I froze.
I knew my grandmother had a little nest egg—money saved from all the night shifts and the meals she skipped so her kids could eat. But I’d always assumed that money was for her security. For emergencies. For her old age.
Algo en mi estiramiento, pero me obligué a respirar.
I told myself that if Grandma agreed, it must mean she wanted this trip as much as we did. I told myself that maybe this was how families worked—everyone pitching in for a big, once-in-a-lifetime experience. I wanted to believe this was about love, not taking advantage of her.
En las semanas que siguieron, mi padre de repente pareció recordar que tenía una madre.
La llamaba más a menudo, su voz profunda se iluminaba artificialmente.
– ¿Cómo estás, mamá? ¿Comer bien? ¿Tomando tus vitaminas? Él pensaría en ti, caminando por la cocina con el teléfono inalámbrico en la mano mientras yo fingía hacer la tarea en la mesa.