I’m back in Los Feliz. I’m having dinner with Jessica and my mother. Jess is leaving for a date soon, so my mother and I will be alone for most of the evening. I called her when I got back home and finally told her about the screenplay. She was actually excited. So, I extended the proverbial olive branch and invited her to join us tonight. And I was shocked when she agreed. I haven’t seen her in almost two months and it’s her first time visiting me here. So, I’m nervous. I’m outside manning the grill and they’re inside getting the wine we’ve had chilling most of the afternoon.

She and Jess have hit it off, color me surprised, but I’m glad.

It’s been a week since Reece dropped his bomb on me. I spent the first two days crying, praying for relief from the pain. Then, I got back to work and lost myself in it by working almost around the clock. I haven’t allowed myself the time to process what he told me. He’s called, emailed, texted. He even came back to my house the next day. I couldn’t find the courage to face him. I had no idea what to say. And this week, I’ve felt like I was trapped in a terrible purgatory.

Dan and Todd both hate me for being so demanding. But, I don’t feel bad. This presentation is important. It will decide the fate of this project and I haven’t left anything to chance. I also know that Reece will be there and I’ll have no choice but to face him. It’s just another layer of anxiety that has made this week more stressful.

When we finished ahead of schedule, we decided that we earned a break after the way we’d been working as of late. So, I came down to LA to try and relax. While I’ve been here, I’ve been trying to lose myself in the book I’m writing for my publisher. It’s a young adult fiction novel about a Syrian girl’s coming of age while living in a refugee camp in Greece. It’s a story I’m connecting with, so it’s been nice to have time to really work on it.

Yesterday, I spent the day at Artemis’ headquarters. I met with some of the other screenwriters and spent some time in their legendary museum. I managed to avoid Reece, but being in the building conjured so many feelings. Knowing I was sharing space with him made me crave him. But in trying to avoid seeing him, I only left the writer’s pit once the entire day.

At lunch, I’d gone to visit the on-site museum that takes up the entire tenth floor of the building. I wandered through the displays, looking at costumes, props and other collectibles from Artemis’ nearly seventy-year history. I’d found myself in the section dedicated to the Carras family history. It’s a fascinating story, told in pictures, of Reece’s grandfather’s immigration from Greece as a young man and how he headed West to start making movies. And from those humble beginnings, he started building what would become one of the largest media empires in the world. What the family accomplished in just one generation, is the epitome of the American Dream. And that’s all I want for myself, a chance to fulfill my potential.

The last photos in the collection were of Reece and his parents. His mother is a striking woman. Her dark hair and icy blue eyes give her a regal bearing. Even in the picture I find her intimidating. And Reece looks just like his father. Strong, bold features. Heavy brows, full lips, tall, broad and so serious. He was a teenager in that picture. Not older than sixteen. The same age my brother was when he was arrested and sent to jail.

My heart ached. What a cruel twist of fate. But is Reece to blame? Does it matter if he’s not? I know him. He is a good man. But is it a betrayal of my brother to feel this way?

These are the thoughts that have weighed me down all week and it’s still not clear to me what I should do.

I’m pulled back to the present by the spitting fire of the grill as a drop of oil falls from the cooking shrimp. I look at my backyard and take a deep, fortifying breath. The air here is not as clear as it is in Malibu, but it’s still so gorgeous. My neighbors to the right have this amazing lemon tree. The branches dangle over our fence when it’s bearing fruit and lemons, ripe and juicy, fall into our yard every day. We go outside each morning to collect them. The cool October air carries with it the sweet citrusy smell of the Frangipani tree we planted from a cutting our neighbor gave us. It’s a paradise back here.

I love being in Malibu, but Los Feliz, is my home. I feel anchored here. Sure of myself and safe. Being home the last few days has made the fracas of this week tolerable.

Jessica and my mother come outside with two big bottles of wine and three huge wine glasses. They are talking animatedly and I smile to see them getting along so well.

My mother is only ten years older than Jessica, but she looks old enough to be her mother. I feel a flash of guilt that she’s had to work so hard.

My mother wasn’t thrilled when I told her I was going to publish a book. She couldn’t believe I was “wasting” my income that way. She said, “We didn’t come here so you could follow your passions, mija. We came here so that you could find a profession. So that you could build a secure life. What does writing do?” I remember that day like it was yesterday. Even when I got my book deal and was able to give her more money, she’d asked, “Now that you’ve had your fun, are you going to focus on your real job?”

