Page 62 of The Leaves In Autumn
You are my pain in the neck.
She’s trying to get me to suggest they stay. I will not take the bait. The rubbing of temples commences. The master manipulator is working her craft. Fortunately, Layla and I learned early to anticipate and block. It has been the only way to survive being Abby’s daughters.
“I have Tylenol. Want a couple?”
“You have anything stronger?”
“If you do, I’ll take one too!”
“No. That’s it. Think there’s a bottle in my purse.”
Shit. Made a mistake there. She grabs the purse and rifles through the contents. I hear a laugh.
“Glad to know you’re watching out for yourself.”
She holds up my packet of birth control pills.
“Surprise pregnancies are no picnic. They can ruin things with a man.”
How the fuck did Layla and I end up normal? Has she forgotten how I have been told a thousand times my arrival was not planned? What am I thinking. That’s why she said it.
When I don’t respond to her take on relationships, she has a moment of regret. But it’s fleeting and cloaked in a chuckle.
“I’m not thinking of you, baby. Ha! That’s funny.”
Xavier joins her in a laugh at my expense.
Hope you both have the shits on the plane.
Peripherally, I see her take the entire bottle of Tylenol and my hand sanitizer. She sticks them in her backpack.
“Here we are!”
I said that a little too joyfully, as we enter the airport lanes to the departures. Mom’s dramatic sigh has zero affect on me. My heart is hardened. Almost to stone as far as she is concerned. There have been too many wounds before Layla and I learned to protect ourselves. Bye, bye mommy dearest. I pull up to Aero Mexico’s outside check-in and keep the car running.
“Got everything?”
They check their possessions. I learned a long time ago, not to be specific. Don’t mention licenses or phones. Not flight numbers or itineraries. Nothing that could cause a delay. If they forgot something, so be it. They’ll figure it out.
“Well, guess this is goodbye till next time. It’s been so great being with my girls,” she says, playing the tenderhearted mother role. It does not suit her.
“Bye, Mom. Nice to have met you, Xavier. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
Not sure at all.
On the way to Gaston and Aurora’s my mind is busy. Between the telenovela that is my mother’s life, and the drama that is my own, I do not run out of things to obsess about. Here’s their street. Everyone’s here already.
I turn and park in front of the family home. Here’s where the hippie and the sculptor began their great adventure. There is something about old homes that have stayed in the family for so many years. I think Gaston told me they bought in the seventies. It has taken on a spirit of the people who live here.
I park on the street and make my way up the brick pathway to the front door. The sprinklers go on, and I pick up my gait. I suppose Aargon and his siblings played in the sprinklers. Rode their bikes and had cowboy and Indian battles. Birthday parties. Their childhood was so different from ours.
I knock and walk in. Made the mistake of waiting once and got the word. Just walk in when you know the gathering has started.
“Barbra!”
Gaston is always the first greeter. He sits a big casserole dish down and pulls out the only empty chair. It is across from Aargon.
“Hi! Oh, that smells so good! I’m hungry.”
