One little sister.
Carolina comes jogging up now. Hey! You guys were awesome.
She holds up two hands for high fives—one from her sister and one from me.
Now the rest of the Torres family surrounds us, chattering half in English, half in Spanish, happily congratulating us. Glad somebody’s kin cares.
Now Monica’s mom says, Esta noche vamos a celebrar el cumplea?os de Mónica.
Por favor, venga a cenar.
I’ve Just Been Invited
To a birthday dinner celebration
for Monica. How can I turn that down?
Maybe there will even be tamales.
“Muchas gracias. Me encantaría ir.”
Tu espa?ol es bueno, says Mrs. Torres.
Muy bueno. We will see you tonight.
We follow the family out to the parking lot, where Syrah is leaning against her car, flirting with Gabe, which reminds me he and I are supposed to talk.
I think maybe you lost your boyfriend, comments Monica, grinning broadly.
“I think that’s okay by me.” And I’m not sure it’s all about what I saw last night.
“Who needs a boyfriend when I’ve got you?” Did I just offer a confession? Two?
I thought you’d never figure that out.
Pero mejor tarde que nunca, ?no?
But better late than never, yes.
Now do I have to confess to Gabe, too?
I’m Thinking That Over
When someone taps me on
the shoulder. I turn to face the tall redhead who smiled at me from the bleachers,
and when I do, she sways
as if momentarily dizzy.
The spiky-haired woman
beside her extends a hand
to steady her. Take it easy.
Everything’s going to be fine.
“Are you okay?”
She pulls herself together.
Oh, yes. Sorry. Are you . . .
She holds out a newspaper
clipping. It’s the story about Gabe and me finding Hillary.
Are you Ariel Pearson?
“That would be me.”
And this . . . She points to Dad, who’s standing behind
us in the picture. This is your father? It says Mark Pearson.
“That’s my dad, yes.”
Mark Pearson, she repeats, sounding totally confused.
What does this woman want? She’s studying me
like a scientist getting
ready to dissect a frog.
I’m Maya McCabe. Does the name sound familiar?
Her voice is a bit too eager.
“Not really, no. Should it?”
But before she can answer, Dad and Zelda come strolling up behind her. Guess he made it to the game after all.
“Hey, Dad. Didn’t think you were here.”
At my greeting, Maya McCabe spins to face Dad. Jason.
Dad’s face drains every hint of color and his eyes narrow into serpent-like slits. Fuck no.
“What is it, Dad? Who’s Jason?”
But it’s Maya who answers,
Jason is your father. Jason Baxter.
And I’m your mother, Casey.
Casey. The wrong-number name.
Denial
No.
“I’m Ariel Pearson.”
No.
“He’s Mark Pearson.”
No.
“You can’t be my mother.”
Except.
There was Dad’s reaction.
Except.
This woman has no reason to lie.
Except.
There’s something about her voice.
Except.
She looks like me.
And now it’s my turn to sway.
Why Now?
That’s what I want to know.
Why here? Why today?
But all I manage to say is,
“I don’t understand. Dad . . . ?”
Immediately, Dad pushes
between Maya and me.
Ariel, you get in your car and leave here right now.
Don’t say another word.
Everyone moves at once.
Zelda, toward Dad.
Spiky hair, between him and Maya.
Monica, to my right.
Gabe and Syrah, who can’t help but notice the commotion,
start across the parking lot.
“Why are you here?” I demand.
Casey . . .
“My name is Ariel.”
No. It’s not. It’s Casey Baxter, and I’m your mom. I’ve been looking for you for fifteen years, ever since he kidnapped you.
It was only a fluke that I found you.
It’s a lie! thunders Dad.
Don’t you listen to her.
She’ll just hurt you again.
Go, Ari . . . I’ll take care of this.
He tries to circle Spiky, but she and Zelda form a wall
between him and Maya,
who reaches out for me.
I jerk my arm away.
“Leave me alone! What
do you want from me?”
All I want is the chance to be your mom. Please.
Shut the fuck up, you cheating whore, and leave my daughter alone. Get out of here, Ariel. I mean it.
Or what, Jason? You going to hurt her? Does he hurt you, Casey? Because if he does— “Stop calling me Casey!
Who the hell do you think
you are? You can’t just show up out of the blue, fifteen damn years without a single word, pretending to be my mom.
You are not my mom. A real
mom does not desert her kid
and run off with her girlfriend. . . .”
At that, Maya looks down
and Spiky slides an arm around her shoulders, confirmation.
See? demands Dad. See?
She never gave a damn about you. Only about her.
Oh, Casey. That’s not true.
I’ve never, ever stopped loving you or searching— “Screw you! I don’t want you in my life. I’ve never had a mom, and I don’t need one now!”
Goddamn it. I’m crying.