She takes my silence the wrong way. It’s a good private school, she says.

I know, I say, but it comes out mumbled and she obviously thinks I do not believe her or care.

Listen. Your mother wants very much for you to go here. It’s not cheap. It isn’t pocket change for me, you know. You’ve got to want to do well to make it worth it. She looks aside. Honestly, by your attitude I wouldn’t pay for it except that I know how much your mother wants this.

I know, I say weakly.

She looks at me sharply, as if I had said something insolent and she is surprised I would dare to voice it. It’s a good thing we got you in before your grades came in this semester, she says. If they ever find out—

She turns and looks up the street and squints and puckers her lips and then she turns back and faces me again.

Look. Gabe. Your mother had hopes when she came to this country. In America you can become successful. You can rise above. You can get education. That’s what she was taught by those nuns the American Catholics sent over. My Aunt Jessica frowns, then seems to check herself and takes a breath. But it’s too late for her, Gabe. She stops again and hardens her lips and looks down the wide street. Her mind seems to be on some distant thought. She is always hanging out with my mother’s younger cousins, who are Filipino nationalists and talk about getting rid of the American bases. They are always talking about white people in Tagalog in front of their faces, even Aunt Jessica, who agrees with them and gives them lingerie. My mother disagrees with them and says they should try to fit in more and should have Tagalog pasted on their foreheads if they love it so much. In the school yard, a bell rings; students jump off the hoods of their cars and clutch their bags, heading inside. Within moments the lot is nearly empty. My aunt’s manicured fingertip touches a dusty fence link as she watches and the silent lot seems to make her sad.

Anyway, Gabe, I don’t think she hopes for anything for herself anymore. She hopes everything for you. My aunt hesitates. She fingers her frosty blue neck scarf that matches her eyes as if to loosen it, but when her hand comes away the delicate fabric remains tightly knotted around her neck.