Page 73 of My Darling Mayhem

She usually planned her trips months in advance with me, so she knew I would be free to visit extended family with her. She also wanted to be sure I had a clean place for her to stay, which, at the moment, I did not.

"Mom, I'm so glad to see you."

Her intelligent gaze slid back my way as she fought a smile. "You are not."

"I am," I tried to add a little extra enthusiasm, but she knew me better than that.

My house was a disaster. She was right. I wasn't excited that she was here. I would be if she left and gave me two days to prepare for her.

I decided to change the subject. "Can I get you coffee?"

"¿Dejaste de hablar español?"

The urge to roll my eyes was strong. "No, Mama. I haven't stopped speaking Spanish."

Yes, I had.

"I'm merely more comfortable with speaking English. Besides, you raised me on both."

She scoffed. "Your father did."

She meant Leo, not Manny. She never spoke of Manny or acted like he was a part of our lives. Which was why my brother took Leo's last name. I had considered it, but my cousins all remained Vasquezs, and while my father was terrible, he was also my dad. That damn postcard lingered in my mind, a little golden symbol of parenthood that shouldn't belong to him but did.

I knew she'd never turn down a cup of coffee, so I started brewing her a cup.

"Do you have bags?"

"Grandma, you can stay in my room if you want," Cruz offered excitedly.

My mother smiled at him warmly. "Gracias, nieto."

Cruz tilted his head. "What's nieto?"

"I thought he was learning Spanish." My mother accused me with a click of her tongue.

"He is, but he hasn't learned everything."

I moved so I didn't see her face reflect what I already knew she was thinking.

"It means grandson."

Cruz smiled, then darted back to the living room, already bored with the conversation. I prepared her coffee how I knewshe liked it and hoped she'd remove her sweater and shoes. Every time she did, she seemed to relax a bit more.

She was seated on my couch, pulling a framed photo of just Cruz and me into her hand.

She smiled warmly, tracing a finger down my face. It took me back to when I'd first had that photo taken. It was black and white, and I was crouched in front of Cruz, smiling up at him while he pinned his forehead to mine.

I watched as her hair shifted in front of her, and I saw it was completely white now. When had that happened? I took in the rest of her, ensuring nothing else had changed. Her dark brown skin, while still impeccable, was starting to show her age. She was getting close to seventy now, and it made my chest ache. My mother was beautiful, but seeing her age felt strange. She still had arched, dark brows that never seemed to need to tweeze or wax, at least for as long as I had ever known her. Her lashes were thick and full, framing her amber eyes that were still just as bright as ever.

She was taller than me, probably closer to five feet seven inches, and she still dressed like she was about to head out on a cruise with her wide-legged cotton pants, simple button-downs that she kept rolled at her elbows, and a silk scarf tied around her slender neck. She was well-toned from her hobby of playing tennis every Tuesday and Thursday with my aunts. I smiled, seeing how she matured with grace and remarkable beauty.

"You're staring, Henrietta."

A shudder nearly had me dropping her coffee. "¡Mamá!"

Her dark brows narrowed as if she knew exactly what she'd just done. "Am I supposed to visit my only daughter's home and call her Renny?" The derision was evident in her tone as she reared back.

"Everyone else has called me that, Mom. My entire life."

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