Page 143 of My Heart Still Beats
“You look surprised.”
“I am. You don’t seem the religious type.”
“I’m not, but I find it interesting. I told you we went to church on Christmas and Easter before my mom passed away, but that was about it. I believe in a higher power, but I don’t follow any particular religion. So yeah, I’m interested.”
“My parents were very devout Catholics,” she says. “They were both raised in religious families. Irish Catholic and Mexican Catholic. And then there was my grandmother.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I told you about her altar. She studied all the saints, taught me a lot about them. But there was also a mystical side to her religion. She used to say it was Santeria.”
“I’m not sure I know what Santeria is.”
“I’ve never quite understood it. It literally means ‘the way of the saints.’ Her mother—my great-grandmother—was Cuban, and she practiced Santeria, but what Nana did was really Catholicism with some mystical stuff thrown in. She sought personal relationships with God and the Blessed Mother and the saints through prayer mostly, but also through some divination. But she didn’t worship other gods.” Tessa smiles. “I remember one time she thought the remnants of enchilada sauce on her plate was an apparition of the Blessed Mother.”
“You mean the Virgin Mary?”
“Yeah. I thought Da was going to pee himself right at the dinner table, he laughed so hard. Nana didn’t speak to him for twenty-four hours after that. But she loved my father. Absolutely adored him. She forgave him.” Tessa laughs, but then her face twists slightly. “I haven’t thought about that in forever. His humor was so much a part of him. I miss him so much.”
Her laugh pleases me, but I feel the pain of her missing her father. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll be okay. He’ll always be here.” She places her hand over her heart. “But anyway, Nana didn’t indoctrinate me into religion or anything, but she and I were very close. When I was little, I thought it was really cool to watch her light her candles, pray to the saints, do her rosaries.”
Her stories warm me. “I’m glad you were so close to her.”
“Yeah. I never really knew my grandparents on my father’s side. They both died when I was quite young.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugs. “I suppose you can’t miss what you never had. Anyway, my grandmother was always my safe space. When I sat on her lap, no harm could come to me.”
“And you were named after her.”
“Right. Teresa Maria.”
“It’s a beautiful name.”
“I always kind of hated it.” She chuckles. “Even though I loved my grandmother who also had the name. But I like the nickname I got—Tessa. It was different and unique. I’ve never known another Tessa in all my years of going to school and in being in the workforce.”
“Itisunique.” I gaze into her eyes. “And it’s beautiful. It suits you.”
She looks down, her cheeks turning a beautiful rose. “Thank you.”
I finally take a bite of enchilada. The flavor explodes on my tongue—the creaminess of the cheese, the smoke and spice of the sauce, and the subtle sweetness of the corn tortilla. “My God,” I say. “This is delicious.”
“Better than Aunt Lily’s at the funeral?”
“Doesn’t even come close.”
“Aunt Lily uses this exact recipe,” she says. “But she was cooking for a large crowd, and that’s different.”
I take another bite, relishing the deliciousness.
“I have flan for dessert,” Tessa says.
I nod.
But I already know what I want for dessert.
