—Leidy! I screamed. Oh my god, Dante! He’s so big!
—Lizet? my mom said from somewhere behind the door, which Leidy still hadn’t opened all the way. I pushed it slowly with my whole hand just in time to see my mother rushing at me from the couch, already crying.
—Pero ni?a, she said, her hands in the air like someone getting called on stage for The Price Is Right, que tú haces aquí? You’re supposed to be at school!
I didn’t even recognize the squeal of my voice when I said, Mom!
She coiled her arms around my neck, latched her hand to the back of my head and pulled, buried my face in her shoulder. Her own neck was damp—wet from sweat or tears—and the salt from either or both met my lips.
—You’re not supposed to be here, she said, then said again.
She swayed our hug side to side. Her fingers fanned open to cradle my head, and one of her rings got tangled in my hair, tugging my scalp. Instead of ouch, I said, I know, I know.
Behind her, the TV glowed with the still-silent news, which wasn’t normally on at that hour. On the screen was the dirty, tanned face of a little boy not looking at the camera: my first glimpse of Ariel Hernandez. A young woman was dragging a wet towel up and down and across his cheeks. Without me knowing, without me even being aware of the race, he’d beaten me to Miami by a few hours. I looked away from the TV and over Mami’s shoulder back to Leidy, whose hand still rested on the doorframe, her mouth a half smile.
—But – here I am, I said. Surprise, happy Thanksgiving.
—Get inside, come come, Mom said, ending our hug by pulling my arms, her rings taking with them several strands of my hair. You must be starving, que quieres?
She hurried toward the kitchen and began listing what was in there—did I want a snack like crackers with cream cheese and guayaba, or should she microwave the leftover rice and chicken, or some plátanos, or she could also slice up the rest of an avocado that was going to go bad any minute now so someone should eat it. The stream of options trailed away as Leidy swooped down and grabbed Dante, who let out a sharp, brief scream, then went silent. He raised his hand and smacked Leidy flat on the mouth. She seized his arm and pinned it to his side with one hand, and he turned and gawked at me, his mouth open but grinning, as Leidy, left with nothing else to do, dragged my bag in from the hallway.
*
After searching for soap to wash my face in a bathroom that felt more foreign than the massive one in the dorm, I eventually emerged from that white-tiled closet and sat next to my mom on the couch. A plate of cold chicken and rice waited for me on the glass coffee table as the news about Ariel played in front of us. I told my mom detail after detail of my trip, all the planning that went into it, every word of my story bouncing back to me off the side of her face.
—It’s a Thanksgiving miracle, Mami said, echoing the news anchors.
But she was talking to the TV. She turned to me only during commercials, staring at me while I ate, her mouth wrinkled with a sort of regret.
—I was looking forward to getting you at the airport your first time home! she said during a local commercial for Mashikos Menswear. And during the next commercial—this one ringing with the familiar jingle for Santa’s Enchanted Forest—she said, I was gonna bring you flowers, that first time! You stole that from me!
I pushed my food around my plate.
The jingle played on, and over it she said, How could you keep this from me all these weeks? All this time you’ve been lying.
—I wasn’t lying, I just didn’t tell you –
She shushed me as the news came back on. The coverage seemed to reset her reaction to me: she forgot she was shocked I was there each time the screen flashed back to the live shot of the house belonging to the relatives who’d claimed Ariel—a house not two blocks from our building. Leidy tried to ask me if I’d seen the news truck when the shuttle dropped me off—I hadn’t—but Mom silenced us with a palm in the air before I could answer. So during the next commercial, I invented a story about my night in Pittsburgh that involved a sad Steelers fan and a prostitute in the room next to mine, hoping it would keep my mom’s attention.
—I couldn’t sleep thanks to the crazy sex noises and all the crying, I said.
But she cut off my mocking of the groans I’d supposedly heard.
—You think it’s funny? A place like that, you could’ve gotten raped. You know that, right?