—But that’s nice of him, right? I tried.
Leidy put her hand to her mouth and gnawed on her middle finger, her face twisting to look too much like our mom’s. She pulled her hand away and spit a sliver of nail from the tip of her tongue. It flew sideways and landed on my foot, and I wiped it off on the carpet, pretending to lift my leg to tuck it under me. She moved on to her ring finger and said, Roly really is so freaking dumb. He really could have everything, like a whole family, but no. Not him. He needs to freaking grow up, is what he needs.
She said all of this to the TV, as if Jerry were asking her to tell America why she was so angry. I imagined us on this trashy show, sitting in those perfect-for-throwing chairs in front of the angry-for-no-reason crowd, me trying—when Leidy’s words inevitably fail her—to explain her make-Roly-marry-me plan to Jerry as he roams the stage, batting the microphone against his own forehead, blurting out to the audience to stoke their rage, Oh yes, the joys of fatherhood!
—And what about – You heard anything from Papi? I finally, finally asked.
She turned Dante on her lap to face her, kissed his dark hair. He twisted his head to look at me, and she grabbed underneath his chin and squashed his cheeks, making his lips pucker but also pulling his face back to hers.
—I think Mom’s given up on him, she said.
—That’s not what I asked.
—I know that. I can hear, she said.
A commercial came on so she went back to the news. There, a woman was crying and nodding and wiping her face while a man stood next to her, yelling about something so much that his neck burned red.
When Leidy didn’t say anything else, I waited a few more seconds and whined, Are you gonna answer me? I hated the way my voice sounded: too high, too pleading, the same voice I’d had to breathe through to steady my answers at my academic integrity hearing. A big laugh rolled up from the street below and filled the living room, and while Leidy turned to it like a reflex, I had to close my eyes and blink away the thought of the next time I’d be in that long wood-paneled room, waiting for a different sort of answer.
—Papi has called a couple times, she said out the window. But Mom just hangs up the second she hears it’s him.
I jumped up to get away from her, half-tripping my way to the small kitchen, to the sink, saying Oh for real? with a calm so false I coughed afterward to cover it up. I started scrubbing the inside of my café con leche mug as if trying to dig a hole in it.
—It’s not like I talk to him or anything, she said. Don’t be like that.
—I’m not being like anything, Leidy.
I poured more soap onto the dishrag, scrubbed it against itself to make lather, then crammed the whole rag into the mug and scrubbed harder.
—Well whatever, you knew you were leaving and you got your own place, but I’m the one who was all stressed about being basically homeless when what I wanted was to just like deal with my own freaking kid and my own freaking life. Mom’s still super mad about the house too. Dad selling it made things harder for like no reason.
I looked over my shoulder but kept the water running. Behind me, Leidy—still looking outside, Dante back on the floor and on his belly—mumbled, Freaking asshole.
I wanted to ask who was the asshole, our dad or me, but instead I faced the sink and said, I don’t have my own place. I have a roommate.