Saba was a warrior, the kind of woman I sometimes wished my mom could be. So fierce, nothing brought her low. When Dennis, her husband, died a few years back, she’d told us not to come for the funeral, that she’d rather meet us in Germany. She said Dennis would’ve loved for her to take a holiday in his homeland with close friends and celebrate his life. So that’s what we did. Saba did not let anything get the best of her.

I looked at my mom, who was still waiting for my answer, that fierce adoration which could be as comforting as it was stifling all over her face. I knew she’d done the best she could after my dad died, even though sometimes I wished so much of her happiness didn’t depend on me.

“Mijo, where did you go?”

“Sorry, Ma,” I said ruefully, as my mother’s worried face stared at me from the screen. “I spaced out. Saba’s coming to pick me up in a few hours and then we’re going to a fancy hotel for the afternoon. After that I’m going to her house for dinner.”

She gave me a thumbs-up like I was five. “Make sure you give her what I sent her. And don’t forget your sunblock, papí. You’re so light-skinned, just like your father. You burn in a minute.” Hearing her, you wouldn’t think I’d spent a good portion of the last year working in the Sudanese desert.

“Got the sunblock in my bag, Ma. They’re right in there with my towel and floaties.”

She hissed at my backtalk. “Fresco.” She sounded amused, but I also didn’t want to push it, so I shifted gears.

“How are things there, Mamí? Things okay with work? Jim?”

My mother had finally gone back on the dating scene two years ago. She’d been seeing a very boring and exceedingly nice man who worked some kind of finance job up at Cornell. Jim was from Connecticut, loved wine tasting and bird-watching, and seemed to be partial to cardigan and bowtie combos. But he doted on my mother, even though she took things at a snail’s pace and agonized over any request he made to move their relationship forward.

She waved her hand, dismissing the poor guy. “He’s good, and work is busy, lots of clients and training new staff same old, same old. That bitch Suzy is finally retiring, thank God. Mujer tan mala esa.”

I cracked up at my mom’s saltiness—she and her coworker Suzy had been nemeses for like, ten years, yet exchanged holiday cards religiously. My mother’s explanation for this: “She’s a bitch, but I still need to be polite.”