Efrain's Secret (20 page)

“Please don’t tell Mandy about this,” Moms says. “When I tell her she can’t have those designer jeans or expensive shoes, I don’t want Miss Runway throwing in my face
Well, what about my savings?
Her money is not for things like that.”

I laugh. “She wouldn’t do that.” Immature or not, she’s still my mother’s daughter.

“Well, keep your mouth shut, and we’ll never know, okay?”

“Okay.” I’m breaking in my new debit card by registering for the January SAT. “Thanks, Mami.” We stay quiet for a while. We seem to have so much more to say, but neither of us knows where to begin.

Finally, my mother lays her hand upon my shoulder. “Look, Efrain, I also came to ask you a favor.” Moms sits down at the end of my bed. “Go with Mandy to see your father today.”

“Why?” Bringing over my mother’s
pasteles
to Awilda’s place and watching Rubio play Santa for his new “wife and kids” ain’t my idea of a merry Christmas. “He put you up to this?”

“Every time I ask him about that financial aid form he needs to fill out for you, he says
Why didn’t Efrain bring it to me himself?
Your father wants to spend time with you, honey….” My mother hesitates. “And he thinks that I’m getting in your way.”

“That’s bull.” Never has my moms kept me from Rubio, and I don’t appreciate him guilt-tripping her about it. He blew father-son time all by his lonesome.

“You know that as well as I do,
m’ijo.”
My moms stands up. “I feel I’ve done my best to shield you and your sister from our problems, but you’re a young man now and can make your own decisions.”

“So why are you asking me to go over there when I don’t want to?”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“’Cause I just don’t!”

“Efrain, that’s a child’s answer.”

“If I’m old enough to make my own decisions, I’m old enough to keep my reasons for them to myself.”

My mother stares at me for a while, then throws up her hands. “What can I say? You’re right. It was selfish for me to ask.” She heads for the door.

I sit up in my bed. “Are you trying to get back with him?” The last thing I need in my life right now is for Rubio to come back after all this time trying to be king. “Why is asking me to see him selfish like you’re going to get something out of it?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t care what Rubio thinks, but I hate being accused of keeping you from him when I was never the one to play such games. Your father makes it extremely difficult to be the bigger person, yet I try for your sake and Mandy’s. But I’m only human.” She places a hand under my chin. “Having a relationship with your father, Efrain, does not mean betraying me.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “Why would you want me around him the way he be?”

“Because I have faith in the way
I’m
around you.” Then she says, “If you need something from your father, Efrain, don’t hesitate to ask him. If there is anything that I can’t give you—whatever it may be—go to Rubio. Not only will you not hurt me, I want you to.”

“And what if I don’t need him?” I ask. “What if I don’t want anything to do with Rubio?”

“If this is truly how you feel, Efrain, so be it,” says Moms, but her expression tells me she doesn’t believe me. “But you look
Rubio in the eye—son to father, man to man—and you tell him that.”

The telephone in the kitchen rings, and Moms leaves to answer it. She returns a few minutes later to find me standing dumbstruck where she left me. “It’s Candace,” says Moms as she hands me the telephone and softly closes my door.

“Hello.”

“Joyeux Noël, mon chéril”

“Merry Christmas.”

“What’s the matter, boo?”

“Me? I’m good.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure.”

“So …”

“Everything’s cool.” I’m so unconvincing. “My mother just asked me to go see my father today.”

“You should, then,” Candace says.

“She says that my father accuses her of coming between him and me,” I say. “Dude’s an egomaniac who can’t imagine anyone not dying to be in his orbit.”

“You can stand him for one day,” Candace giggles. “After all, you put up with me.”

I laugh, too. “All day, every day.”

“And, besides, Efrain, maybe he’ll surprise you. Maybe today your father will make you feel something besides angry. Wouldn’t that be a cool thing to get for Christmas?”

I can’t imagine it. And some surprises ain’t so cool. Like Candace taught me on Thanksgiving, angry is easy.

