Don't Ask Me Where I'm From by Jennifer De Leon

Author:Jennifer De Leon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy Books
Published: 2020-05-05T00:00:00+00:00

18

Just when it seemed like Tía and Tío would never leave, all of a sudden they were leaving, heading back to Guatemala. They must have all the money they need, I thought, again wondering how much “all the money” could even be. That made me kind of excited, kind of nervous. The Sunday before their flight, Tío R. surprised us all by making pepián. It was totally something Dad would have ordered in the Guatemalan restaurant in Waltham that we used to go to sometimes on special occasions. I’d never tried it. It was a stew the colors of an army jacket. And it took hours—apparently—to make, which meant Tío R. was in the kitchen for like the whole afternoon. He roasted tomatoes, crushed pumpkin seeds—even had Christopher and Benjamin help. Even though he’d said earlier that men didn’t belong in the kitchen!

Mom had to go to the grocery store three different times because he kept asking for certain ingredients like dried chiles and green beans, but not all at the same time. Mom didn’t complain, though. Somehow having these smells in the apartment put her in a good mood. Or maybe it was because we were all together, chopping and cutting and mashing and focused—finally—on something good that had nothing to do with getting Dad home. Jade came over for dinner and after one bite said the pepián was mad good and could she take some in a Tupperware to her grandmother, who was working late cleaning an office building. Of course Mom said yes. I wished they hadn’t waited to make Guatemalan food until they were leaving for Guatemala. That pepián was right up there with Vietnamese.

Once Tía Laura and Tío R. left, my brothers would get their bedroom back. But it also meant that things were getting real. I still had so many questions. So after they were finished packing, while my brothers were out playing on their scooters, my great-aunt watching them, I joined her. Dustin sent me a text, but I ignored it—I know! Tía drank her beer from one of those free plastic cups from the bank. Tío R. was smoking cigarettes with a couple of old dudes down the street. The streak of pink in the sky caught my eye. When I was little, Dad had told me it was the sun saying good night in sun-language. Good night, Dad. Then I sat on the steps beside my great-aunt.

Tía Laura must have seen me looking all thoughtful, because out of nowhere she said, “Don’t worry too much about your mother. She has depression, but it will pass. The sun falls before it rises once more. Así es.” She paused. “And don’t slouch, mija.” Why were people always telling you not to slouch?

So. Yes. My mother was depressed. I knew that. And it wasn’t going to pass until my father came home. So I asked, “Tía, I need you to tell me. Dad’s going to make it, right?”

She sighed. “Only God knows.” Well, that didn’t exactly make me feel better.

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