Page 1 of Lessons in Forgiving
CHAPTER 1
THEN, August: three years and seven months ago
For the past eighteen years of my life, I’d learned to become an expert at reading my parents like an open book. Predicting their whims, knowing when to ask for something and when to keep my mouth shut—when to push a topic and when to drop it.
Right now, I could tell they regretted this.
From the way María Castillo’s brows pinched together, and the concerned tilt of Juan Castillo’s lower lip, I could tell. My parents were seconds away from dragging me onto that plane, back to the scorching, familiar Caribbean heat.
They’d lasted a whole two days longer than I’d given them credit for.
“It’s… big.” Trying to fit into the English-speaking environment, Mom’s accent was thick. She gaped up at the high ceilings, eyes raking over the rising rows of seats in the lecture hall. With one last lingering look at the families around us, she turned to me.
Oh yeah.Big-time concern was written all over María’s face.
“Don’t worry, mami.”
I tried not to freak out at the prospect ofherfreaking out, so I waved her off, pretended like I didn’t wholeheartedly agree with her. Which made me feel stiff. Robotic.
Dad mirrored the sentiment. “Mi vida,” he muttered, trying to swallow his own worries. His hand rested in the small of her back, nudging her out into the hallway. When his eyes flitted in my direction, one thing was clear.
We were on the same page.
And he was desperate to get Mom there, too; tried to convince her of how sure he was I’d find my place here. “Estoy seguro de que nuestra Paulita se integrará—”
But Mom’s head shot in his direction so fast, he swallowed his Spanish before she’d even said anything. Her withering glare probably helped.
“Coño, Juan. Por favor.English!” With one glance down the hallway, she made sure no one had heard the accidental Spanish slip.
Not that anyone cared as much as she did.
But if there was one thing María couldn’t stand, it was sticking out. If there was another, it would probably be not knowing what her only daughter was doing at any given moment.
So, the prospect of leaving me in a foreign country, where I’d most likelynotfit in had clearly been more appealing on paper. Proudly telling cousins, aunts and uncles that her daughter was going to study in America until they’d started avoiding her on the streets, had been fun—but she did not seem to be a fan of the reality it had become.
Her brows furrowed, she chewed on her red-painted bottom lip, and I had about two seconds to convince her that this is where I’m supposed to be.
At Hall Beck University. In the United States. About 1,600 miles from the Dominican Republic.Home.
Harder than it sounded when I wasn’t fully convinced of it myself yet.
“Look,” I began, tentatively nudging her into one of the smaller rooms we’d passed on the orientation tour. Gone were the rising rows of chairs and the intimidating podium where professors held hour-long lectures. Entering a simple classroom that would hopefully shake my parents out of their shock-likestate, my shoulders sagged with a little bit of relief. “It’s not so different from Universidad Tecnológica de Santiago.”
Which was where I’d probably end up if I didn’t sway this situation in my favor. Fast.
Mom shook her head, a disapprovingtskpassing through her teeth. “Don’t lie, Paulita,” she huffed. Looking at the wall of windows, the whiteboard and the tablet on each seat, she was probably right when she said, “This is nothing like it.” She sighed. “I… don’t know. Maybe you should come back with us after all. What do you think, Juan?”
Panic. It zipped through my body, white and hot, at the questioning look she directed at Dad. For the life of me I could not remember a single instance in which Juan Castillo had denied my mother a single thing. And sharing a glance with the man who had advocated for my degree in the States so hard, it did not seem like he was about to start now.
I could see him slip. He was probably already calculating the cost of an extra ticket back to Puerto Plata tomorrow.
“No!” My intervention kept him from so much as a nod that would set their decision in stone. “Why? Think of how good this school will look on my CV! You’ve already told Aunt… all of the aunts about it. And the cousins! Can’t forget about the cousins.” All twenty-three of them. “What would they think—?”
But her head continued shaking, and I was losing momentum here. “No.” Her eyes drifted to me again. “I don’t care about that.”Lie. “We just want what’s best for you, Paula. I don’t know if that’s here. I mean… have you… adjusted?” Concern found its way back into her brown eyes. “Have you made any friends yet?”
I was not surprised by the fact Mom’s only worry was how well I’d fit in—how popular I’d be.
And I did not feel guilty about the lie that flew out of my mouth, either.
