Chapter Nineteen

Kiev + Vienna

 

As I drive home after dropping Lia and Barnabas off, I think about this crazy day, which felt like two. First, I rejected a hot Latina and told her she belonged in the non-girlfriend-go-away zone. Then, I spent the afternoon with another hot girl, who definitely belongs in the I-want-to-be-with-you zone.

Lia.

Her dads are easy going and cool, so that’s a plus, but I wonder if her mom will be the same. I hope she isn’t like mine.

I’m driving on an avenue with lampposts in the middle, illuminating the pavement and other cars. But when I enter my subdivision, it’s as if the street lights shut off. I’ve always wondered why my subdivision is so dark.

After parking my car in my driveway, I step out and walk to the door. Muffled shouting filters through it—a discussion. I wait several minutes until the voices fade before getting into the house and walking toward my bedroom.

Dad steps out of his office. “¿Tu también, Kiev?” he says with a frown.

“Me what?” I ask in Spanish.

He asks why I’m late, which makes me feel like crap, because I forgot to text him. So I tell him I went to IHOP with Lia and her parents. Dad inspects my face for a long time, as if trying to figure out if I’m lying, but I sustain his gaze to confirm I’m telling the truth. Finally, he drops his tense shoulders and sighs.

“I worry for you two,” he says in Spanish.

“Sorry—lo siento,” I say, and I really mean it.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and nods.

I drag my feet to my bedroom and stop in front of Vi’s door, loud music escaping through it. Dad worries too much about her, and it hurts me seeing him weak and defeated. I mean, I’ve always admired how hard he works, and how he’s always there for us. That’s why I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with Vi. At least, I know she hangs out with Chris because they’re friends. With benefits? I hope that isn’t the case—cringe.

Sighing, I head into my room, put on my pajamas, and lie in bed. Now that I think of it, today felt like three days: Monica’s drama, Lia’s fun, and Vi’s drama. Yeah, my life is full of drama, and I love drama, but of the theater kind.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Cole: I have new private investigator discoveries.

Me: Do tell.

Cole: In person. Tomorrow.

Me: See you half an hour before school?

Cole: Need. Beauty. Rest. Lunch. Secret. Restroom.

It’s like he’s texting in Morse code.

Me: Okay.

Skipping lunch works for me, because Monica will show up at the cafeteria, and I’m not ready to go all TMZ-drama again. Besides, Mr. Butrow’s words about studying the next school play echo in my head. When he said that, I hated it—thought it was out of pity. But now that I’m calmer, I think it wouldn’t hurt reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream during lunch break, especially Puck’s lines.

The next day, after second period, I find Lia taking out a book out of her locker. She’s in her usual ripped jeans and baggy blue t-shirt.

“What happened to your when-I-was-thirteen black pants?” I ask her.

She turns to me. “Those are definitely not school material.”

I miss them, I think. Instead, I say, “Cool.”

“Cool,” she echoes, clutching the book against her chest.

“So, are you still in love with the New York Cheesecake pancakes?” I ask.

She chews her lower lip, as if their flavor were still in her mouth. “I married them last night.”

I chuckle. “Oh, no. You aren’t single anymore.”

“That’s right.” She smiles.

Sophie strolls up beside us, then examines us, as if we’re aliens or something. “You two are, like, dating now?”

I shake my head and point at Lia. “She’s married.”

Lia nods. “I’m totally a polygamist. I married three New York Cheesecake pancakes last night.”

“I may have to go that route myself,” Sophie says as she walks away.

Lia jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Bell’s about to ring.”

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ll see you after school for more piggy adventures.”

“Yep.” She gives me a two-finger wave. “You just boosted my excitement.”

“I’ll be waiting for you in my pig chariot.” I watch her leave until she turns a corner.

When lunch arrives, I rush to the secluded restroom. I wait and wait, and when Cole doesn’t show up, I text him.

Me: Where are you?

A long time passes before he replies.

Cole: Still investigating. Give me a few more minutes.

Me: Make it fast.

Cole: One cannot rush an investigation. Besides, you’re missing our fine cafeteria’s Tuesday Special.

Greasy pot roast with cold gravy and colder mash potatoes—no thanks.

Me: You mean, the brown mess special?

Cole: That is correct.

Moments later, the door opens and Cole steps in, gasping for air.

When he recovers, he smooths his t-shirt. “I have new discoveries, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

“Spill the … information."

“I talked to your sister again and again.” He puffs out his chest, proud of himself. “And this time she opened up to me.”

