“Sorry, Mami, love you!” I call out before I close my door.
I kick my chanclas off and flop belly-down on my bed, leaning on my elbows with my phone propped up in my hands.
“So, tell me one good thing about this new school before you tell me why you hate it,” he asks once the coast is clear. The camera shifts as he adjusts himself to lie back on the love seat in his studio apartment. He’s always making me recount the positive before diving into the negative. But he still always gives me space to vent when I need to.
“Um . . . I made some friends?” I mean Bo, Amber, and David, not Karen and them.
“That’s amazing! Tell me about them.”
I proceed to gush a little about how nice they all were to me, and how they are so open about their lives even though they barely know me. Honestly, I spend most of the time talking about Bo.
“That’s what I love to hear, mija. So, if you have such good friends, why do you hate this school so much?”
“It’s Catholic school. Why do you think?” My dad isn’t religious like my mom. He went to church with us when we were little, but he was like a third child, being dragged there just like us. He always said he thought it was bull, and he made me promise not to tell Mom. She knows anyway.
“That bad, huh?”
“That bad. They’re almost as strict as Mom.” I groan.
He chuckles. “I know your mami can be a little intense, but you know she wants what’s best for you.” His eyes soften at the mention of my mom. They love each other so much it’s sickening.
“Not for me. For Cesar,” I blurt out, then cover my mouth. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
“I won’t.” Dad’s always been good with secrets, even if he disagrees. He’s good about staying in his lane.
“Don’t tell Mami either.” I point my finger at the screen as a warning.
“You know I won’t. That’s a conversation for you and your mother. Where is this coming from?”
I swallow. Where do I even start?
If anyone can make me feel better right now, it’s my dad. He’s always made me feel like I’m tough enough to get through anything. I don’t know if there’s such a thing as unconditional love, but I think my dad loves me and Cesar as close to unconditionally as possible. My mom has always loved God unconditionally, and my dad always loved me. When he left, he took a lot of the strength he helped me build up. For the past six years, I’ve been a little more fragile.
“Mija, what’s going on?” When I see the concern on his face, I realize I’m tearing up. I don’t think I understand what’s wrong until it comes out of my mouth.
“Papi, I’m so tired of having to take care of everyone.” I wipe my eyes.
He’s quiet for a while, and I almost start to think he’ll be disappointed in me.
“Oh, mija . . .” He closes his eyes. “That’s supposed to be my job. I hate that I can’t be there for you.” The camera is angled down now, so I can only see his chest and the old oversize （supposed to be） white T-shirt he’s wearing, adorned with a a jaguar chain that matches Cesar’s. All I want to do is fall into one of his hugs, but it’s been so long I barely remember what they feel like. I want to tell him it’s not his fault, and I know it isn’t. But I’d be lying if I said part of me didn’t blame him in some way. I want him to be here.
“It’s not fair,” is all I can say.
“I know it’s not. You’re doing a better job than I ever could, and that’s not fair at all.”
I laugh because it’s so ridiculous. I’m doing a terrible job. I’m tiptoeing between eggshells, trying not to let everything fall apart.