Page 151 of Becoming Us
Our mom kept trying to draw Atty into conversation. She asked about school, his life, our relationship—interrupted only by little stories from our past that felt cherry-picked, edited for public consumption. I undid the first couple of buttons of myshirt, but it didn’t help. The tightness in my chest didn’t ease as I kept pushing the food around my plate.
“Are you still in school?” I asked loudly, interrupting her latest attempt to pull my poor boyfriend into conversation. The guy had barely managed a bite.
Marco’s son blinked at me. “Yeah,” he said, slow and uncertain.
Couldn’t blame him. The kid was fifteen—where else would he be?
“Tommy is the captain of his school’s swim team,” my mother chimed in. “He’s an athlete, like you, Atty. And such a handsome boy.”
Handsome boy.
The words echoed in my head, louder than they should’ve been. Familiar in the worst kind of way.
She was smiling at him—genuinely smiling. And he smiled back, like he trusted her.
Maybe he doesn’t get the bad stuff. Maybe that’s reserved just for you.
“That’s great,” I said, my voice thick, as she finished her long, glowing list of Tommy’s accomplishments. An impressive feat for someone so young.
“Are you still playing, Noah?” Ilana asked, her voice cutting through the static.
I was caught off guard by the subject change—especially since she already knew about the band. Was she trying to help me out? She widened her eyes slightly, like she was clueing me in.
“Yeah. Still play,” I said.
“What do you play, Noah?” Marco asked.
“Drums,” Atty and Ilana said in sync.
“That’s so?—”
“Tommy, have some more. You barely put anything on your plate,” my mother said, reaching over and spooning more mashed potatoes for him. “You need to eat more, keep yourself strong for the team.”
Tomas smiled and thanked her.
My stomach churned. Bile rose fast, burning my throat. I clenched my jaw to keep it down, to hold back the sudden, violent reaction building in my body.
See? It was you.
She can be a mother to other people. Just not you. Who could love you when all you do is take? When you suck out the air from every room you’re in? That’s why nobody can stand you.
The room tilted. My hand curled into a fist around my fork.
Still, she kept talking. Kept praising him. How wonderful, how smart, how handsome. Her voice grated against my skull. Had it always sounded that shrill? That fake? That impossible to tolerate? I couldn’t keep listening to it, and nobody gave a fuck about the heat in this fucking room—it was becoming harder to even breathe in here?—
“And he got an award for?—”
“Nobody fucking cares!” I snapped.
Silence slammed into the room like a dropped plate.
I cleared my throat.
Atty tensed beside me.
Shit.
“This is amazing, Mrs. Ríos. What do you put in it?” Atty asked, breaking through the silence and turning every set of eyes on him.
