Page 51 of American Sweethearts

Oh my God, was I crying in front of the lieutenant? “Go home. You need the time. I don’t want to see you here until the second.” His eyes had lost the annoyance from earlier and now all I saw was concern. “We are all here for the same reason you are, we don’t want anything else to happen to that child. That’s why she’s out of the home, that’s why there’s an order of protection. If anything happens, I’ll call you myself. But you need to let this go.”

I nodded numbly and walked out of the precinct without saying a word. By the time I got into my car, I was sobbing. I didn’t know what to do with myself. No, that was a lie, I wanted to go back to two hours ago and have a redo with Juan Pablo. I wanted to be in his warm living room, sitting in front of the fireplace. Instead I’d pushed him away and hurt him.

And as if she could sense I was struggling, my mother’s number flashed on the Bluetooth screen.

“Mamí.” My voice was all clogged up from crying, but I was fucking done trying to keep it together. I was sad, and scared I’d ruined things with J and with my job.

Before I could even speak, she knew. “Que pasa, m’ija?”

I took a deep breath and felt the tears streaming down my face. My nose was running. I felt so scared, but the desperation to finally say it won out. “I think I want to quit my job.” My heart was thumping so fast in my chest I thought it was almost certainly going to beat right out of it. My voice sounded exactly like I felt—small and terrified waiting for my mother’s judgement.

“Mi amor, is that why you’ve been like this? So distant? Ay, m’ija.” The heaviness of those last words cut me to my core. “Have you been putting yourself through hell on your own?”

I thought about that before I answered. I had, in the beginning. For months I’d been going through the motions every day feeling more and more like the life I’d been single-mindedly working for didn’t fit me at all. I’d sat with that truth like a lead balloon in my stomach, but then J had teased the truth out of me. He’d held space for me to finally speak the words out loud, my friends had been there, too. And that had helped. But I’d still not let myself own it, because it all came down to this.

My mother and my father.

Their disappointment. I’d always thought I’d put up with almost anything if it meant that my parents could still be proud of me, but every day the weight of that felt like it would eventually bury me.

“I’ve been talking about it to J.” Just saying his name made my breath hitch, because I’d hurt him tonight. When he’d tried to be there for me, I’d hurt him. “We had a big fight about it today.”

There was some tongue clicking and teeth sucking. “Ay, Priscilla.” My mother was trying her hardest to be there for me, but the news that I was sabotaging her plans for J and me was a low blow. “Is this about your shop? Is that what you want to do?”

I couldn’t tell if her tone was reprimanding or just curious. “Yes, kind of.” She just made a noise of approval, but didn’t askanything more, waiting for me to explain. “I’ve been doing this blog, and I started a podcast.”

My mother let out a soft laugh at that. “Mamita, you think I didn’t know about that?”

I was sure flames were going to start sprouting from my face. Because the thought of my mother hearing the episode about ass play was literally too much for me to handle right now.

“Oh my God, Mamí, please tell me you haven’t been telling your friends.” I wasn’t exaggerating the panic in my voice even a little bit.

“Some of my friends. I only listened to a few, the ones that I uh…thought I’d like. But, m’ija, how could you think that I wouldn’t be interested in something you’re doing? Your father and I love you and are so proud of you no matter what you do. Even if I don’t necessarily understand all of it.” She sounded more than a little flustered and I was starting to really think she actually listened to me go on for forty-five minutes about rimming, pegging, and prostate massagers.

Kill me now.

But somewhere under the incredible cringe-worthiness in this conversation, I felt oxygen coming back into my body. My mother and I were talking about my podcast and there was no yelling or shaming. I’d told her I didn’t want to be a cop anymore and there had been no condemnation. We weretalking.

And the thing was, I knew my parents loved me. I had never doubted that, ever. But they came here with nothing, and they sacrificed so much. I didn’t want them to feel like I’d tainted their legacy. That I’d broken my part of the deal. How could they talk to their friends about me now? To the family back home?

“I just want you and Papi to be proud of me. You were both lawyers, for fuck’s sake.”

“Priscilla, language.” I laughed at that, because my mother never let a curse word slide, not even in a crisis.

“Perdon, Mamí. I’m serious though, you left so much behind, and dealt with so much sh…I mean, crap, for me to have everything I needed.” My mom and my dad had come in the seventies after finishing law school in the DR, hoping that an educated couple could make headway here. But there hadn’t been many options other than manual labor. My mom had worked in restaurants and my dad in a bodega Uptown. They’d managed to turn that into good jobs, but it had been a struggle for a long time. “I feel so selfish, like I’m being wasteful. I don’t know.” I started crying again, as my mother tried her best to soothe me from hundreds of miles away.

“M’ija, let’s do the Facetime, so I can see you.” I laughed at the way she said Facetime. I called her from my phone, still sitting in my car. But when I finally saw my mother, the last of my control snapped and a deep sob escaped my throat. I felt so alone at that moment, and what hurt most was that I knew it didn’t have to be that way. That I could be with J now or Bri, or even my parents. But I’d been pushing them away at every opportunity.

“Oh, Priscilla, mi amor. I need to be looking at you when I tell you this.” My mother’s skin was lighter than mine, but we had the same face. She had a few wrinkles now at sixty-seven and the little moles around her eyes were multiplying almost by the day, but it was still the face that had always shown me love, unconditionally.

“We will always be proud of you, m’ija. No matter what you decide to do, we will always support you. I don’t care what it is.” She paused and wagged a finger in front of her face as I smiled. “As long as you’re happy. That is all we care about. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, mi amor. We trust your judgement, we trustyou.You’re a helper and a doer, always, since you were little. We know that no matter what it is you end up doing, it’ll be something that will help people.”

“I just don’t want to end up in a situation where I worry you, Mamí. I don’t want you thinking I can’t take care of myself.”

My mother looked at me like she couldn’t believe what I was saying, her head shaking in apparent disbelief. “You have never given me a reason to worry, and that’s not because you have a good job, but because you’re a good woman and I know what you’re made of. I want you to feel free to live your life, in whatever way you want.”

She closed her eyes and I saw her reach out, almost as if she wished she could touch my face through the screen, and I wished she was here, too. “I was lucky. Your abuela Miguelina was a strong woman and your abuelo was a fair man and he listened.” I smiled thinking of the strong, tall woman that we’d gone to visit every summer. “Girls got married off all the time to older men, richer men, but your grandmother wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted me to go to college. And when I came home with your dad, and people talked..” My father was very dark-skinned and it had been the source of many unpleasant conversations amongst my mother’s very light-skinned family.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Mamí.” She waved a hand as if to say, it’s all in the past.