Empathy
(n.)
sensitivity to another’s feelings as if they were one’s own

When we get to Awilda’s floor, Mandy flies down the hallway to knock on the door. It opens, and Awilda stands there, looking Christmas corny in a red velour sweat suit with gold tinsel hanging around her neck. She shakes a baby bottle in her hand and throws a white cloth over her shoulder. “Rubio!” she yells, tossing back the door to let us into the apartment and heading into the kitchen. No “Hello,” no “Merry Christmas,” no nothing.

Mandy bounds in like she lives here. Feeling like an intruder, I follow her into the living room. Serenity’s on the floor in front of a three-story dollhouse wearing a shirt that says “I came for the presents.” “Mandy, come look at what Santa brought me!” Mandy never got a mansion from “Santa.”

“Wow, you must’ve been really good this year!” says Mandy. Even though she’s past playing with dolls, she kneels on the carpet next to Serenity and helps her arrange the furniture. And to think of all the times I thought Mandy only came over here foolishly trying to stake a claim on Rubio’s heart through his wallet. I just stand in the doorway, watching them and feeling proud of my sister. Mandy talks to Serenity the way I talk to her—at least, when she’s not being a pain. Either she’s a natural at the older sister act or maybe I taught her something.

“¡Efraín!”
The devil himself stands behind me now, grinning like the Cheshire cat and offering me his hand.
“Feliz Navidad.”

I hesitate but finally shake his hand. “Merry Christmas.” Before I can pull away, homeboy yokes me into a hug. I can’t remember the last time Rubio’s been this close to me. The stubble on his cheek rubs against my own, and I smell the cheap cologne on his collar. The kind of cologne a kid saves pennies to buy his father at a discount store like Yannis’s. Serenity probably gave it to him, and he splashed on a handful.

“Give me your coat
y siéntate.”

“I’m not staying long,” I say. “I just wanted to walk Mandy over, help her carry the
pasteles
and presents.”

“You have to open your gifts,” says Rubio, “and meet your brother.” He motions for the coat. I start to insist on keeping it when I peep Awilda eyeballing us from the doorway of the kitchen while feeding the baby. She would love for me to set something off so she can tell her girlfriends that I’m a
malcria’o
as an insult to my mother, so I pull off my jacket and hand it to Rubio. “Serenity, play Santa
para Amanda y Efrain,”
he says before leaving to hang up my coat.

“Okay,
tío!”
says Serenity, dropping the miniature chair in her hand and scrambling over to the Christmas tree. They got her calling him
tío?
If I hadn’t given up my jacket, I would have bounced right there just the way Awilda greeted us. No “Goodbye,” no “Merry Christmas,” no nothing.

Serenity runs over to me with a large, wide box. “Santa left this here for you, Efrain.” She’s actually a cute kid, so I just give her a little smile and say thank you. I pull off the lid and peel back the tissue paper. It’s a pair of Eckō jeans with painted canvases for back pockets like Nestor and LeRon be rocking. So not my steel-o.

From the doorway of the living room, I hear a shriek. “Do they fit?” I look up, and Awilda’s standing there burping the baby. “Stand up. Let’s see.”

Instead, I pretend to peek at the tag. “They fit.”

Awilda grins like a jack-o’-lantern. She yells, “Rubio, they fit! I told you!” Damn, does she have to be that loud with the poor kid trapped under her big mouth? It’s a miracle he’s not crying, but maybe he’s accustomed to the freakin’ racket. Awilda gives me a smug look. “I picked them out. You like them?”

No, I don’t care if they’re all the rage. I’d never walk down the street looking like an art gallery exploded across my ass. But I nod and say, “Thanks.”

“Serenity, give Efrain the rest of his stuff.” Rubio comes back into the living room. When he leans against Awilda’s shoulder to coo in the baby’s face, I look away. In Spanish, Awilda instructs Rubio to take his son so she can give my sister her presents. Meanwhile, Serenity piles box after box beside me.

Rubio scoops the baby off Awilda’s shoulder and into the crook of his arm. The baby starts to fuss, and Rubio shushes him. The baby continues to whimper as if he’s already resigned himself to some sad fact of life. Rubio seems embarrassed. “He wants his mother,” he explains to me. He rocks the baby while walking toward me. “Junior,
mira quien ’ta ’qui. Tu hermano
. Don’t cry. You big brother Efrain come to see you.”