“It’s so nice to have you back. It hasn’t been the same without you. I’d started eating inside more,” Jessica says flashing me a quick smile as she lays everything out on the dining table we have outside.

“It feels so good to be home,” I say over my shoulder pulling the shrimp and vegetables off the grill, and piling them on the plate I’d planned to serve them on.

“It is so beautiful. I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner.” My mother’s English is flawless but heavily accented. When we were growing up my mother made Julian and I speak only English at home. She and my father wanted to make sure that we sounded “American.” Her own accent always made her reluctant to speak if we weren’t home. In our old neighborhood, when we were among family and friends, she had been a social butterfly. It’s nice to see her enjoying being around people again.

I smile at her and say, “I’m glad you’re here.” It’s been a while since we’ve sat down like this, not in a restaurant, but in a home and broken bread. It feels good.

Jessica pours us each a glass of wine and sits down. I walk over with the pan of our taco fillings and put the contents on our plates. We have tortillas, pico, guac and cheese all laid out for dinner tonight. Jessica piles her tortilla high with veggies and the other fixings then says, “I have to leave in a minute. But, I want to know, have you talked to Reece?”

I am in the middle of sipping my wine and choke on it. My mother and Jessica both stand up and come to bang on my back. I catch my breath and tell them, “I’m fine,” while I fix Jess with my death glare.

My mother looks back and forth between us and then asks, “Who is Reece?”

I don’t say a word and Jessica sits back with her eyebrows raised and looks at me. She is obviously not bothered by my glare.

My mother turns to me and says, “Is anyone going to tell me?” I look away from Jessica and at my mother and the expression on her face alarms me. She looks like she is going to cry. My mother stopped crying when my father left. She would get angry, curse him, but she never cried.

“Mama, it’s nothing,” I say and reach for her hand.

Jessica stands up with a flourish. “I’ve got to get ready. I’ll be back. You can tell me then.” She floats out of the yard and back into the house, seemingly unfazed that she’s opened a can of worms that I had hoped to keep firmly shut.

I close my eyes, silently count to three and turn to face my mother. She’s watching me expectantly.

“Really, it’s nothing. I have some things to figure out with the man I’m working for,” I say trying not to lie without revealing too much. I don’t know how my mother will react to hearing that I’m in love with the man who’s responsible for her son’s death.

She sighs, a long sigh and looks down at our joined hands.

“Ana,” Hearing myself called by that name makes me cringe. “I know that I made a mistake when I sent you to your Uncle Jorge. I knew it then. But I didn’t think I had a choice. It was the only way I could afford to keep you in clothes and keep you safe. I needed that job.” Her voice cracks on the word “needed.”

“And that boy—he’s grown up now to be as vindictive of a man as he was a child—would have turned us in.”

My blood starts rushing through my ears. “That’s what it’s always come down to. Don’t make noise. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t get hurt. Don’t fight back,” I say quietly, but bitterly.

“Ana. I’m human, too. It hasn’t been easy to suppress my anger. To let people abuse me and my children. I did it so that you could have a good life. I know it doesn’t seem like it. But look, you’ve written a book. It’s being made into a film. All of that . . . these are my dreams come true. And so are you.”

The backyard is alive with the evening song of the creatures that live in our trees and bushes, but I don’t hear any of that. I can only hear my mother and my heart pumping the blood straight to my head. I’m at a loss for words. My mind wants to hold onto my bitterness, but my heart wants to let go and fall into her arms. I’ve missed the family I used to have. I grab hold of her hand and she squeezes mine. Tears spill down my cheeks as she brings our joined hands up to her face and presses the back of my hand into her cheek. She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.

“I owe you so many apologies, mija, and I will give them to you. I think I’ll need a lifetime to atone for everything. But, maybe I can start by being here for you. I know I haven’t earned the right to ask you for anything.” She looks around the garden, looks through the sliding glass doors into the house. “I’m grateful you have such a lovely home. You deserve it. And I’m glad Jessica is someone you’ve been able to confide in. I fear that I’ve left you to face the world alone. Yet, you’ve managed to make something of your life despite that.”

