I scanned the kitchen counter for other dishes and decided to rewash everything already in the drying rack to calm down. The skin on my hands was chapped and cracking thanks to my reluctance to wear the one pair of mittens I had; along with her coat, Jillian had tugged mittens over my hands after Tracy took the pictures I’d never seen. She pulled them out from the coat’s pocket and said, as she put them on me, Mittens are better because then your fingers keep each other company. I tried to give them back to her later that night, but she said to keep them. I have like thirty pairs, she said, and the crazy color suits you better anyway. I never left the dorm wearing them, though: The distinct green (WILD PEA, the tag inside one of them read) and brand name printed inside the wrists gave them away as Formerly Jillian’s to anyone paying attention. I left them in my desk drawer at school but had wished for them when I got stuck in Pittsburgh. The cold there had peeled back the skin on my knuckles, and now the hot water and soap made them look even worse, made my skin itchy and angry. But I kept rinsing and scrubbing until everything was back on the drying rack, just like I’d found it. I shut off the water and, behind me, the program went to commercial. I dried my hands with a paper towel and returned to the couch, trusting that I’d taken enough deep breaths, my eyes on the carpet the whole way there. I sidestepped Dante at my sister’s feet before sitting down.
I knew I wanted to go by our old house and see it. Maybe the family there now was nice and I could explain everything and they would let me really say bye to my old room. Before he moved out, my dad kept saying to me, You betrayed us, this is a betrayal. He said it so much that the word stopped meaning anything—betray betray betray betray betray betray—until the woman from the bank sat us down in our own living room and explained what was about to happen. No one said betrayal, but as I filled out my financial aid appeal form—alone in my room, the door closed, half my things in boxes marked Send to Rawlings and the other half in boxes marked Lizet’s stuff—I knew exactly how much hurt could fit into a word.
The backs of my hands burned red, the skin flaking in rows like fish scales.
—You want to drive by the house? I asked Leidy.
—You don’t want to do that.
She switched an earring out from the first to the second hole in her earlobe, then said, They fucking paved over every fucking piece of grass. They have like eighteen SUVs parked there now. Probably they’re running a garage or some car-alarm installation thing. It’s freaking the worst.
—So you been there then?
—Relax, she said. I went by there maybe once.
She adjusted her other earring and said, But it was like – too much.
The news came back with some of the same footage from the day before of Ariel being carried from place to place, in some new relative’s arms in every shot.
—Why are they always carrying him? I said. Can’t that kid fucking walk?
—I should change Dante’s name to Ariel, Leidy said.
We laughed a little, and in it she said, Maybe then Roly would want to be around.
—Don’t say that, I said.
The people in the street—on TV and behind us, outside—started pushing each other, wrestling for a spot in front of Ariel’s new home.
—Should we be worried about Mom? I said.
I faced Leidy, wanting to look serious and grown-up, but she stayed focused on the TV.
—She misses you I think, she said. I know she’s like happy for you now, for your new life or whatever, but it’s hard. A lot’s different for her, what’s she supposed to do?
On the floor, Dante flailed his arms, looking to climb up to my lap, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t bend forward to haul him to me.
—I didn’t – I wasn’t asking that. I meant now, outside with the –
—No, I know, she said. I’m just telling you Mom’s probably not really happy.
She leaned down and grabbed Dante, squeezing him around his basketball of a belly. She said, Obviously it’s my fault too. She doesn’t talk about it when you call. She doesn’t want you to worry. She doesn’t want to mess up your awesome life.
—Things aren’t awesome, I said, but Dante blasted over my words with a high scream, and instead of trying to explain, I reached down and grabbed the toy Roly had brought him. I held it in my lap and waited for Leidy to say What did you say as Dante punished it with smacks.
Leidy switched fast between the commercial on the Springer channel and the commercial on the news channel, flipping to see which came back to its program first. The news won, showing the weather, focusing on the swirl of snow hovering over New England before zooming down to Florida. I was twenty-four hours away from the plane ride back to New York: I’d booked the return for Saturday afternoon because it was two hundred dollars cheaper than leaving Sunday morning. Dante kept slapping the toy, and I felt the sun through the window pressing on the back of my neck. Then a new feeling: the skin stinging a little, maybe starting to burn. I hadn’t been sunburned in years. None of us ever really burned; on days we’d go to the beach, we never wore sunscreen—we were dark enough that we didn’t think we needed to. I touched my neck, felt how hot my skin had become in those few minutes on the couch, and couldn’t believe how cold I would be again so soon. That heat made me feel brave, as if the sun were pushing me, gently on the back, to say what I knew would make Leidy turn off the television.
—So I’m having some – issues. Serious issues, I said. Up at school.
I moved the toy off my lap and Dante froze.
—Holy. Fucking. Shit, Leidy said. She slid Dante over to me and stood up. She pointed the remote at the TV. Look who that is!
I stared at the screen and blinked hard. But when I opened my eyes again, the camera was still on the same person—our mother.
—That’s our freaking mom, Leidy shrieked. She snatched up Dante and bounced him toward the TV, saying, Es Abuela. ?Abuela! ?Abuela!
She grabbed his arm, made him point.
Our mother’s mouth moved, a microphone in front of her face. Leidy dropped Dante’s arm and turned up the volume, the green bar on the bottom of the screen creeping right.