Page 54 of Trapped

Another one of my abuelita’s favorite phrases. My high school Spanish teacher once said it meant ‘out of sight, out of mind’. I had scoffed at him. There is a reason Spanish is a love language. The phrase is much deeper than the generic English translation. No, in Spanish, we say,corazon no se siente.The heart doesn’t feel. It isn’t a watered down ‘Out of sight, out of mind’. It is ‘What the eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t feel’.

Either way, the phrase is complete bullshit. I had gone years thinking Silas was dead. I never thought I would see him again, and my heart still longed for him. It didn’t matter if I couldn’t see him, because my heart still felt him. Even now that I had found him again, the feelings have only intensified. I want him to be here. By my side.

I look around at Dr. Juliana Gonzalez’s office. The blue walls are calming, with encouraging phrases in English and Spanish as the décor. She is the family’s preferred therapist, since her family is also involved with the cartel. It helps to be able to behonest about your situation. I look at the digital clock that reads three fifty-two p.m. I am eight minutes early. My palms are sweaty, and my knee is doing that crazy bouncing. Dr. Juliana watches the nervous movement, and I stop immediately.

“It’s completely normal for you to feel nervous right now, Thalia,” she says in a calm voice. I nod and wait a few moments before Olivia walks in, holding Lucia’s tiny hand in hers.

“Well, hello, Lucia! I’m so glad to finally meet you!” Juliana says, standing to meet them. Olivia is still in her work clothes—a full chef suit—and a messy bun. She went straight from work to pick up Lucia, who looks around the room, radiating curiosity in her sparkly pink dress with space buns. She looks at me with her brow arched.

“Thalia! Why are you here?” she asks, looking between Olivia and me.

“We are all here to talk, Lucia. This is my friend Juliana. She wants to be your friend, too,” Olivia says, ushering Lucia to sit on the chair beside me. Olivia and I both had several sessions with Juliana before this, so we are well equipped on how to best go about telling Lucia the truth.

We both agreed to telling her together and giving her the space to comprehend and ask questions. Juliana had explained to both of us that respecting Lucia’s emotions and reactions is the prime focus in all this. I can’t force her to love me or expect her to accept me in this role. That would take time, and I am willing to put in the work.

“Well, I like your hair, so we can be friends,” Lucia says, earning a laugh from all of us.

Juliana spends the first half of the session getting to know Lucia. She had told us this is how she would find common ground and build rapport. I smiled as Lucia told her about her dramatic day at school. I love the way she tells a story. She makes everything so much more extravagant than it needs tobe, and I love her for it. I admire her for being her sassy self, but I also am proud of the way she cares for Luca. Every day, she not only recounts her day, but Luca’s as well—what they ate, what other students were doing, and who they played with. I am fortunate to have always been a part of her life. We aren’t strangers, but I need her to know we are more.

“Well, now that we are friends, Lucia, I want to talk to you about something very big. I can tell you’re a big girl and you’re old enough to know about this. What do you think?” Juliana says.

“Yeah. I’m a big girl. Look, I lost all my top and bottom teeth,” Lucia replies, showing her gap-toothed smile.

“Oh, you are definitely a big girl, then. And you are a very lucky girl. Do you know that?” Juliana begins. “You are so lucky that you get to have two moms.” Lucia looks between Olivia and me.

“I know Thalia has been around you your whole life, Lucia, and you’ve called Olivia mom, but Thalia is also your mom. Did you know that?”

“No,” Lucia says, looking at me.

“Well, that’s what we wanted to tell you today. Thalia actually carried you in her tummy. Isn’t that right, Thalia?” Juliana’s voice is calm and inviting. It makes me wish I would have done this sooner, and I’m frustrated that I didn’t have the skills to do this alone.

“That’s true, Lucia. You lived in my tummy, and Luca lived in Olivia’s tummy,” I say, looking into her midnight eyes, that are filled with confusion.

“Um. Um. Okay.” Lucia looks between Olivia and me, and Olivia nods. The little wheels in her brain turn. Her confused expression is so similar to the one Silas has, with the arched brow and straight smile.

“How does that make you feel, Lucia?” Juliana asks, and Lucia shrugs.

I can read the confusion on her face and reach for her little hand. Juliana continues to explain the situation at Lucia’s mental capacity. I sit there, holding her hand the entire time. She doesn’t pull away. She asks questions, and Olivia and I answer them. We spend the rest of the session letting her sort through her own emotions. Juliana helps navigate the conversation, and we do our best not to overwhelm her.

We create an open door policy and tell Lucia it’s okay to ask us anything she wants at any time. We let her know that our living situation is not going to change. In fact, nothing will change, just the knowledge of who I am to her. For now, our home life will stay the same. Josefina had been staying in the spare bedroom, and Lucia was happy to find out Josefina is her grandmother. She warmed up to that idea quickly. However, the last question she asks me before we leave the office is the one that hurts me the most.

“If you’re my mom, then is my real dad the frog prince?”

It is a month later, and the question still haunts me. I let Josefina tell Lucia about her dad because I didn’t know what to say about him, much less how I felt about him. I dig my spoon back into the mango sorbet Alma brought me. Eating ice cream when sad is overrated, but mango sorbet with chamoy is a staple in my pity parties.

Women do a lot of things when our hearts break. Most of us follow a pattern similar to the grieving cycle. First, we cry. I have been crying a lot lately. If it wasn’t over Silas, then it was from the individual therapy sessions I have been attending. Turns out, I’m a whole ass mess and suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am also sad about Lucia. I thought letting Lucia knowthe truth would free me, but she is still hesitant. I don’t expect her to understand all of this. She’s still so little, and I don’t want to confuse her. Life is complicated, and I barely understand it myself.

So, I sat in the crying stage of my heartbreak for a good month. Going to work and coming home. Crying through therapy and spending the weekends in bed. I am already failing as a mother.

“How would you want Lucia to handle this?” Alma asks me one weekend, bringing me my pity party supplies. Josefina had taken Lucia and Luca to the library that day. She had missed out on her own kids’ upbringing, so she was taking advantage of the time she could spend with Lucia and Luca. Lucia told her she wouldn’t be her granddaughter if she didn’t adopt Luca, too. Olivia had smiled when I told her about Lucia’s demands and how Josefina was more than happy to oblige. But I know Olivia worries about where this will all lead.

Alma’s question that day had lingered and festered. The simple question led me to the second cycle of healing—anger. Once a woman crosses the line of sadness to anger, she is reminded of her strength. It’s the stage of heartbreak where men should fear her point of no return. For me, that moment came a half a pint into a tub of mango sorbet. I thought about Alma’s question. Really thought about it.

I would never want to see my daughter like this. In three-day-old pjs, with chamoy stains all over her face. My family has been kind enough to give me my space, but the self-destruction has gone on long enough. If this happened to Lucia, I would want her to hold her head high and remember who the fuck she is. No man should determine her worth. I stand up and walk to the bathroom. I am going to get ready, and I am going to get back to living.

I look in the bathroom mirror and watch as a cruel smile draws itself onto my face. I think for a moment I might burst out ina manic laugh. A laugh that my cousin Axel often does, letting everyone around you know that you don’t give a fuck anymore.

Seven Years Ago

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