“Again and again?” I lift a brow. “How come?”

He brushes his fingernails on his t-shirt and blows at them. “I’m a very social human, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

“Meaning?” I ask, wanting to shake him by the shoulders.

He walks to the sink and addresses the mirror. “It’s easy for me to make new friends, even if they’re juniors. Isn’t that right, Mr. Doppelganger Novotny?” He turns to me. “He said I’m awesome.”

I join him at the sink. “Get to the point.”

He bobs his head. “You want me to spill the farming beans?”

“Dude.”

“Okay, okay.” He rubs his hands, as if ready to attack a Chinese Buffet. “Yesterday after you left with Miss Ophelia Abbie, I—”

I hold out a hand. “It’s Lia.”

“You know I dislike using nicknames—it’s disrespectful.”

I shake my head. “Let me put it this way, Cole—if she wants you to call her Lia and you still call her Ophelia, isn’t that disrespectful?”

He points at my image in the mirror. “Are you sure you want to offer your heart to her, Mr. Kiev Jimenez? Or should I call you Mr. Kiev Abbie?”

I want to punch him in the stomach again, but I have to be patient. “Stop being dumb and tell me what happened with Vi.”

He nods. “As I was saying, yesterday after you left with the owner of your blood-pumping organ, I conversed with Miss Vienna Jimenez.” He looks down for a second. “I talked to her some more today.”

“Twice?” I ask, as my stomach constricts. “Are you hitting on my sister, Cole?”

He crosses his arms. “Do you want to know the result of my investigation?”

“Do not evade my question.”

Motioning a hand at the mirror, he says, “Miss Vienna Jimenez and I are friends. We’ve known each other since forever, Mr. Kiev Jimenez. You don’t strike me as a person of the jealous type.”

I take a breath. “What did you find out? Make it super short, dude.”

“She told me she misses her mother.” He wrinkles his forehead.

We all miss Mom at home, I think. But she left us. “I knew that.”

Cole raises a finger. “There’s more. Everything in your house reminds Miss Vienna Jimenez of her mother. She wants to be at home, but at the same time she doesn’t want to, which is very confusing to her.”

“Oh,” I say. I think of Dad—perhaps this info may help him turn Vi around or something.

We storm out of the restroom and rush to our respective classes.

At the end of the school day, strolling toward my car, hands in pockets and all, I spot Lia waiting there.

“You’re early,” I say.

“That’s right, Captain Obvious.” She chuckles. “We have early piggy duties today.”

“Yup.” I open the passenger door and bow. “As promised, the pig chariot awaits you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe if it was pink.”

After she slides in, I walk around the car and get in. We leave the parking lot and ride in silence.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” she asks as we enter the highway leading to the festival. “You have this super serious expression going on.”

“Nothing.” I sigh. “Not nothing. Some drama going on in my house—kinda boring.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

I glance at her, and she smiles. I’m not sure why I feel like I can trust her. “It’s about my sister Vi,” I say, concentrating on the road ahead, on the straight line that disappears in the horizon.

“That doesn’t surprise me, based on the other night. How is she doing?”

I look at her as she rolls down her window. A wind gust pushes her cap off her head.

Craning my neck, I spot it on the backseat. “Perfect landing.”

“Yep.” She pokes her head out the window, her hair floating all over the place. Man, she drives me crazy, and she doesn’t even know it.

She pulls her head in and gestures ahead. “We’re gonna crash if you don’t keep your focus on the road.”

I grip the steering wheel harder. “I like your hair like that.”

“Like what?” She looks at me confused, like she has no idea how hard I’m checking her out.

I slow down, pull to the curb, and look at her.

She leans to the side a little. “What?”

“I like your hair when it’s loose.” I grab a strand of her smooth hair and rub it between my fingers.

Lia stares at my hand and looks back up at me, and I lock my gaze with hers.

“We’re gonna be late,” she says after a long moment.

“Right.” I blink. “Of course.”

At the fair, Caroline gives us a list with today’s tasks: clean the Pig Shack, help set up the “Best Pig” judges’ table, and monitor the lassoing station—whatever that means.

Mr. Ham welcomes us with a pair of brooms when we step into the Pig Shack. “All righty,” he says, offering us the cleaning utensils. “Clean-up time, piggies.”

Lia frowns but snatches one broom.

“Ready for duty, sir.” I take mine.

“All righty.” He turns to leave.

We spend the next hour sweeping in silence, producing lots of dust. Next, we stroll to the storage area, which is just a bunch of white tents with stuff inside.