For the second time this week, I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. I thought my mother resented me. I thought she had kept her distance because I reminded her of all the terrible things she wanted to forget. Our conversations have been brief and infrequent.

And we have never talked about what happened at her employer’s house. But before I can bring that up, she sits up straight, and drops my hand. Her voice has lost its wistfulness as she continues speaking. “I know it will take time for you to trust me again. But, for now, I want to know who Reece is, and I want to know what he’s done to upset you.” And then she takes a bite of her taco and looks at me eagerly while she chews.

I just stare at her for a second. And then I decide to let her change the subject. I’ll take the progress we’ve made tonight and know that we have a lot more to say before our relationship is healed. I also realize that the words she just spoke took a lot of courage and I’m not going to throw them back in her face. So, I tell her about Reece. “He is the head of the movie studio that I told you bought the rights to the film. We’ve been spending time together, getting to know each other.”

My mother puts her taco down and smiles broadly. I haven’t seen that smile in fifteen years. “He’s a movie producer? Is he rich?” she asks excitedly.

“Yes, Mama. Very,” I respond. “And famous,” I add.

Her smile slips a little. This probably gives her the same pause that it gives me. Fame means exposure.

“When I met him, he told me that he’d read the whole book. But I found out last week that he’d only gotten half way through.” I close my eyes as I remember him standing on my deck telling me his story.

My mother leans over. “Is this why you’re having a problem? Because he didn’t finish the book?” she asks looking a little confused. “That’s not a life altering situation. You’ve gotta loosen up, Ana.”

I stand up and I walk over to the railing that runs along our patio and with my back to her, I tell her.

“I wish that was all, Mama. He’s the ‘witness’ who identified Julian in that line up. The one that sent him to jail, and then detention.”

My mother’s “Dios Mio” has me turning around to face her. Her horror is apparent.

“So, yes. I was falling for a man I can never be with.” My mother’s face goes from horrified to confused.

“Why? What else? Why can’t you be with him?” she asks me, stuttering over her questions.

I look at her, surprise and annoyance dripping from my words. “Did you not hear what I said? How could I be with him after that?”

My mother walks over and puts an arm around me. I’m shorter than her and my head fits perfectly into the crook of her neck. I nestle it there and the ball that’s been in the middle of my chest expands. I haven’t had my mother’s comfort for so long and I’ve forgotten how good it feels to be in her arms.

“Ana, you’re so young. It’s easy to be dismissive of people when you think you’ve got your whole life stretched out in front of you.”

“I’m not so young, Mama. And I’m not being dismissive. I’ve thought about this all week.”

Her dry, humorless laugh punctuates the air.

“A week? You’re going to be grappling with this for the rest of your life. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to overcome.” She runs a caressing hand up and down my arm. It’s an absentminded motion, but so comforting.

“Ana Maria.” I lift my head at her use of my full name. She only said it when she really wanted me to pay attention as a child. “Maybe it’s my fault, I didn’t show you how to be forgiving when you were a child. I held so much anger inside of me that you never saw me be gracious.”

I start to protest and she cuts me off by putting a finger to my lips. “This young man, Reece? He pulled Julian out of a lineup. He looked like someone he thought he’d seen committing a crime, right?” she asks.

“Yes,” I whisper, my sadness clogging my throat. My mother grabs my chin and forces me to look her in the eye. Her expression is stern, determined.

“I’ve had years to weigh this, Ana. Right after it happened, I used to fantasize about confronting the man who sent Julian to prison. But I soon realized that my anger was directed at the wrong person. He’s not the one who arrested Julian. He wasn’t the one who charged him based on the words of one witness. He didn’t hand him over to the authorities to be sent to detention. He didn’t kill Julian. And if anyone is responsible for his death, it’s your father and me,” She says quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears and regret.

I pull out of her grasp, her words shocking me out of my melancholy.

“What are you saying? How are you to blame?” I ask vehemently.

She looks at me, her lips pursed, her eyes glassy and wide. “Your father and I decided to leave Mexico when you were born. We’re not well-educated people, our parents didn’t have any connections. Your father was working at a tire factory in Mazatlán. He worked fourteen-hour days and I worked at a resort there, as a housekeeper.” She sits back down at the table and picks up a napkin that she begins to shred as she speaks. “We were scraping out a living, and your Uncle Jorge told us that one of his friends was looking for someone to work as a landscaper. The pay was almost ten times what we were earning and so we came to see. We applied for visas and they were granted. We knew that if we liked what we found, we probably wouldn’t go back home. It was wrong, but we thought we were doing the right thing. Your brother was almost nine, we wanted him to get a good education. You were just a baby and we wanted the same for you. So, we made a decision. You and your brother have paid for it.”

