“No, Mami. We’re not even friends anymore.” I try not to let it get to me that she hasn’t even realized. It’s only been a few weeks since Bianca outed me, so maybe Mami’s just been too busy to notice.
“Ay, ay, ay . . . Then we’ll talk about a new job later.” For some reason she doesn’t sound mad about me quitting. Not the reaction I was expecting.
“Okay . . .” It takes a while for her to say what she actually does want to talk about.
“I need you to do me a favor. Okay baby?” Her voice is hoarse.
“Yeah, Mami?”
“You know I want what’s best for you and your brother.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what to do with that boy.” She rolls onto her back. “Your dad was always so good at getting through to him.”
I don’t say anything. Dad got deported back to Mexico when I was ten. We talk on the phone and video-chat sometimes, but I haven’t actually seen him in years. After he left, my mom went through hell trying to get him back and spent all her savings on legal fees. But the system failed us, and he’s not coming back.
Papi and Cesar are the only two people who I feel like really get me. It sucks I only get to talk to him on a screen for short bursts at a time.
“I talked to him today. He misses you. And Cesar.” She wipes her eye under the glasses. “Cesar just . . . he doesn’t listen to me like he listened to your dad.” I can breathe a little easier knowing she’s upset about Cesar, not my job, or even the mirror. But I know she’ll eventually make this about me. She always does.
“Cesar’s gonna be okay, Mami.” I squeeze her hand. Cesar will always insist he’s fine and play tough guy, but just because he hits back doesn’t make it a fair fight. Mom and I have tried to ask why he keeps getting into fights and what’s wrong, but he lashes out or retreats when he feels like he’s being questioned. The best I’ve been able to do for him is keep an eye out, but I’m even failing at that. It seems like every time I look away he’s either picking a fight or getting jumped, so I feel powerless to stop all the black eyes and busted lips he keeps coming home with.
“He listens to you.” Mom’s lip is quivering, and I don’t know what to do. I shove my wounded fist into my hoodie pocket. If she figures out I punched something, she’ll think I’m the reason Cesar’s been fighting. One misstep always makes things my fault. It’s a lot of pressure, having to be the perfect role model for my brother when I can barely keep it together myself.
Since Dad’s been gone, there’s been this unspoken rule that I’m supposed to take care of Cesar the way he did. According to Mom, anything bad that happens to Cesar is on me.
I’m tired.
“What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to set a good example. Tell him this will be a good opportunity for the two of you. Look out for him. This new school is small, so you won’t have a problem.” It feels like she’s saying I haven’t been looking out for him. As if the whole reason I got a job in the first place wasn’t so I could follow him to Jesus School to look out for him. I want to tell her it’s not my fault what happens to him, but she wouldn’t buy it if I did.
“Okay, Mami.”
“Oh, and you’re grounded.”
“What?” I sit up. How can she ask me a favor, and ground me, while she’s cuddling me? I’m surprised my neck hasn’t broken from the whiplash.
“Until you find another job. You know I can’t afford to send you to that school.”
“I’ll find another job,” I say. I was already planning on that. Being grounded doesn’t matter anyway, since the only person I have to hang out with now is Cesar.