There are no words to describe what it feels like to be wrapped in her embrace. My entire life, I’ve only had two family members. Every birthday, holiday, vacation… it’s just been the three of us. No cool aunts or uncles I could escape to when my moms drove me crazy. No older guy cousins who would threaten to beat up all my boyfriends. No younger girl cousins I could entertain with stories of first dates and first kisses. No grandparents who could let me in on the secret family recipe for pozole or tell me stories about growing up in Bernal. I don’t know if this hug is a one-time reunion or the first step toward a real relationship. I’m scared that if I let go, she will leave. And I’m scared that if I hold on, I’ll overwhelm her. I feel Julia run her hand through my hair, and I take it as a sign to break the embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Abuela Reina says. “I’m so sorry I’ve stayed away for so long.”

My moms are mostly quiet as the four of us eat dinner together. I can tell Julia savors every bite of the chile rellenos my grandmother insisted on making for us. It must be a real trip to taste your mother’s cooking again for the first time in twenty-five years. We don’t ask too many questions about the rest of the family, but we’re told that no one else, including my grandpa, is ready to make an overture. We’re also told that Elena’s family moved away from the cul-de-sac twenty years ago, and the two families lost touch.

“I don’t know what happened to your parents,” Reina says.

Elena nods. “It’s just as well. I don’t think I’d want to know anyway.”

“But I do know, at least then, before they moved, your dad quit drinking. He used to run AA meetings out of St. Francis of Assisi.”

Julia grabs Elena’s hand and makes a show of kissing it. She knows how much it must mean for her to hear this about her father. After dinner, my grandmother sticks around long enough for me to show her some of my paintings. Her eyes light up at the one I painted of her standing in front of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“That was such a long time ago.”

A small cry escapes from her mouth, and then my grandmother tells me how talented I am, in a tone that reveals the shame she must feel for missing out on seeing me grow up.

“I’m moving to Mexico City when all this is over,” I whisper to her.

She winks at me conspiratorially. “Then I’m going to have to teach you to speak Spanish, aren’t I?”

Parisa

I told Neda.

Gabriela

No.

Parisa

Yes.

Gabriela

How did it go?

Parisa