“I’m so glad you’re not mad about this,” my mother exclaims, beaming at me as if I’m the best daughter in the world. “Ha, I’ll even be able to tell Cláudia you two are serious enough that you’re living together.” She winks at me as if we’re co-conspirators. “No one needs to know that you and Brandon are just roommates. Que maravilha!”

Seeing my mother happy again is exactly what I hoped for.

Pesky problem. Easy solution. Check and check.

“Now,” she says, her demeanor noticeably more relaxed than it was a few minutes ago. “Tell me what’s going on with the school. Have they offered you a job yet?”

Oh boy, here we go again. I’ve tried to explain the situation a million times, but she only registers the parts that fit her vision for my future. My position with Victory Academy was never meant to be permanent; it’s a condition of the fellowship that funded my graduate studies. And sure, it’s been an amazing experience, but my year in DC is a rest stop, and I don’t want my mother thinking otherwise. “Mãe, please don’t get your hopes up, okay? They’re not obligated to give me a job. In fact, money’s so tight, it’s almost guaranteed they won’t have the budget to bring someone else on.” Maybe if I say this a dozen more times, she’ll finally accept that it isn’t going to happen. “Besides, I have an excellent opportunity to go back to my old job if I want to.” Returning to BFI, a nonprofit that coordinates volunteer home construction for low-income families in America and abroad, would be a no-brainer; I’d get to travel all over the country, and as the organization’s workforce development coordinator in the United States, I’d be doing precisely what I trained for.

“But Ohio’s so far away,” she says, frowning. “And your whole family’s here. What if you need me, filha? What if you meet someone and have kids? I wouldn’t be there to help you.”

Peering around us as if I don’t want anyone to eavesdrop on our conversation, I lean over and thread my fingers through hers. “So I’m not sure how you’re going to react to this. I mean, it’s breaking news, and it might be too much for you to absorb. See, there are these things called”—I hunch down and lower my voice to a whisper—“airplanes, trains, and phones. You can communicate with people living in other states and even visit them if you want to.”

Disentangling our hands, she rolls her eyes at me, then flicks my forehead. “Você é uma sabichona, mas eu te amo.”