“You know, mija, like I said, things are very different now. It’s not too late for you to have a baby, you know.”
“Tía, I don’t think that’s in my cards. All I do is work—”
“So, get a different job. You’re smart. You’re on TV. You know people. Olga, you don’t even need a man anymore—it’s amazing!”
They both giggled.
“Titi, can I ask you something?” Olga asked, an earnestness coming through her voice. “Do you think I’d be a good parent?”
“Absolutely. I know what good ones look like and what bad ones look like. My father, even when he was around, that hijo de puta, didn’t care about anything but drinking and chasing skirts. But my mother, my mother would have died for us. Your father, in my opinion, yes, ended up with all his problems with drugs, but my God, did he love being a father! Get out of here! Making you and your brother feel good and loved. Teaching you about the world. Spending time with family.”
“And my mother?” Olga asked.
“My sister? Look, she loved you both—wherever she is, she loves you both—don’t get me wrong. But from day one, the world was about her and her agenda. Selfish.
“I remember when my mother was buying the house from Mr. Olsen, all the trouble your mother caused. See, Mr. Olsen loved our Mami and he loved us—bought us Christmas presents, let us hunt for Easter eggs in his backyard. But he was no fan of Puerto Ricans, generally. He felt they were pushing people like him out of his neighborhood. Obviously, Mami raised us to be polite, to show respect. But anything we did—hold the door, bring in the mail—he’d always make a big fuss and say, ‘If only all Puerto Ricans were like your family!’ This drove my sister crazy. She would come into our apartment going on and on about how he hates us, how it was an insult disguised as a compliment. And then one day, your mother just went off. ‘Who the fuck did he think he was?’ and ‘Do you know we descended from the Taíno?’ All that kind of shit. I never knew how Mami smoothed it over.… The crazy part is, she wasn’t wrong, mija. Mr. Olsen was prejudiced. But my mother saw something to gain that was good for her family in the long run. Your mother? She needed to prove a point. And she was never happy unless the rest of us agreed with her. She never grew out of that. Even when you and your brother were little, if you didn’t parrot her, she found flaws. No room for you to be your own people. In my opinion, that doesn’t make for good mothering.”
Olga was shocked at Tía Lola’s candor. The floodgates were suddenly wide open. Tía Lola continued: “You have to understand, Olga, I don’t know how you remember things, but the last few years, she’d barely been around. Traveling constantly. When she left, we thought she was going to Panamá, to give a speech. We were expecting her back! Days go by, two, three, finally a week, then two. We were going crazy with worry. Then, finally, the letter came. To your father. Saying she wasn’t coming back. No address, nothing. My brother Richie wanted to call the FBI, to track her down and bring her back. Mothers can’t do this kind of thing, he kept saying. But fathers can? I asked. Eventually my mother went to find La Karen. She knew Karen would know how to reach her. I don’t know if my mother ever spoke to Blanca or not, but when she came home she said that maybe this was for the best, Blanca didn’t have the mothering gene.
“Which is my point, Olga. You have that gene in you. You care for people. You see them. You see their flaws, but you can accept them as they are.”
* * *
SHE THOUGHT OF Matteo. He had been calling her for the past two days and she had been too drunk and sad and confused to pick up. Unsure how to explain her state without explaining what she now knew. She’d left him hanging for almost three days. It was wrong and she felt badly. She took out her phone and texted him to apologize, letting him know she would explain herself, though she wasn’t completely sure how.
“？Y quién es that you’re texting?” Tía Lola asked. She was a low-key bochinchera. “Maybe someone to make a baby with? You make a nice living, you don’t need them to stick around, eh? Cheaper than science!”
“Titi! You’re so crazy!”
The phone rang. Matteo was calling her.
“Hey!” she said, relieved all was still well.
“Hey.” He was stern and her face fell. “Listen, I’m calling you because I didn’t want to do this over text, but really, what the fuck?” He wasn’t raising his voice, but there was a tightness in it. She lowered the volume so her aunt would be less likely to hear.