Family Affair (11 page)

"Why don't they just call instead of texting? It seems like talking would be more expedient than all this finger flying."

Chase bent down and picked up the tennis ball Jane had rolled toward her. The dogs had returned from tormenting the rabbits.

She threw the ball and Jane went after it. Annie rested at Gitana's feet, her long pink tongue hanging out.

"I think it's a form of detachment," Gitana was saying. "Graciela is most likely texting things she wouldn't necessarily say if she was actually talking to Andrea."

"All right, that's it, we're through," Graciela said. She chugged her beer.

"You should train to be a court stenographer with fingers like that," Gitana said. She was always trying to counsel Graciela about finding some sort of lucrative career.

Graciela faked a yawn. "Boring." She looked over at Chase. "Want another beer?"

"Sure."

"How about more concentrated orange juice minus the poly-sorbate five?"

"Yes, please," Gitana said, handing her the glass.

Graciela had been a waitress along with other sundry jobs—a long list of low-paying, dead-end employment. Currently, she was detailing cars for rich women in the North East Heights. Graciela alluded to other things she did for these women. Chase imagined her seducing older women on the hoods of their Mercedes-Benzes and BMWs.

Graciela's phone beeped. She returned with the drinks.

"Your phone went off again," Chase said. She resumed her reclined position and sipped her beer, musing that life could be quite pleasant at times. The dogs lounged at her feet.

Graciela read her message. "I'm officially done. She doesn't trust me. She thinks I'm out playing around when I've been incarcerated. She says my jail story is all bunk."

"How long with this one?" Gitana asked.

"Three weeks."

"Oh, my God, a veritable eternity," Chase said.

"We'd planned on going to Pride together." Graciela almost looked mournful.

"So you even made long-term plans," Chase chided.

Graciela nodded. "I think I'm growing up. Are you two going?"

Gitana choked on her orange juice. Chase got up immediately to pat her on the back or provide artificial respiration if necessary.

"I'm fine really. It just went down the wrong tube."

Chase watched her keenly and then sat back down.

"Maybe I should hang with you guys," Graciela said. "A lot of lesbians think motherhood is hot."

"We never go to Pride," Gitana said. She gently pushed the dogs away. Any form of coughing, sneezing, crying or yelling brought out their nurturing natures.

"I think we should go," Chase said. "It's our culture and we should embrace it. Besides, there might be booths with literature about gay parenting or other mothers we could talk to."

"You hate people," Gitana said.

"I'm going to have to put my aversions aside for the sake of the child," Chase replied.

"I'm definitely going with you. I gotta see this."

Chapter Nine

"Mama, it's okay, really," Gitana said as she patted her mother's head. Jacinda was kneeling, stroking Gitana's belly and making cooing noises.

"Is this good or bad?" Chase asked. She accidently knocked one of the religious candles, the Fatima of Guadalupe. It wobbled precariously for a moment, but Chase caught it before it fell. It seemed she was always having little mishaps in this house of worshipping religious objects. Jacinda obviously had never read the story of the golden calf or ignored it if she had. There were a lot of graven images in this house—small statues of the Virgin Mary, pounded tin crosses, candles, rosary beads hanging from every doorknob in the place and decoupage pictures of Jesus mounted on pieces of wood hung all along one wall.

"Watch out, dude. I've almost lit the place on fire with one of those." Graciela pointed around the room. "God, she's got them all over the house, scenting Saints in the bathroom, like they're blessing your poop. It's like living in the goddamn womb of the Virgin. I mean, look at all these fucking things." Graciela pointed around the room.

Jacinda leapt up and despite her bad hip grabbed a spray bottle containing holy water and doused Graciela with it. Graciela screeched, "Jesus fucking Christ!” Jacinda snatched up one of the rosary beads hanging from the doorknob and chanted prayers like incantations.

"And you thought telling Stella was difficult," Gitana said, as they watched Jacinda, despite her bad hip, chase Graciela around the small living room madly shaking the rosary.

Jacinda's adobe house was in the South Valley, near the Bosque and the Rio Grande River, in an old neighborhood where the adobe homes were authentic. The house had small windows with blue frames, low-beamed ceilings and a kiva fireplace in each room. Chase felt like she was entering one of those made-to-look-real indigenous displays at the Folk Art Museum. Jacinda herself looked like she belonged in the display. Her long black hair was tied up tightly in a bun and she wore a woven skirt of blacks, blues and pinks and a white peasant's blouse.

