A Glint of Something Else

Sasha’s mother calls her every week day at 4:15pm. It’s the exact moment Sasha gets out of her last class of the day. So exact, in fact, that the first call usually goes to voicemail, Sasha’s phone still on silent as she picks up her books and pen. A quiet echo of what could have been, a daughter who wants to speak to her mother as much as a mother wants to speak to a daughter. A relationship that rarely springs out free from the ground without a few tattered twigs and latent leaves.

The second call usually gets picked up, “mom” popping up on the screen of her cell phone as soon as she takes it out of her pocket as she makes her way out of the lecture hall and starts the 10 minute treacherous trek through the parking lot and toward her small two bedroom apartment. The walk isn’t usually the what makes it a treacherous trek, it’s the voice of her mother badgering on into her ear about things they discuss everyday, the things that never seem to change.

“Are you coming to church later?” Her mother asks, as she does everyday, in an easily detectable Dominican accent. The question coming out hopeful, but weary.

“I don’t know, Mami, I have a lot of work to do tonight,” Sasha answers simply, evading the question as she does so with little variation every time her mother asks.

“You and always this work, never have time for family anymore,” Scalding words come out suddenly, the spice paralleling the heat of her grandmother’s Chivo Liniero.

Sasha sighs, pinching her nose with her free hand, “Sorry mami, I’m just trying to do well in school so I can take care of the family when you and dad can’t anymore,” Sasha bites her tongue after the lie, one she’d concocted long ago to quell her mother’s worries that she’d get a degree and a job and skip town and never speak to her again, granted the latter was closer to her general plan for the future.

“I know, I know,” her mother settles on it, “I still miss you, mija.”

Here is where Sasha always starts to feel a bit of guilt. It’s hard to draw a hard line between herself and her mother, but sometimes she wonders if she’s already been too harsh, overreacting or out of line.

“I’m sorry, I’ll visit soon.”

“About that..” Sasha already knows from the tone of her mother’s voice that this isn’t going to be good, a memory of all the times she’d tried to leave the kitchen table without finishing her food, or spoke English to her grandparents, “I was thinking of coming to see you and your little friend.”

Little friend.

The words ruminate in Sasha’s mind for a moment longer, knowing she’s always questioned the relationship between her and Victoria. And her mother was right to question it. Roommates had always been the headline while the actual article, which Sasha’s mother was never meant to read, would clarify that the two young women had been dating for a little over a year.

“Victoria is my roommate,” Sasha asserts for now, trying to shy away from the fear that bubbles up in her stomach at the idea of her mother in her sacred space. Victoria and Sasha had been living together for 6 months now and truth be told it might be a good time for her mother to see their space, but definitely not under any circumstance in which Victoria becomes the new target of Sasha’s mother’s tirade.

She’s finally walked passed campus exit and a block away from her apartment, which is usually where she’d end the call as she takes her keys out and gets ready to open the door, but this conversation isn’t over yet.

“Sure, sure,” Her mother answers, a defiant tone, like she knows better, “One day you’ll find a wonderful man and this phase will be over and our family can be all together again.” she sing songs cheerfully, as if she is unaware of the turmoil she struck into her daughter’s heart. A simple solution presented without the consideration of the happiness of her daughter.

Sasha struggles between what to do next, hang up (but she’d just call back), tell her mother off (no, not an option), be calm somehow (she’ll figure it out as she goes).

“Mom, I’m not going to find a man, I don’t want to be with a man,” she tries to explain for the hundredth time.

“Ah but its not about what you want, mija, its about what you need.”

“Okay, mami,” Sasha gives in once again, trying her best to conceal her dramatic sigh as she unlocks the front door, “I have to go do my work now, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She isn’t willing to start a fight right now, not when she can hang up and open the door to a sanctuary of love and peace, a place where she can work without the vacuum playing in her eardrum at 6 am, can kiss her girlfriend without the fear of her mother instigating a “no closed doors” rule again, can breathe without prying eyes and inevitable tangents on life lessons.

“yes mija, te quiero.”

“Te quiero.”

She hangs up just as she opens the door to find Victoria sitting in the small living room, typing away on her Mac book but suddenly stopping and looking up at the feeling of negative energy entering the space. Victoria’s always been good at fielding for any instances of doubt, bouts of sadness, or otherwise fatalistic powers that may be coming off of Sasha.

It doesn’t take much time to figure out that something is wrong with Sasha, her face forlorn, her phone gripped tightly in her right hand while she assumes her nervous habit of scratching behind her ear with her left.

“What’d she say?” Victoria pipes up to stop the nervous ministrations, already knowing where Sasha’s nerves are coming from. These conversations came almost every day after these phone calls. A place for Sasha to let some of the negative energy out, a place for Victoria to be there for her.

Sasha swallows, quiet for a moment, too spaced out to really digest Victoria’s presence.

“Um, old stuff, she still thinks I’m gonna find a man that sweeps me off my feet and locks me away in a tower while he makes money and I do dishes for the rest of my life.”

“Yes, classic your mother,” Victoria nods, crossing her arms as she provides Sasha her undivided attention.

“New stuff, she wants to come visit us,” Sasha lets out more exasperated, like she herself hasn’t fully grasped the gravity of it yet.

