The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (25)

There was a moment of uncertainty. Hurt and anger momentarily crossed Enrique’s features before he hardened his resolve.

Félix’s eyes softened, like he was waiting for his little brother to come to his senses, to soften and yield like they always had. Juan Luis and Gastón didn’t know anything about the world, but they knew their uncle Enrique was a jerk and needed to be taught a lesson. Tatinelly squeezed her husband’s hand. Rey poured a new drink. Marimar waited. Ernesta looked up at the portrait over the mantel, the one of her mother as a young girl. She had a look on her face, like someone who was daring the universe to fuck with her. Little did they know, it had.

Félix let out a resigned sigh and then spurred into action. He clapped his hands together, jolting everyone out of their momentary indecision. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. Kitchen, cleaning, dining table. Now!”

The Montoyas spread out, racing out of the living room, arming themselves with brooms and kitchen knives, like witches going to war.



* * *



Tatinelly loved this house. Unlike most of her cousins, she had been born at the Four Rivers hospital. Her mother had refused the tradition. Her exact words were, “I’m not giving birth on a ranch like a prized hog. It’s 1990, for Christ’s sake!” The nurses had all gathered around the little girl, the first Montoya to be delivered at their hospital. Tatinelly had come right out, like she’d been counting down the seconds, like she had wanted to get the show of living started. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fuss. The most extraordinary thing about her was how normal she was. Tati’s mom had told her, years later, that the nurses had placed bets to see if she’d come out with webbed feet, claws, or a third eye. But Tatinelly was ordinary in so many ways, and she was perfectly content with that. Still, she didn’t like feeling left out, so she always said she’d been born in the same room as the other Montoyas.

Her family was different, off to others, but they were hers. As she and Mike made their way upstairs and into the guestroom, Tatinelly rubbed her belly and hummed a song that had been stuck in her head since they left Oregon. She imagined that the creaking floor and wheezing hinges were singing back. The house had seen better days, but this particular bedroom was spotless. It was almost like Orquídea had known… The wallpaper pattern was of rose petals, so faded it had taken on a dusty mauve shade from too much sun exposure. When Juan Luis and Gastón were born, she remembered peeking through the skeleton keyhole. There was so much screaming, so many women running around. None of that had startled her, but the one thing that had was the moment the twins were pulled out from between their mother’s legs, and the rose petals on the wall moved.

She told Mike as much. He set their overnight bags on the four-poster bed and made a strangling sound he’d never made before.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You were very little.”

Tatinelly went to the window and basked in the warm light. From this room, she could see the plot of graves out back. Orquídea’s husbands and her aunt Pena. The grass around their family cemetery was the only part of the property that wasn’t affected by the drought.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m sure,” she said softly. “It’s what I saw.”

He jumped on the bed and folded his hands behind his head. He hadn’t gone on his bike ride that morning and his pent-up energy had him wiggling his toes. “I have to tell you, honeybee. I—I’m not sure this is where we should be.”

Tatinelly felt a strong kick from her daughter. Restless, eager. “Why?”

“It’s just not you.” Mike sat up. The mattress so thick it didn’t even groan as he stood. He paced in circles for a time, like a bee performing a ritual dance.

She remained standing, picking up and setting down little glass bottles on top of a dresser. She’d loved all of these things. The whole house made it feel like it was there for her to play with. Even with cracks and layers of dirt, she still wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. It hurt that Mike didn’t think this place was like her.

“I love my family,” she said. “They’re part of who I am. So, in that sense, this place is me.”

Mike stopped pacing at the side of the bed, nearly doubled over. He breathed hard. His skin was so flushed he almost looked translucent. He’d had anxiety attacks throughout the years over taxes and work. Over retirement funds and market crashes. Once over a Super Bowl loss. But this, this was different. Tatinelly had always been so certain that Mike loved every part of her. They were supposed to be the constant things in each other’s lives. If he didn’t like this part of her, could he truly keep loving her at all? Could he love their daughter?

She waddled over to him. She rubbed soothing circles on his back the way he liked. His muscles were so tight beneath. He turned and looked at her in that way of his, like he’d never seen anyone or anything so beautiful. Even if she wasn’t, he made her feel that way.

“I’m sorry. Your grandmother—your family—this is a lot.” He sat at the edge of the mattress.

She didn’t want to mention that he was sitting on the same spot her aunts and grandmother had rested on in preparation for delivery. That they’d gripped the posters of the bed when contractions came. That their blood and embryonic fluid was the reason there was a permanent stain in the wood at their feet.