Page 47 of A Dish Best Served Hot

She laughed. “Rosie, has your daddy ever talked to you about peer pressure and how it sometimes makes us do things we shouldn’t do?” she asked in a wry tone.

Rosie nodded her head.

“Hmm. Interesting,” Lola murmured. “Looks like someone should practice what they preach.”

“Quiet, you,” Saint grumbled, causing Lola to laugh again. He couldn’t help the smile that crept along his face in response. He liked making Lola laugh, even if she was laughing at him and not with him.

They walked along in silence for a few moments but, out of the corner of his eye, Saint watched Lola give Rosie multiple considering looks. Finally, she asked, “Rosie, can I tell you something I haven’t really told anyone?”

Rosie’s head snapped up and she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to give Lola her full attention. He was not surprised. His daughter loved bochinche.

Lola smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She leaned in and lowered her voice as if imparting a secret. “When I was little, a bit older than you actually, I used to not talk either.”

Rosie’s eyes grew wide. So did Saint’s. She’d told him a long time ago that she’d been a quiet kid, but he’d never believed her. Not outspoken Lola.

“It’s true. For a long time I didn’t talk in school and a lot of the time I was quiet at home too.” She began walking again, forcing them to follow.

Rosie’s eyes swung to Saint and he could tell that she was dying to ask why. He felt similarly, so he asked for both of them.

“Well,” Lola answered. “There were things in my life that I couldn’t control and that made me feel really nervous. When I was around people or situations that made me feel like that, I would stop talking. It was my brain’s way of protecting me.”

They paused at the corner and looked both ways before crossing onto a more residential side street.

Rosie’s hand squeezed his as she urged him to ask more. “Rosie and I would love to know what helped you.”

Lola smiled at him. “When I was in second grade, my teacher helped me by having me see the school psychologist. I found out that this actually happens to a lot of kids. It’s something called ‘selective mutism.’” She looked down at Rosie, who was still watching her with wide eyes. “That means that kids who can speak perfectly fine in most situations go silent or mute when they’re around something that makes their brains nervous.”

“How did you start talking again?” Saint asked. This time without any prompting from Rosie.

“Most kids would begin to see a therapist, but I kept visiting the school psychologist.” Lola led them across another street. “She was so nice that she spent her free time learning everything she could about selective mutism to help me.” They approached a small apartment building and Lola stopped in front of it. She turned to face them as she began digging in her purse. “Eventually I learned that new situations and people aren’t so scary. I gained confidence in my ability to handle different situations.” She pulled out a set of keys. “Once I realized that by expressing my thoughts and needs, I could make some of those situations better, I started talking...and I kept talking.” She put the key in the lock and opened the front door.

Rosie followed closely at Lola’s heels, but Saint didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was too busy trying to process everything Lola had just said. His brain wouldn’t settle on any one thought. He was thinking about how bad he felt for young Lola, knowing the type of life she had at home that made her feel anxious and unsafe. At the same time he was thinking about Rosie. What could possibly be happening in her life that was making her feel unsafe? Was someone doing something to her? Was it him? Was he not loving enough? Why did she feel like she couldn’t tell him what was going on? Did she not feel safe with him?

Lola stood at the door watching him like she could see the panicked thoughts rushing around in his head. She gave him a look of calm support. “That was so long ago, I’d almost forgotten about it, but do you know why I shared that with you, Rosie?” Rosie shook her head, but Lola didn’t notice. She was still looking at him. “I think you might be like me. I think you may need some help with something that is making your brain anxious too. That thing might be school, but it might be something you don’t even know about. Sometimes our brains just work that way. It’s not because of anything bad.”

Saint took a deep breath. Then he took another. Lola was right. There was no reason to spiral. He didn’t even know if that was what was happening with Rosie. She could just be very very shy. She could just not be comfortable in that class or school. There were tons of reasons she could be quiet and even if she had selective mutism it didn’t mean it was the result of some terrible trauma. “Whatever it is, mi amor, I will find a way to help you.”

His little girl slid her hand out of Lola’s and put it in his. She squeezed and smiled at him, her eyes full of love and trust. Then she tugged him along as she followed Lola into the building and up the stairs.

They came to a stop at a door on the second floor. Lola turned to them. “Be forewarned that my apartment is tiny and a mess. I haven’t really finished unpacking yet and there’s still stuff I need to move into my storage unit in the basement.”

“We are the last people to judge you for being messy.” Saint wiggled Rosie’s hand as he looked down at her. “Right, Little Miss Piggy?”

She made a face at him, which he interpreted to mean,Daaad!

“My kind of people.” Lola opened the door. “Welcome.” She motioned for them to precede her into the apartment.

The first word that popped into Saint’s head upon entering Lola’s apartment was notmessy. It wascolorful. Sure the walls were a basic white and the floors a neutral mid-tone wood, but they were hardly noticeable due to the plethora of colorful rugs and bright art covering almost every inch of the small open space. Walking into Lola’s apartment reminded him of walking into some of the marketplaces in Afghanistan, a rainbow of colors and plethora of textures.

“This is the world’s smallest coat closet.” Lola pointed to their left. “Next to that is the bathroom. Also tiny in case you’re wondering.” She held up her arm like one of the models onThe Price Is Right. “But otherwise, yeah. This is my humble abode.”

Directly to their right was the kitchen, which consisted of a small range with a microwave above it, a mini dishwasher, a smaller-than-average fridge, and minimal cabinets. Lola had bought a narrow kitchen cart she was using as an island.

Next to that was the living space where a small TV stand held up a medium-size TV and a bunch of folksy-looking knickknacks and pictures. In front of it was a large colorful rug with an intricate design beneath a small ottoman that was being used as a coffee table, and a mustard yellow velvet couch covered in about fifty throw pillows and a white fur blanket.

A few feet along the wall from the TV stand, next to a huge window, stood a large dresser with a mirror above it. That made Saint suspect that Lola’s bed was across from it on the other side of the room although he couldn’t tell because in the way stood a set of three huge bookshelves that almost reached the ceiling. Again, every shelf was full of color from the books to the plants and the pictures.

Rosie stood in front of the wall next to the bookshelves looking at the gallery of artwork Lola had displayed. Saint walked over to join her. “Did you make these?” he asked, astonished by the different styles.

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