Authors: Julia Bade
Six weeks into the demoralizing nuptial, Soledad managed to hit a nerve. Emmanuel had had the good man act set perfectly until she needed to ask for some sewing material. The fall was coming.
“
Señor
Xavier.” She froze, mouth dropped open. How could she have said that again? She knew he hated it, and while the name killed her, she was more afraid of Emmanuel’s reaction. How much more would he take before exhibiting his displeasure? “I’m so sorry.” She felt the color drain from her face. She couldn’t even finish her sentence.
“First off, you don’t have to address me as
Señor
anymore. It’s old and tired. I am your husband.” The sharpness in his voice cut through the air from across the room. “Second, I guess that I’m
so
sorry, too. Obviously you must have loved him very much.”
Soledad swallowed hard and her palms began to sweat. There was nothing to say. It was impossible to deny his words, yet fearfully impossible to confirm, so she remained quiet and prayed he would let her slip of the tongue go.
“I am
so
sorry to confess this to you, but I briefly saw you two together one day while I was doing business in
Juárez
. I immediately focused on you more than the male, of course, and from what I could see, you both looked very happy.”
Her heart leapt to her throat, causing her voice to thicken. “You told my father.” That would explain his rage when he’d gone to retrieve her. His business deal, so close to being finalized, had been closer to threads then.
“It was for your own good,” he said after her pause. “You should be thanking me. You would not have a life this privileged with anyone else, and neither would your family for that matter.”
A tiny ball of fury grew in her stomach. How dare he talk about Xavier. He couldn’t hold a candle to him. And he threw this privileged life at her? One she’d abandon in a second to be with her true love.
Perhaps the timing was completely questionable, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to hurt him. “Emmanuel, I’m preparing to go to California soon.” When he didn’t respond, she swallowed past the knot in her throat and added, “To go to Stanford?” Her confidence briefly incapacitated, it was more a question than a statement. Emmanuel knew what she’d meant. He was toying with her, knowing the important part Stanford had been in getting her to agree to marry him. Now, studying her husband, she could see how well she had been played, by him, and most of all by her father.
“You should thank me about that, too. We are saving money on tuition, and I am saving you from racism and discrimination.”
Standing rigid, she forced the emotion from her face, wanting nothing to alert him that he had hurt her or had any control over her whatsoever. If he could rape her day after day without so much as a wince out of her, he could take anything else he wanted from her without event.
And, just like night and day, his mood changed.
“Your grandmother is coming to stay with us for a little while. Your mother thought it would please you.”
It did. For the first time in weeks, her heart finally gave some sign that it had survived the traumatic events that had transpired. She’d longed to see her grandmother so badly, but could not make herself go back to
Juárez
. It killed her that her grandmother’s home sat so close, yet she could not even so much as look across the river or she would risk falling apart. There were certain points in El Paso from which one could clearly see Mexico. She could make out the diminutive homes decorating the foothills and the movement of people vividly carrying on their business. When she was a child, her father would take her to the mountain that nestled the university, and they would watch and make up stories of what the people might possibly be doing. She raised her chin, despising herself for allowing a memory of her and her father to reach out. He was dead to her.
She planted a smile on her face. “When will she arrive?”
“Your father is bringing her this afternoon.”
Her heart sank. Yes, she wanted to see her grandmother, but she had no use for her father. Hopefully his visit would be quick, then she would have
Abuelita
to herself. The only witness to her romance, the only outsider who could fully appreciate what she and Xavier had had, and the only one who could mourn with her over her current situation, was on her way.
All morning and the early part of the afternoon, Soledad paced past the large clock in the formal sitting room. She tried to ignore it, but it drew her in with its promise that it would eventually find 3 p.m. Its golden hands shuffled slowly like an elder, making its hourly rotations.
While the house was immaculate, she found a few more things to organize. Magazines, sewing material, her dresser drawers. These kinds of mindless activities gave her too much thinking time, and when she accidentally allowed herself back into Xavier’s arms, she was saved by the sound of closing doors.
“
Gracias a Dios
,” she said aloud, not only thankful for being rescued from her traitorous mind, but for what the sound meant.
Abuelita
was a living, walking fortress.
Soledad raced back down the corridor and to the front door. She couldn’t find the will to let go of her grandmother long enough to look at her or speak to her. Her father made only a slight noise as he uncomfortably shifted his weight or slowly tapped his foot.
When she finally released her grandmother, Eduardo stared at her expectantly. A dart of anger stabbed through her. What did he expect from her? A thank you? A hello? A hug? She raised her chin and averted her eyes, refusing to move.
“
Mij
a.” Her
abuela
had a surprised expression on her face. “You are glowing.”
“Glowing?” Soledad scanned her arms. Maybe it was the tan she’d gotten while hiding from life in the swimming pool.
“You look magnificent. Mother Nature has given you her most magnificent beauty-boost.”
Still dumbfounded, Soledad looked across the room into a large decorative mirror.
“Eduardo,
tantos gracias, mijo
.”
Abuelita
, sensing the need of a topic shift interrupted with her rich, singsong voice.
“You are very welcome,
Abuelita
.”
“You tell my daughter not to be a stranger to Soledad. Tell her that I said she needs to find time to come over here and see her daughter.”
How had
Abuelita
known her mother hadn’t been by for a visit? She hadn’t even called since the nuptials. The most she could possibly know of her were from glimpses Eduardo saw of her when he was over to talk business with Emmanuel. Even then, she tried to stay out of sight.
