“They worked nonstop,” I continued. “Saved every penny and built a foundation for us out of nothing in a country where they knew and had no one. And the only thing they really ask of me is that I make good on their investment.” I sighed. “I know I didn’t ask for them to shuttle us across the world. But I can’t act like I’m here now because of my own efforts. Because I’m not. I owe most of what I am to them. They make me crazy, but . . .” I scratched at the mat, running my nail over the ridges of bamboo. “I have to honor them. And I will. I just”—I turned back to look at Ricky, giving him a shy smile—“need some space from them right now, I think.”
Ricky rolled over flat onto his back, closing his eyes. The light cast his face into sharp relief, filling the hollows of his cheeks with shadow. In the silence that followed, I studied his face. His lips were tucked into a line, and every now and again a muscle in his cheek would twitch nervously. Ricky always seemed perpetually cheerful. He moved through life like he was new to the world, finding small moments of beauty and expanding them, relishing them. But even I could tell that some of it was a farce, a mask he put on for the benefit of others. Right now, under the glare of the ion lights, I could see through its cracks.
“You know how I told you that Abuelo wanted me to be a lawyer because of the signs?” he asked.
“Yeah?” I said.
“I lied.”
I laughed.
“I figured,” I said. “So why, then?”
Ricky shrugged, smiling to himself.
“When my grandparents first moved to Chicago, before Abuelo set up his furniture business, he used to work construction. Met my tío Matteo there,” he said. “They both had sons around the same age, but his son became a hotshot corporate lawyer. Made stupid money. Tío Matteo retired, like, fifteen years early.” He peered at me from the corner of his eye. “My dad didn’t really try at school, but I was good at it. Abuelo thought it was something within my reach, and so . . . pushed me toward it. He never wanted me to work with my body. The mind lasts longer, he liked to say.”
“He’s not wrong,” I said. I remembered the week that my mother had thrown out her back after turning a client the wrong way. The pain had kept her nearly bedbound for three days, but she had been most concerned about lost income. This is why you have to study hard, Angela, she had said. So that you don’t have to worry like this.
“I get what you’re saying, about feeling like you have to honor your parents,” Ricky said. “I felt so guilty for so long about not just . . . going along with what he wanted for me, even after I realized I didn’t want it for myself. It’s not like I didn’t work hard. I did well in school. I got every scholarship I could, worked my way through college . . . but I didn’t come to a new country with nothing but a hundred dollars and a dream, right?” He smiled, rolled over on his side to face me. “Still, in the end, we know ourselves better than anyone. Even the people who raised us. I was able to use my skills to help Abuelo rebrand his business. He used to take whatever carpentry job he could get, but he was really passionate about designing and building furniture . . . and now that’s all he does. He has a handful of rich clients who commission a few pieces from him a year, and he makes a lot more than he used to, doing less. And he’s been able to hire a few more guys to help out, so these days he’s mostly at the drawing table.”
Of course. A well-designed website and logo made the difference between a mom-and-pop carpenter and a furniture designer.
“I probably would’ve made a shit lawyer,” Ricky continued. “But I’m good at this. Whatever it is you want to do . . . I bet you’re good at it too. And you should go for it. Your parents want you to do what’s safe because they’re scared, but if you can prove to them that your way works too, they’ll back off.”
I blinked at him, touched.
“That,” I said, “was wise as hell, Ricky.”
Ricky shrugged.
“Just returning the favor. You’re always lecturing me,” he said.
I gasped, indignant.
“That’s not true!” I started. When he laughed at me, I sucked in my cheeks and glared until he laughed harder. But then his expression softened and turned thoughtful. He looked away from me.
“Do you remember,” he said, so softly that I had to strain to hear him over the ambient music, “that first time I drove you home from the hospital?”