Just to have something to do besides watch this, I open the first box on top of the pile. Two Eckō hoodies, one an off-white pullover with a red lining, the other a white zip-up with argyle diamonds in different shades of gray. Chingy would like the pullover. Maybe I can give it to him as a peace offering. And now I can finally bring home my new gear from Nestor’s and just tell my mother that Rubio gave the clothes to me.

I feel this nudge to my side. Next thing I know, Rubio tries to slide the baby into my arms. “Junior, this is your big brother Efrain.”

When I was a kid, I used to love holding my little sister, but
this is different. I don’t want to hold the baby, but Rubio is all up on me with him. If I don’t take him, he’ll fall and might get hurt. Imagine the
bochinche
if I send Awilda’s kid to the emergency room on Christmas.

So I take him. His Onesie says “Dear Santa, I can explain….” Man, he does look like me, just much lighter. I may have dark brown hair, eyes, and skin like my moms, but like it or not, Rubio, Junior, and I have the same shape eyes, the same kind of nose, the same size lips. Those Rodriguez genes must be mad potent.

“Junior likes his big brother,” says Rubio.
“Mira como se dejó de quejar.”

He
did
stop crying. Maybe Junior already knows not to get attached to the man. They say babies are mad intuitive, you know.
’Manito
probably gets an overpowering feeling whenever he lies in Rubio’s arms that the man’s not built for longevity.

And as if he can read my thoughts, the baby raises his fist toward me like a little homeboy. “Oh, you want a pound?” I laugh. I poke out a knuckle and tap it against his fist. “What’s up, bro?” I give Junior another pound, and he actually smiles at me.

Awilda yells, “You wanna change him for me?”

“Uh, no.” Then I say to Junior, “No offense, kid.” And he laughs like he ain’t mad at me!

“Fine.” Awilda motions for me to hand him over to her. “Your brother just came to get his gifts.” Yeah, I wanted nothing more for Christmas than to become a walking museum.

Rubio growls at Awilda,
“Te dije ya …”
The look on his face could shatter glass.
“Él no vino pa’ ’cer lo que tú ’ta supuesta ’cer.”

When I hear him say that I didn’t come here to do her job, I jump up and say, “Give him to me. I’ll change him.” I can’t explain it, but something about that bothers me. “I was only playing.”

Awilda eagerly forks over the kid. “The wipes and diapers are in the master bedroom.” She waves us away as she heads back into the kitchen. As I carry Junior out of the living room, Rubio reprimands her in Spanish under his breath while Awilda sucks her teeth.

When I reach the bedroom, I close the door behind me. I carry Junior over to the changing table and lay him across it. “I’ma tell you right now, kid, don’t get used to this.” Junior’s eyes follow me as I bend over to get the box of wipes and a fresh diaper from the shelf under the table. I grab two of them and hold them over the baby. “Teddy bears or fishies?” Junior gives a little kick toward the teddies, and I think of Mrs. Colfax. “That’s right,” I say laughing. “No fish.” I hold my breath while I undo his diaper. Thank God, he’s only wet.

I wrap my hand around Junior’s plump little ankles and hoist him high enough off the table to slide the soiled diaper out from under him. He blasts a cackle like newborns do. “Oh, you like that, huh?” I lift him again, and he laughs some more, his eyes so shiny and mouth all gummy. I keep doing that while I clean him, using a second wipe for good measure. I sprinkle powder on him and fold the new diaper over his little belly.

After I tape him up, I lift Junior off the table and place him across my shoulder. I don’t want to go back into the living room, so I stay in the master bedroom and pace across the carpet. Junior’s a real good baby. He knows how to chill. Moms says I was the same way. If you bounced me around on your knee, cool. If you put me in the swing, gave me a good push, and went about your business, no problem. According to Moms, I only cried for the basics—a cup of Gerber’s, a fresh diaper, or some Z’s. I bet Junior’s the same way, no easy feat with that megaphone for a mother.