Since her mother was not one to abandon her children, Soledad was sure it was one of two possible reasons. One, her father would not allow her to meddle, or two, she was ashamed that she’d done nothing to save her. Soledad wanted to give her mother the benefit of the doubt, so option one was the only option that provided a way back to forgiveness for her mother.
Soledad also noted that her
abuelita
was probably fully aware of this, as noted in the directness of her voice. It was more like a message for Soledad’s father than it was for her mother. Soledad was surprised he allowed
Abuelita
to come, and even went so far as to bring her himself, perhaps as a peace offering, but Soledad quickly dismissed that idea because
Abuelita
was not submissive to him or anyone, and she was going to come to Soledad one way or another. Soledad appreciated that
Abuelita
never
beat around the bush. She knew when she was needed, and she knew when she needed to pull back. But today, in this very moment, she knew she was needed.
With Emmanuel off at work, her father pulling out of the driveway, and the maids off lost and working somewhere in the vastly large house,
Abuelita
opened her arms to safety.
“Come now,
mija
. I’m here.”
It was all the invitation Soledad needed. Guarded by her
abuelita’s
arms, finally, finally, after so long, she found her release. Soledad broke down in a torrent of sobs that had no end. She didn’t care if the maids saw. She didn’t care that they sat in an open room with no doors to give them privacy. She had held it all back for as long as possible, and it would not wait even one second more.
After a long, and well-needed conversation,
Abuelita
enjoyed a bath with hot water while Soledad showered in her bedroom. After refreshing, she felt washed with newness. The tears had cleansed her of all the bad that festered in her, all the hurt. The only thing that remained was the animosity she held for her father. It was like the California ocean that that blazed full force to shore and then receded, leaving behind seaweed and sea shells. And then it would come again and take some back, but it never failed to leave its evidence behind. It was inescapable and impossible to defeat.
Soledad had given the cook the evening off and stood in the vast kitchen trying to navigate herself around. Her
abuelita
sat at the breakfast table looking on, poking fun at her. The cook had pointed out the places that stored the most used items, but once he was gone, it all ran together in vast metal cabinets that reached high into the ceiling. Somehow, she managed to find essentials and the bare minimums to begin her Spanish Mole sauce.
It felt so nice to have her
abuela
here, especially being in a kitchen with her. Some of her favorite memories took place in her
abuelita’s
kitchen. They had often cooked together, singing and dancing, often with Suki. The ladies would make fun of the way Soledad insisted on wearing underwear on her head, the way her aunt had taught her. Then one day the ladies decided to give it a try and finally agreed at their usefulness. She wanted to grab a pair now, but it would only be a painful reminder of a life that was no longer hers.
The cook had boiled a hen for her earlier in the day, and she began to de-bone the meat. As she ripped apart the chicken with grease-covered fingers, a ravenous hunger set in. She had an urge to eat a piece of the chicken. As she continued to de-bone the chicken, she stuffed every other piece into her eager mouth. She could not even swallow the chicken fast enough for her mouth to receive the next piece. Why was she so hungry? Hadn’t she had a filling meal of eggs, toast, and fruit for breakfast? Looking back, she’d even startled herself at the vast amount of food she ate, only overshadowed by the two servings of spaghetti and sweet red sauce for lunch.
She unwillingly pulled herself away from the most delicious poultry she had ever tasted and began to attend to the mole sauce. Staring over the pot, she could see that the deep brown sauce began to simmer and slowly the smell danced its way around the kitchen, gently infiltrating the room with a chocolate spice mixed with chicken broth. Suddenly, even before she could second-guess what was happening, the once friendly and pleasing smell of the mole now tormented her. Her stomach gurgled once, then she projectile vomited all over the food she had just been tenderly preparing seconds before. Horrified, she stared at the mess she’d made. She hadn’t even had time to recognize the nausea, much less make it to the trashcan.
Oh God, the smell
. Her stomach churned again, and stumbling out of the kitchen, she collided with her
abuelita
, who walked her over to the closest bedroom.
“There’s a price to pay for the glow,”
Abuelita
said with a tender smile.
Soledad frowned. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. What do you mean?”
“I suspect you are pregnant. The signs are sure.”
Soledad’s blood froze as
Abuelita’s
words screamed in her ears. She ran a tongue around her dry lips. “I know it’s possible, but if this is true, then I have been cursed.”
“My
niña,
this is a blessing,”
Abuelita
reached out to stroke her hair
.
“This is a joy. This baby will bring you a happiness you have yet to experience in life, the kind only attainable when you look into your child’s eyes.” She was suddenly far off, as if remembering her own experience of joy.
“Emmanuel’s baby could never bring me happiness.” Soledad felt sorry to interrupt her grandmother’s nostalgia, but the hate she harbored for Emmanuel forced her to do so. The words had to be spoken quickly to free her.
Abuelita
searched Soledad’s eyes. She often did this when she needed Soledad to truly understand what she was saying. “Happiness is a choice, my dear. You have your life, and one growing inside of you, one innocent of any wrongs, one who already finds you to be its reason for living.”
Soledad felt ashamed at her grandmother’s chastising and numb as she still tried to comprehend that she was, in fact, with child.
She leaned her forehead into her fingertips. “
Abuelita
, I don’t know what happiness is anymore. I don’t know if I am capable to receive it, much less give it to a little baby. If I could just go back one more time ...”
Abuelita
squeezed Soledad’s hands.
“
Mija
, the Bible says that the end of a matter is better than its beginning. Have faith.”