“So, about my sister,” I say to Lia, as we carry a table.

Lia lifts her side of the table a little more. “Yeah?”

“Vi’s attitude is driving us crazy at home, mainly Dad.” I pause for effect, before adding, “Today I found out why—she really misses Mom.”

She stops. “That sucks.”

“Big time. I hate seeing Dad sad over Vi all the time.” I start walking again. “Do you have any home drama?”

“Well, sometimes my Mom hates on my dad. But that’s with all men in general, since he left her for another man. However, they still make it work.” She pushes up her side of the table.

“How old were you when your parents divorced?” I ask.

She shrugs. “A little before I turned one.”

“Okay, then,” I say, resuming our torturous walk.

Soon, we reach an area that stinks of animal crap, and sure enough there are corrals with pigs.

Caroline joins us and points at the ground. “Unfold it right there.”

“Sure,” I say.

Lia and I perform our task in silence, then go back to the storage tents and bring back chairs.

“Time for some lassoing,” I say when we’re done. “Yeehaw!”

Lia laughs, and as we stroll toward the lassoing station, I try to picture it. Of course there’ll be cowboy lassos, horses, and even bulls.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I say as we turn a corner and spot a sign reading, Piggy Lassoing.

The detail is—it’s pretty much two corrals filled with piglets, one for “Cowboys,” the other for “Cowgirls.” Not only that, but there’s a tired-looking woman with a bunch of kids aged six to still-too-young. Actually, I think they’re waiting for us.

I approach the lady. “Are you here for the lassoing?”

“Thank, God, you’re here.” She checks her wristwatch. “You’re ten minutes late.”

Not sure if I want to say anything because, let’s face it, dealing with little kids should be torturous.

“Okay,” Lia intervenes, “I’ll take care of the girls.” She turns her attention to the children. “Cowgirls, follow me.” And there she goes, marching to the corral on the left, a line of little girls following her.

“Let’s lasso some cows and bulls, cowboys,” I say with a twang.

A boy of pink complexion pulls at my t-shirt. “Sir, those are little piggies not cows or bulls.” He takes off his thick glasses and offers them to me. “Check them out.”

I squat in front of him. “Cows and bulls—it’s just a figure of speech.”

He bobs his head. “The little pigs are … figures?” He turns his attention to whom I think is his teacher. “What’s a peach of figure, Ms. Johnson?”

She slides a hand down her face, slowly, as if trying not to explode in anger. “Just go and enjoy the lassoing.” She throws an imaginary rope in the air. “Yahoo,” she says in an extremely unenthusiastic voice, almost complaining.

“O-kay.” I step to the little gate and open it. “First—”

A torrent of kids rush inside, while the piglets dart to the corners.

“Kids,” I say to no avail, as if talking to the air.

I look around and find wooden horse sticks and small lassos close by. I guess that’s how this works, but Caroline should’ve explained better.

“Hey, kiddos,” I say, “I found some horseys.”

The boys stop running and look in my direction. Although there are no bulls here, the kids dart toward me like a bull stampede, then fight for the wooden horses. They try to lasso the piglets, which run away, squealing.

Peering at the cowgirls’ corral, I spot Lia and the little girls, all in orderly fashion, waiting their turn to lasso a little pig.

After an hour where I play pig controller, salvaging the piglets from a massacre, the teacher calls, “Time to go, children.”

They complain but drop their horses and lassos and rush to the gate.

“Who’s the kid whisperer now?” Lia asks.

“I must have lost the magic.”

Lia and I guard our respective corrals for a few minutes.

An olive-skinned, fit man in jeans and a formal shirt shows up, glancing around—the principal. “I heard you’re doing a great job.”

“We’re trying, Mr. Nazari,” I say.

He leans closer and squints at my face. “How’s that nose?”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Lia says.

“Like new.” I pinch the bridge of my nose for effect.

Mr. Nazari looks at us, slowly, one at a time, as if trying to figure out if we’re fighting or something. “I hope not to see you at my office ever again.” He smiles. “That’s a good thing.”

Lia nods. “Thanks, Mr. Nazari.”

“I just wanted to say that.” He points to the left. “If you excuse me, I’m going to play a round of Whack-a-pig.”

After the principal strolls off, we chuckle.

“Whack-a-pig?” Lia asks.

I shrug.

A minute later, Caroline lumbers our way, dragging her feet. She tells us we’re done for the day—finally.

As we walk toward the car, I ask Lia something that’s been lingering in my head for a while, “What’s the thing with you and video games?”

