“I’m your mother. I don’t need your permission. I get to tell my children what I think they need to know.”
“But they’re so bossy. They don’t even think I’m a person. They used to dress me as if I was some kind of doll when I was little. And they were always telling me what to do. And don’t touch this, and don’t touch that either cuz I’ll kill you. Ugh.”
“My, how you’ve suffered, Angel Aristotle Mendoza.”
“That’s pretty snarky, Mom.”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
“I am mad at you.”
“I’m sure you’ll get over it soon.”
“Yup,” I said. “Are they going to interview me? Are they going to ask me all kinds of questions I won’t be able to answer?”
“They’re not journalists, Ari—they’re your sisters.”
“Can I invite Dante to come along?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. For the very reason you want to invite him to come along. He’ll do all the talking and you’ll just sit there and watch the whole thing play out. I love Dante, and I won’t have you use him as a front man just because you don’t want to talk about things that make you uncomfortable.”
“Which is most things.”
“Yup.”
“I talk to you, Mom, don’t I?”
“A very recent development.”
“But a step in the right direction,” I said. I had this stupid grin on my face.
My mother smiled—and then she broke into a very soft laugh. She ran her fingers through my hair. “Oh, Ari, let your sisters love you. Let yourself be loved. For all you know, there’s a long line of people wanting you to let them in.”
Twenty-Four
SO THERE I SAT AT the House of Pizza, in a booth across from my twin sisters, Emilia, who looked exactly like a younger version of our mother, and Elvira, who was a younger version of my aunt Ophelia. Emmy and Vera.
Emmy, Madam Take-Charge, ordered a large pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom pizza. And she ordered me a Coke.
“I don’t drink Coke so much anymore.”
“You used to love Coke.”
“Things change.”
“Well, have one for old times’ sake.”
“Well, since you’ve already ordered it for me.”
She smiled at me. God, I wish she didn’t look so damned much like our mother.
Vera rolled her eyes. “She’s pushy. She was born a whole three minutes and thirty-three seconds ahead of me and she’s been my big sister ever since. You don’t stand a chance, Ari.”
I had my elbows on the table and rested my head in between the palms of my hand. “I’ve never stood a chance with either of you. I was the little brother you could push around.”
Emmy gave me one of her famous grins. “You were sweet when you were little. We gave you a little teddy bear. You named him Tito. You used to take Tito everywhere you went. You were adorable. And then you hit ten and turned into a brat. And that’s the truth. Mom and Dad spoiled you like crazy.”
“Ahh, sibling resentments.”
Emmy reached over and gently pulled my arm toward her. She kissed my knuckle. “Ari, whether you know it or not, I adore you.”
Vera nodded. “Of course, I always adored you more.”
“And you’ve always just blown us off.”
“Yeah, well, I’m an asshole. But you already know that.”
“You’re not an asshole, Ari.” Vera looked like she was about to cry. In our family, she was the queen of tears. “You’re so hard on yourself.”
And Emmy chimed in right on cue. “You really are. Ever since you were a kid. Once, you brought home your report card and as you handed it to Mom, you kept saying, ‘I’m sorry.’ You started hitting your head with your knuckles. Mom gently took your arm and sat you down. You were beating yourself up over one lousy C. All As, one B, and one C. And you were always saying things like ‘It’s my fault.’ Everything wasn’t your fault.”
Vera nodded. “When Bernardo went away, you asked Mom, ‘Did I make him mad? Is that why he went away?’ That broke my heart, Ari. You loved him so much. When Bernardo didn’t come back, you changed. You became quieter—and kept to yourself. Always blaming yourself for everything.”
“I don’t remember any of that.”
“It’s okay to not remember,” Emmy said.
Vera looked at me. She had this look that was kind but firm. “Just try not to take responsibility for things you’re not responsible for.”
“You mean like me being gay?”
“Exactly.”
And they both said it at the same time as if they’d practiced or something. “It’s okay if you like guys.”
Emmy laughed. “I mean, we like guys too, so we have no room to talk.”
“You’re supposed to like guys,” I told them. “I’m not. And I’m going to wind up being the gay uncle that your kids whisper about. The uncle who’s not all that much older than they are.”
“I don’t think they’ll care. They worship you.”
“I don’t spend much time with them.”
“That’s true. But when you do spend time with them, you’re awesome. You make them laugh and you tell them dumb stories right out of thin air. That’s a rare gift, by the way. And you used to sing to them.”
I hated the tears that were falling down my face. What the hell was happening to me? “Thanks,” I whispered. “I’m not very good at loving people. And Mom said I should let myself be loved.”
Vera flicked my knuckle with her finger. “She’s right. And you know, Ari, it’s not that difficult to love you.”
“I think I’m pretty difficult to love.”
“Well, it’s time to stop believing everything you think.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
“You may have heard that a thousand times, but you’ve never actually listened. Time to start listening, dude.” Emmy was all about the lessons of life. Somehow her advice came out sounding like a command. I wondered if her two children found her annoying.
“Ari, we’ve always loved you—even when you didn’t want us to.” There was a lot of tenderness in Vera’s voice. “You can’t tell other people who to love.”
“I guess I’m supposed to love you back.”
“It’s not a requirement—but that would be nice.”
“I’ll work on it.”
“You really are a wiseass, Ari, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know. Dante says it’s part of my charm.”
There was a silence between us for a moment. I stared at the floor and then I looked up at them—and I saw that look that my mom wore, the kind of look that just killed you because it didn’t just say I love you. It said I will always love you.
“I guess it wouldn’t kill me if I told you both that I love you.”
“Well, you just said it—and you didn’t die. You do realize you’ve never said that to us.”