shall we say. My little girl was called many names, some of them cruel. I’m sure you know the inaccurate stereotypes that exist. They looked down on her and she cried many tears, just as you have.”
A pang of regret hit me, but I stubbornly shook it off. “Everyone’s cried about something like that. I get it, but I don’t think that means she has to be so hard on me.” I crossed my arms and looked down at the floor.
Blanche picked up the cards again and began turning the ones in her stack. “She did what she thought was right. She still does.”
I rephrased my earlier question. “Do you think the way she’s treated me is right?”
She ignored me and started placing the twos and threes on the aces. “In hindsight, I can see her father and I were just as overwhelmed by our new life as she was, grasping at straws. We did everything we thought might help her adjust. We took American names ourselves at the suggestion of some immigrant friends. We watched American television. We even let her try out for cheerleading, twice, like the other girls down the street did, though she never made the team.” I guessed Belén was now living vicariously through Tilly’s accomplishments. “She avoided the more academic endeavors I know she would have excelled at because she saw those activities as undesirable.”
I could picture that, and it made me sad for her. And also sad that she thought doing something she probably didn’t like would help her fit in. Cheerleading was so not part of Belén’s personality. Too bad she hadn’t stumbled across Debate.
“She didn’t really get close to anyone until she was in college,” said Blanche.
“So she never had a best girlfriend in high school?”
“She did not. She avoided anything that wasn’t required, because she didn’t feel she belonged. Her father and I eventually decided to just let her be, for fear she would become further withdrawn if we pressed more.”