“I love gaming, but not the new kind with the super CGI and killer sound.” She shakes her head. “I’m talking about eight-bit-graphics games.”

“How come?” I ask.

She shrugs. “You should try Nintendo playing—it’s relaxing.”

“Are you sure you were born in this millennium?” I ask.

“What’s wrong with liking vintage gaming consoles?” She bobs her head.

“Don’t forget the old movies, books, and what else? Am I missing something? LPs, turntables, cassettes?”

She shrugs. “We’re here,” she announces as we enter the volunteers’ parking area.

We get in the Jetta, and I take a whiff at my shoulder before turning on the ignition. “I need a shower.”

Lia rolls down her window. “Me, too.”

“AC may help.” I crank it all the way up.

As I drive toward her apartment complex, she tells me about Barnabas, his two little sisters, and his parents who emigrated from Cambodia. Somehow, that changes my perspective of him, because I’ve always seen him as this cool, Asian goth, but not much else.

“Cole’s cool, too,” I say as we enter Main Street.

“Seriously?” she asks.

“He can be annoying at times, but he means well.” I stop the car at a red light and turn my attention to her.

She inclines her head. “Sitting in my chair at Government is meaning well?”

I nod. “He was just playing.”

“Well, he can play somewhere else that isn’t in my seat.” She laughs, which makes me think she’ll try to be nice to Cole in the future. That is, if I educate him about what buttons not to push, like calling her Ophelia, or sitting in her chair.

The light turns green, and I keep on driving. When we arrive at her apartment complex, she says a quick, “Bye,” and gets out of the car, as if she were in a rush.

I watch her pace, shifting her backpack here and there. Suddenly, she turns around, heads back to the car, and knocks on the passenger window. I roll it down.

Lia pokes her head in. “Anytime you feel like you need to unload your drama and need someone to talk to, I can listen.”

I lean toward her. “Hopefully it’s not too much drama for you.”

She shakes her head. “No, we all have something going on. Poor Barnabas can’t get below a hundred on a worksheet without getting griped at.”

That makes me smile.

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know anytime you need an ear, I’ve got two.” She points at both of her ears, giving me a genuine smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she echoes but stays with her head poked inside the car.

I feel a surge of energy pushing me toward her—it makes me want to pull her face to mine and press my lips against hers.

Lia takes a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She turns to leave, and I wait for her to turn onto a corridor heading to her apartment. Driving, I feel psyched because I like this girl more than I ever imagined—definitely more than other girls I’ve dated. Lia has … depth—that’s the difference.

When I get home, there’s a Chevy in the driveway I don’t recognize. I park next to it, stroll to the door, and open it. I almost gasp in surprise as I find Dad and Vi sitting at the dining table with Mom in front of them. Her milky skin is paler than normal, and her usual shoulder-length blonde hair is now light-brown and much shorter. She hasn’t shown up in almost two years, and now she’s here?

Mom stands, appearing nervous. “Kiev.”

I ball my hands into fists and freeze, trying to avoid saying something hurtful. Lighten up, Kiev. I slump my shoulders. “Mom,” I say, as if she were here all the time. I close the door behind me, and step to the chair next to Dad. “Hola Papá. Vi.”

My father and sister nod, acknowledging my presence.

Dragging the chair out, I slide onto it. “What’s this about?” I ask Mom in a calm voice, but inside—deep inside, I feel like yelling at her.

She puts a hand against her chest, shakes her head, and looks at the floor.

“Calm down, Lylla,” Dad says in English, making a down motion.

Mom looks up and swallows hard. “I feel so bad for what I did.” She blinks and her gray eyes moisten. “There are no words. I … I couldn’t keep living the way I was. Feeling locked in here”—she taps her temples—“in my head, and having to pretend I felt happy.”

I can’t believe her words—she left a letter to Dad saying she needed time to think about life and to, please, not try to find her, that she would contact us when she was ready.

She shakes her head. “It was never you guys. It was me with my messed-up emotions.”

All this time, I thought the problem was her relationship with Dad—adult stuff. I was so wrong. She seemed so normal when she was around. How did we miss this?

No one says anything until I break the silence. “Papá?”

He looks at me with an expression of disbelief.

“Did you know this?” I ask him in Spanish.

He shakes his head, then stares at Mom. “Ly-lylla? You? I…” he starts.

“Why are you here, Mom?” I ask after a minute of silence.

She points at Vi. “I didn’t know.”

Didn’t know what? I think.

Mom produces a tissue from her purse and dabs at her eyes.

