The Nowhere Girls(47)

Rosina throws it back. “I’m not going.”

Their eyes lock. Mami stands completely still. A rock. A mountain.

“You are going to work,” Mami says slowly. “Get dressed.”

“It’s my day off,” Rosina says.

“Your family needs you.”

Fuck my family, Rosina thinks. But it’s like Mami heard her, like she read Rosina’s mind, because her eyes narrow as if in response. Rosina can read her mother’s mind too. She hears her when she thinks, This means war.

“How did I end up with such a lazy and ungrateful daughter?” Mami says.

“Lazy?” Rosina says. “Are you insane? I work my fucking ass off for you people.”

“Watch your mouth,” Mami hisses.

Rosina stands up. “I’m in high school, Mami. In case you didn’t know, I’m supposed to be learning shit, maybe even—God forbid!—having fun once in a while. I’m not supposed to be working almost every school night. I’m not supposed to be taking care of everybody else’s fucking kids.”

“How dare you talk to me like that,” Mami says, stepping closer. “You need to treat your mother with respect. I do everything for you.”

“This isn’t about you!” Rosina shouts. “All I’m saying is I don’t want to go to work on my day off. I have plans. That’s my right.”

Mami takes another step forward until they are only inches apart. She has to lift her head to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Your right?” she says. “You want to talk about your rights?” She stabs her pointer finger into Rosina’s chest. “Your family and the restaurant are what keeps a roof over your head and gives you food to eat. If you don’t appreciate it, maybe you don’t need it. Maybe you don’t deserve to live in the house I work so hard for. Maybe you need to be out on your own, see what the real world is like with all your rights you care so much about.”

“Mami, that’s not what I—”

“All you care about is yourself,” Mami says. “You don’t care about me. You don’t care about your family.”

Something inside Rosina breaks. How dare she say that? All Rosina has ever done is take care of her goddamned family and try to make Mami happy.

“Maybe you should try it sometime,” Rosina says, staring daggers into her mother’s eyes. “Maybe you need to think about yourself more and less about this family. That’s why you’re so mad. Because you’re jealous of me. Because I’m at least trying to have my own life, when all you do is what other people tell you.”

“You’d have nothing without your family,” Mami says. Low. Snarling. “You wouldn’t even be here. You’d be nothing.”

I’m already nothing, Rosina thinks.

“But what if this isn’t what I even want?” Rosina says.

And then the something inside Mami breaks too. “Fine!” she shouts, pushing Rosina in the chest so hard she falls back on her bed. “If this isn’t what you want, get out! Get out of my face! Get out of my house! You ungrateful puta.”

Rosina jumps up and storms past her mother, knocking her as hard as she can with her shoulder. This is it, she thinks. This is the time she doesn’t come back. This is the time Mami throws all of Rosina’s shit on the front lawn and changes the locks and she never sees her family again.

She storms downstairs in nothing but a ratty pair of leggings and an old T-shirt. She is burning, on fire. Her blood is made of lava. But even in her rage, she does not forget Abuelita. Good, sweet Abuelita. How did such a kind and gentle woman create such a monster? Rosina must at least kiss her good-bye. Even if Abuelita won’t remember. Even if she doesn’t even know who Rosina is.

But where is she? She’s not on the couch watching TV. She’s not in her bedroom taking a nap. She’s not in the bathroom. Not in the kitchen.

“Abuelita!” Rosina calls. “?Dónde estás?” Nothing. “Abuelita!” she screams.

“What happened?” Mom yells as she runs down the stairs.

“She’s not here,” Rosina cries. “I looked everywhere.”

For a moment they forget to be mad at each other. At the same time, their heads turn toward the front door. The weak early evening light shines through the open crack.

They burst out the door. They call for Abuelita. Nothing. The day is overcast, a thick blanket of gray clouds hanging low in the sky, so misleading in their softness. Rosina’s eyes scan the neighborhood for any sign of a shuffling old lady, but everything is still. There are usually kids playing in front yards, people washing cars or pruning bushes, but it is eerily quiet today, as if everyone’s hiding.

“Get in the car,” Mami commands.

“But wouldn’t it make more sense if—”

“Get. In. The. Car.”

Rosina hops in the passenger seat while Mami starts the car. She starts driving before Rosina has a chance to fasten her seat belt.

They roll down the street, calling for Abuelita out the window. There are more signs of life as they get closer to the highway—other cars, people walking.

“Shouldn’t we talk to someone?” Rosina says. “Shouldn’t we ask people if they’ve seen her?”

But Mami’s eyes stay glued to the road, her hands fists on the steering wheel, her thin lips so tight they’re nonexistent. This family does not ask outsiders for help. This family takes care of itself.