That this diminutive, incredibly religious, old-fashioned woman had ended up with two gay daughters convinced Chase that God truly had a twisted sense of humor. Maybe Jacinda tried too hard. She'd personally performed three exorcisms on Graciela, to no avail. If anything, it made Graciela more blasphemous.

"Maybe we should have waited until Graciela wasn't here," Chase said.

"It'll be over soon. Mama can't keep up this pace for much longer."

Graciela ran to her room and locked the door. Jacinda grabbed a crucifix off the wall and jammed it in a looped hinge that was attached to Graciela's door. Graciela was locked inside.

"Is that legal?" Chase asked.

"Probably not. You know, for as much as they torment each other they also need each other. Graciela threatens to move out once a week and Jacinda threatens to throw her out every other day, but neither of them follows through."

Jacinda returned to the couch, sitting down heavily and fanning herself with a paper fan depicting the Last Supper. Chase didn't even know they made things like that.

"That child will be the death of me." She patted Gitana's arm. "But you, you make me very happy."

Gitana smiled at her.

"Oh, but where are my manners. I get you lemonade and then we talk of the baby."

"I'll help," Chase said, getting up quickly and giving Jacinda her hand to assist her.

"Oh, and you, you a good girl too. I love you," Jacinda said, kissing Chase's cheek. "You are my other daughter."

Chase blushed. She did have ulterior motives in helping with the lemonade. She was secretly fascinated with Jacinda's kitchen. It was so authentic. She had a cast iron wood stove that she cooked on. Ristras and woven cloves of garlic hung from the rafters. The dishes were colorfully painted earthenware and the glasses were thick and handblown. Jacinda was an amazing cook—everything from scratch. Chase loved her food, except for the stuff with organs in it. Gitana had taught her the names of the icky stuff—the carne avocado and the menudo and something with brains in it with a name she couldn't pronounce.

Jacinda squeezed the lemons into the pitcher and set it and the glasses on a tray. She took some cookies that she always got from the patisserie and put them on a plate. "How long the baby?"

"Just over two months. We didn't know until the other day."

Jacinda counted on her fingers. "Oh, my sweet, Lord Jesus. It will be a Christmas baby. What a sign, what a good sign." She raised her hands to the heavens. "You know, Graciela was born in the month of the Crucifixion. That was a bad sign." She narrowed her eyes.

Chase nodded her agreement.

"Why she not tell me sooner?"

"I think she was worried you wouldn't approve." Chase picked up the tray hoping this would end the discussion. She wanted Gitana to handle it.

"No, I'm not mad. It's a gift, a gift from God."

"Yes, it is." She took the tray to the living room with Jacinda in tow.

"I'm so happy," Jacinda said, sitting down next to Gitana on the couch. She touched her stomach again. "But how?"

"An accident by the doctor," Gitana started to explain.

Jacinda rolled her eyes heavenward. "There are no accidents with God."

"Yes, that's right," Gitana said. They both knew it was no use to explain the mishap. Jacinda would see it her own way.

Chase sipped her lemonade and wondered why Jacinda wasn't pissed off at them for being gay the way she was with Graciela. It appeared there were two sets of rules—granted they were polite and didn't use the Lord's name in vain. Gitana must have read her mind.

"So you're not angry about us being the parents?"

Jacinda looked puzzled.

Oh, no, Chase thought. She's going to make us say it. In all the time they'd been together, they never once spoke of being gay to Jacinda.

"You know, us," Gitana said, pointing at the two of them. "As two women together raising the child."

This time she got it. "I know the church thinks you two are bad, but I know in my heart that God makes everything. He made you, he made you love each other and he gave you a baby. You'll christen the baby?"

"Yes," they both said in unison.

Jacinda hugged and kissed them. "Such good girls. Do you have a name?"

"Angelica if it's a girl and Angel if it's a boy," Gitana replied.

She put her hand to her heart and smiled. "This is good, so good." She kissed her rosary beads.

Graciela banged on her bedroom door. "Let me out of here, you crazy old woman."

Jacinda yelled something back in Spanish that didn't sound nice—something about pain and private parts from what Chase could tell with her limited knowledge of the language.

It suddenly occurred to her that she'd better learn Spanish because the baby would grow up to be bilingual. Maybe she should learn German and Italian while she was at it. She had studied French in college.

"I will make things for the baby. And here, take these." Jacinda got up and opened an enormous wooden hutch where she kept her special things. Chase leaned over and attempted to peer in. She half-expected to find the pinky bone of Jesus in there.