“Oh” Victoria takes a moment for the information to settle on them, “We need to clean.” she looks around accounting for all the thrown around laundry and used coffee cups.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now? She’s gonna think were in love more than she already does,” Sasha pushes out in a heated stride, ready to start a fight with anyone in proximity regardless of their cause to her ire.

Sasha moves into the small kitchen area, turning her back to Victoria. Knowing lashing out at Victoria isn’t the answer, she takes deep breaths trying to reassume a more calm demeanor.

“I mean I’m totally in love with you so.”

“You wanna tell my mom that?” Sasha looks at her incredulously.

“Okay, um, we have a spare room, we just have to make it look more lived in. I could like not be here when she comes,” Victoria does her best to come up with some sort of resolution.

“Vic, no, I think that’s even more suspicious, plus I need you here for moral support, she’s gonna silently judge everything.”

“If its silent, why don’t you just ignore it,” Victoria suggests with a shrug.

“Cuz she’ll bring it up on the phone the next day, and say it all sweet and then I can’t do anything about it.”

Victoria and Sasha spend a good portion of the night picking up crumbled notes and miscellaneous garbage, scrubbing every surface of the small bathroom and kitchen, and for the most part forgot about any homework they needed to complete this week all as a sacrifice for Sasha to possibly hear less crap from her mother about her home.

Worst case scenario, Sasha thought, would be her mother finding the apartment unfit to live in for her princess and demanding she come back to live at home even with the hour commute to and from school. But Sasha took deep breaths, and Victoria squeezed her hand while they waited for the broken door bell to do its half chime, half scream, the first of many things her mother might find wrong.

Sasha hugs her mother fully, still loving her as much as she always had, never wishing anything bad on her or questioning her love. And truly she’s missed her mother, her loving brown eyes, her concrete hugs, something about her fried plantains. It just hurts that her love for Sasha is tainted by her sexuality, like an intact flower dragged through mud.

Victoria says “hello” abashedly, not wanting to over step with a hug, but Sasha’s mother just looks over her questioningly, seemingly looking for a hair out of place, a wrinkle too deep or a stain on her clothing. But she seems to be content with her image as she moves through the small apartment and takes a seat on the half sized sofa.

“It’s so tiny” Her mother giggles, not saving her criticism for over the phone.

“Yeah,” Victoria tries to explain without creating conflict, wanting to engage in conversation to save Sasha from a little inner turmoil, “Apartments are really expensive near campus but still cheaper than dorming.” they gather around her better, prompting further conversation.

Sasha looks at her like a saint for a moment, wonders how she got such a good roommate from a college group chat, how they’d become such good friends, and how those feelings had turned romantic so quickly, lucky and abysmal at the same time.

“Ah, yes, that was the only reason I let Sasha move in here, my dear,” She joyfully argues back ruining the dazzling look in Sasha’s eyes.

“Do you wanna see my room?” Sasha blurts out trying to stop the madness, wanting her mother to see her room, not wanting their hard work to go to waste. Sasha thought they’d done a good job of cleansing the room of all things Victoria from her room, removing her extensive skin care bottles from the side table.

“Yes, Mija, I’d love to,” and just like that her mother was back to her loving self. No hint of remorse of letting her move out, letting her get so jumbled up to have feelings for a woman.

The visit goes well after that. Small little jabs of intensity thrown in their face every once in a while, just enough to keep them on their toes like mice running at their feet as they handle boiling water.

Victoria makes a small lunch for them with the rest of the groceries they had in the fridge. Another welcome sacrifice she makes for Sasha.

“This looks nice” she indicates toward the spread of food, the first comment that isn’t a backhanded compliment or judgement of their place.

“I’m sure it isn’t as good as your cooking, Mrs. Perez, Sasha always says how good it is” Victoria laughs, hoping to find some common ground.

Sasha looks to her as she starts speaking, a sparkle in her eye as she sees how hard Victoria is trying for her and her mother. Sasha looks at Victoria like this often, a practice she’d hoped to hide from her mother’s prying eyes. But she can’t help the way she looks at her like she could give her anything she needed. A place where Sasha could settle in the comfort of brown irises and a glint of something else. A glint of chocolate sweetness and bold coffee.

“Yet, she never visits” Sasha’s mother says seriously, causing the two other women at the table to be silent, not knowing how to react.

But then the older woman lets out an uncommon laugh, a surge of power that reinvigorates the entire table, restarts the cogs and gears and sets things towards a better path.

When she does eventually leave she hugs Sasha goodbye, a welcome surge of finding home in a person, a moment where her mother is simply someone she loves without the extra attention to her sexuality.

When Sasha’s mother calls her on Monday afternoon right as she gets out of class there’s a different tone to her voice.

“Are you coming to church later?” She still asks but there isn’t a song of disappointment when Sasha pushes it off.

Instead she says “Victoria is really nice,” and that’s enough for Sasha to start with. Enough for her to want to smile as she walks into her apartment even if it is tiny. Enough to want to see Victoria sitting there working, and not wanting to disturb her. Enough to enjoy the quiet of now.

“Victoria and I are just friends,” She’ll say back to her mother.

“I know” but the tone of her voice rings toward something else, “But the way you look at her mija”.