I flipped the hangers on my side of the closet, trying to hide my surprise at Leidy understanding my motives so precisely. I said, Either way, so what?
—I did the same thing, she said. Back before you got home. But I didn’t tell her I was going, I just went with Dante like ten minutes after she left.
I kept my back to her, but I said, And?
—And? She cries a lot and finds a microphone and tells a bunch of stories to make those people like her.
I turned around, T-shirt in my hands, and she moved to the edge of her bed, closer to me, bending forward and whispering.
—She told that Caridaylis girl that she was a single mom. She straight-up stole my life story with Roly but made it hers and put it in Cuba twenty years ago! She tells people we all three came on a raft together. She tells people I almost fell out of the raft on the second day, and you were a baby she was breast-feeding until her milk turned to dust.
The shirt I’d snagged off the hanger fell from my hands. I couldn’t move.
—She really says that, Lizet. She goes (—and here my sister threw her voice so that it was an octave higher but even quieter—), Hasta que mi leche se hizo como polvo. It’s freaking gross. It’s like she’s Miss Dusty Tits on the news.
—How can she say that? I said. I sat down on the still-made sofa bed, my head pounding from my hangover. How come nobody’s called her on it?
—I don’t know! Maybe because no one knows us here? Maybe because she’s made all these friends that are saying the same shit? I’m not gonna be the one to say something.
I almost said, Maybe she thinks it’s true now, thinking of the way I’d morphed my idea of Omar up at Rawlings. Instead I said, Dad must’ve seen – what you’re saying –
—You think he’s seen her interviewed?
—He did, maybe, I said. He didn’t tell me anything, the stuff you’re – but he seemed worried. Omar’s mom I think, too. But I didn’t know why.
—Well now you know. It’s probably Dusty Tits.
I picked the shirt off the floor and yanked it down over my head, over my torso.
—You’re still going, Leidy said. You don’t believe me?
—I do, I said. I just – why didn’t you tell me this sooner?
—I’m supposed to leave a message about Dusty Tits with your roommate?
—You should’ve told me, Leidy.
She said, Whatever, and clutched Dante against her stomach like a teddy bear. He held absolutely still in response. I did and didn’t think Mami capable of co-opting Leidy’s story and making it her own to get into the good graces of the family—but mostly of the girl, Caridaylis—taking care of Ariel. Her version of our life made me more Cuban than I technically was, degrees of Cuban-ness being something I’d never thought about until Rawlings, until the Where Was I From From question. Mami’s invented version made me a more authentic Cuban, and part of me wanted to hear her tell it. I wanted to see how she pulled it off, if she had to convince herself before she could convince anyone else, or if just saying something and having people believe it could make it real. I stood up and rummaged through the drawer for my shorts.
—Lizet, please, she said. Stay here. I don’t even want to know what’s gonna happen.
—Then I won’t tell you. So you can see how it feels.
—Fine, she said. Please, like there was anything you could even do from up there.
She stood from the bed and slipped over to me, her arm slung under Dante’s diapered butt.
—Don’t tell her I followed her before, she said.
—You don’t think she saw you?
—I know she didn’t. You’ll see why.
I pulled my legs through the shorts and slipped into my flip-flops, but Leidy grabbed the top of my arm with her free hand. She said, You should wear real shoes. At least listen to me for that.
She let go of my arm and swung Dante to her hip, saying as she left the room, Remember I tried to stop you.
When I followed her out into the living room a couple minutes later, her eyes darted to my feet, where she saw I’d switched into socks and sneakers. She closed her eyes and mouthed the words, Thank god.
—You should wear this, my mother said.
She tossed me a flap of white material: a shirt with too many words in too many fonts. And down low—the shirt was an extra large, presumably the size needed to get all that information on it—was a big square iron-on of Ariel’s face, grainy and faded, his eyes closed and his hands folded by the side of his face. The shirt had a version of almost every Cuban-affiliated slogan I’d heard so far—CUBA Sí, CASTRO NO; TO HELL WITH FIDEL—plus a new one: WE’LL REMEMBER IN NOVEMBER!!
—It’s too big for me, I said.
—Just take it with you, Mami said. Wrap it around your waist or something.
—Take it, Leidy said before drinking a long sip of coffee, Dante straddling her knees with his back to the dining table. He leaned forward, used her breasts as pillows, put his whole hand in his mouth.
—Where did you even get this, I laughed.