I blink in shock. I’ve spent many nights resenting them for taking away my chance to be a productive citizen of this country. But I’ve never blamed them for what happened to Julian. I know they loved him. I know that they did what they did because they wanted to give us a better life.

I shake my head. “No. You can’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.” I try to reassure her.

“How is it Reece’s?” she shoots back. “You should be angry at me, at your father, at the court system, at the immigration laws. Reece only did his civic duty.”

“Civic duty? Julian was my brother,” I say, my voice clogged by a ball of emotion that makes getting words out painful.

“It is the greatest tragedy of my life that your brother was misidentified. But I also know that under normal circumstances, they might have charged him and let him sit and wait for trial. But because —” Her voice cracks as she starts to cry. “your father and I brought him here. He was turned over to the Immigration people. He was gone.” She composes herself and wipes her tears and puts an arm around my shoulder. She speaks softly into my ear.

“Ana, there are plenty of reasons why you and Reece may not be able to work things out, but this should not be one of them. Not if you really care for each other. He told you the truth as soon as he knew it. He didn’t do anything malicious or dishonest.”

That only makes me feel more miserable, because she’s right. Reece is such a wonderful man. “Aren’t I betraying Julian? He’s my blood,” I say through a sob.

My mother puts a hand under my chin again. Her eyes are angry as she lifts my face to hers.

“Look at your life. Where has your blood been? Where are your aunt and uncle? Where was I? Don’t be a fool. Your grandmother, God rest her soul, used to say love is thicker than water. Blood means nothing without love.”

Each word, so harsh and yet, so healing. It’s true. Look at the family I’ve built. Jessica, Sol . . . Reece. Blood had nothing to do with it.

She sags into her seat and says, “I’m tired. I should go home. I have to be up at six tomorrow morning.”

Jessica steps out on the patio just then. She’s wearing a pretty pink dress. It’s short, but otherwise demure. With her blond hair caught in clips on the sides and her flawless makeup, she looks like a walking advertisement for Ms. All American.

“Oh, you’re leaving? I can give you a ride, if you’d like. I’m heading out in about ten minutes,” she says as she breezes in. If she notices the heavy mood, she doesn’t pay it any heed.

“Okay, that would be nice,” my mother says quietly. I can tell she wants to keep talking. But, I’m glad our conversation’s been cut short. It was a lot. And as glad as I am that we’re talking again, I’m not used to all of this openness with her.

We move to our seats around the table and sit down. I’m lost in my thoughts, mulling over what my mother said and knowing in my heart that she’s right.

“So, have you talked to him?” Jessica repeats the question that got this conversation started. I twirl my wine glass in between my fingers.

“No. His dad’s been sick, he’s been working . . . and I’ve been avoiding him,” I say, feeling miserable and ashamed of myself.

“Well, stop doing that. You know where he lives, right? Go there. Get it over with before you have to see him when you give your presentation. That would be all sorts of awkward. It’s Monday night, I’m sure he’s home.”

Why didn’t I think of that? I put my fork down and look at her. “Yes.” I clap my hands together. That’s a great idea.

Jessica whoops in delight. I laugh, too. I’d forgotten what a shit stirrer she is. She lives for drama. She’s probably hoping Reece and I will get into a fight and it’ll be on TMZ. But after two glasses of wine it sounds like a great idea to me, too.

So, I turn to my mother and say, “What do you think?”

“Go and get your answers. I’m going to finish my tacos and then let Jessica take me home.” I kiss her cheek. I open my Uber app and order a ride to Reece’s place in Calabasas. My fingers tremble as I press Request Ride. I hope I’m doing the right thing.

“Wish me luck ladies,” I call as I stick my head outside the patio’s sliding doors. We see the sweep of headlights as my car pulls into the driveway.

“Go get your man.” She calls after me as I speed to the door.

I text Reece, afraid showing up unannounced might be a bad idea. All I write is: I’m coming to your house, be there in thirty. I just hope he’ll see me.