“Mom, please, sit,” Vi asks.

Our mother nods quickly, and does as Vi asks.

Again, tense silence.

“I’m just gonna say it,” Vi says. “I found out Mom’s email and sent her a message telling her how I felt.”

I frown. “After all she—” No, no drama. I relax my expression. “Just like that, huh?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Vi asks, her voice an octave higher.

“Mijita.” Dad sets a hand on her shoulder.

Vi stares at the table, shaking her head. “I missed you so much, Mom.” She raises her chin. “Why did you disappear?”

Mom glances at Dad before saying, “This—this home, all of you. I needed a break. It was a repetitive cycle of depression.” She shakes her head. “None of it was because of any of you.” She glances at us, one at a time. “I love you all—I always have. But I had to get out before I did something to myself. I knew…” She puts a hand to her throat, unable to speak.

“Are you okay, Mom?” I ask.

She clears her throat. “I had to get myself fixed, not just for me, but for all of you.” She gives us a reassuring nod.

“You were gone for two years, Mom!” Vi shouts.

Mom stands, walks around the table, and grabs Vi’s hand. “Pumpkin—my little baby girl. I … I’m sick—you know that now. I’ve been seeing a psychologist, and I’m getting better.”

Vi wipes tears from her face. “Does that mean you’re coming back?”

Standing, Mom walks around the table and brings a chair in front of us. “I can’t just yet.”

“Why not?” Dad asks.

She doesn’t say anything.

“Papá deserves to know why,” I say to her in a calm voice.

Pointing at her head, Mom says, “I’m not—I don’t think I can…” She springs off her seat, breathing fast. “I’ve gotta go.” She heads to the door.

“Lylla.” Dad rushes after her.

Mom holds out a hand and takes a deep breath. “I will call y’all and visit you. I promise. Right now, this is … overwhelming.” She turns the doorknob and exits the house, closing the door behind her.

Dad turns around, facing us with a face that looks as destroyed as it was the day she left.

Vi rushes to him and flings her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Papá,” she says in Spanish. “I didn’t know. I’ve always blamed you. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know either,” he replies back in Spanish, “But I’m glad she came.” He caresses Vi’s hair. “Thank you for making that happen. I don’t know what’s gonna happen next, but I’m grateful that we have some answers.”

At dinner, we speak about our day, avoiding Mom’s topic. We’re in shock about her appearance. I mean, she disappeared, leaving that letter and turning Dad into such a sad human being, and now Vi found her.

Later in my bedroom, I put on pajamas to a silent house, no loud music coming from Vi’s room. I thrash in my bed, but I’m restless, so I trudge to her door and knock.

“Come in,” Vi says.

I open the door. “Hey.”

She sits on the edge of her bed. “You couldn’t sleep, too?”

“Yeah.” I cock my head. “How do you feel now?”

Folding her arms across her chest, she rocks herself. “Weird.”

I slide next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Me, too.”

She stops rocking. “I miss her a lot, but I think…” She sighs. “I think seeing her brought some kind of closure.” She looks at me and smiles. “She looks okay, but she isn’t okay.”

I think about Mom. She’s a little thinner and has more wrinkles around her eyes, but she’s pretty much the same—at least on the outside. The inside is a different answer. “We should’ve known better,” I say. “Remember how she worked long hours, even weekends?”

Vi nods. “I guess that was a signal. There was the crying, too.”

“Yeah.” I take a breath. “How’d you find out Mom’s email?”

“A friend helped me dig on the Internet.” She glances at the ceiling. “We spent yesterday afternoon in the library, looking for her.”

“This friend of yours, is she a geek?” I ask.

“It’s a he, and he isn’t a geek.” She furrows her brow. “He wasn’t on my radar until a couple of days ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He’s actually cool once you get to know him.”

“Not sure I like the idea of my baby sister hanging around alone with guys.”

“In the library?” she asks. “Besides, you hang out with girls alone in your room, like the other day with Lia.”

“Being your older brother, I’m going to ignore that.” I smile at her. “Are you gonna start talking to me about things again?”

She nods. “I’ll try.”

“That’s not enough.” I stare at her. “If you want to have a drink, whatever, but don’t go out and get shitfaced again, especially if you’re driving.”

Vi doesn’t say anything.

“Also, your old friend Faith is worried about you,” I add.

“Okay, okay.” She slumps her shoulders. “I’ll also talk to Faith.”

“All right then.”

I leave with curiosity milling inside me, wondering who the dude who helped her is.