He made Mabel very happy. Obnoxiously so, in fact. But Olga was hardly the only one who noticed that it was always Mabel who paid the bills for the romantic getaways that Julio planned. Her sister Isabel, Fat Tony, Prieto, Tía Lola, they all got in their little comments. It didn’t escape their attention either that his proposal, with a ring Olga was almost certain was a CZ, came right after Mabel’s promotion, which included better benefits and a pension plan. If Mabel noticed, she was too scared to give the thoughts any oxygen, but Olga knew her cousin was no dummy. She also knew that Mabel would rather die than let the rest of the family find out about this latest predicament, and that the money for the venue would not be enough to get her through the day she had planned for herself. Olga withdrew an additional $3,000, which she handed to her Tía Lola when she got in the car later that afternoon.
“Querida, you’re all sugar.”
Olga shrugged. “Nobody’s all anything, Tía.”
She felt her aunt’s eyes on her. She had been intrigued at the prospect of time with her tía, her mind brimming over with thoughts and questions about their family that she’d never considered raising before.
“Pero,” her aunt continued, “it’s nice, Olga, to be there for your family. We’re all each other has.”
Olga sensed an opening and decided to test the water.
“The way you were there for my parents?”
Her aunt put a hand over her heart and grimaced for a second.
“Well, yes, mija. It was hard what happened to Johnny. We were all happy to help. I’m sure things like a wedding make you miss him. I know I do.…”
No one in her family ever talked about her mother’s disappearance. （Abandonment, Matteo had called it, an expression that made Olga wince.） Yes, they would pray for her mother, occasionally tell stories about her, exclaim over some trait Olga or her brother had obviously inherited from her—ranging from noses to hand gestures to attitude problems—but the circumstances surrounding her leaving and the fallout of that act were never discussed. Noting this now vexed her and, in her irritation, she found the courage to continue.
“But, what about my mom? Papi was sick, but she just kind of left. Abuelita took up most of the work, but you got stuck holding the bag, too, Tía. Clothes, school trips, money for textbooks, art supplies.”
They were on the highway now and her aunt was silent for a second.
“Olga, listen,” she said gently. “When I was born, there were very few choices for women. You liked boys, you got married. Then you could leave the house. Then you had babies. It’s hard to understand, I think, because things have changed so fast. But, when I was younger, it wasn’t possible to live the life I needed to live and also be a mother. At least not with our family and our ways. Even your parents, as anti-establishment as they were, had a church wedding. So, while I knew I didn’t want to be a man’s wife, that didn’t mean I didn’t want to be a mother. When your Mami left, honestly, for me, I thought I hit the jackpot. I could cook for you and your brother, take you places, hug and kiss you when you needed it. Pero, also still get to be me. Live how I wanted to live. So, that’s all to say, I never feel I got stuck holding a bag, because I felt blessed by God to have a chance to be so needed.”
Since her talk with Reggie King, Olga had found that tears, which had for so long evaded her, now came in endless cycles. She pulled her sunglasses from her purse and put them on, taking a deep breath as she did so. She was overwhelmed with love and gratitude for her aunt, but also sadness for her. And anger. At herself, at her family, for making her feel she had to live this way. If she looked at her aunt, she would not be able to hold back her tears, so she placed her hand on her shoulder.
“Titi, why didn’t you ever tell us?”
“What would it have changed about my life, mija? I’ve never really hid myself, never pretended to be anyone else. No offense, but you young people think just because you don’t know something, it’s a secret. The women who I wanted to know, knew. Trust.” And here she laughed. “My generation isn’t like you kids. You want everyone to talk all about every bit of themselves all the time. On the Facebook. So stupid.”
Olga laughed. “Tía, I’m forty years old. I’m hardly young.”
“You’re not old, either!” Her tía smiled, cautiously. There was a pause. The oldies station was on, which Olga realized was playing music from when she was a teenager, Jade singing about not walking away.