Page 3 of Let's Be Forever

I pressmy forehead to my closed bedroom door, my hand hovering over the knob, not ready to twist it open. But Rosie, who isn’t aware of my inner turmoil and is starving, is antsy to get out.

“Mama, vamos comer.” She rocks on her heels, reaching for the handle and shaking it. “Comer, comer!”

My daughter hasn’t been exactly quiet since she woke up fifteen minutes ago. I know Maya heard her, but I was hoping I could stall for a few more minutes to figure out what to say.

Rosie zooms out of our bedroom and into the living room but stops short.

“Hi, sweet girl.” My sister crouches down to be at her eye level, waving at her, but Rosie doesn’t budge. “Soy tu tía,Maya.Do you speak to her in English? Spanish?” she asks, but then proceeds to translate it in English. “I’m your aunt Maya.”

“I do both, and she understands either just fine,” I answer, standing awkwardly a few feet away.

Rosie stares warily, but it doesn’t take long before she’s perking up and smiling at my sister.

“Maya.” She tests the name out.

“She’s just like you when you were little. Some things don’t change, do they?” The corners of her mouth jerk up, eyes reminiscent. “Breakfast is ready and everything is hot. Just how you like it.”

“You still remember?” I bend to pick up Rosie and pad over to the small round dining table. I set her on the high chair and strap her in.

After she arrived last night, we didn’t speak much. Rosie woke up and wouldn’t go back to sleep until I lay with her. I meant to stay up to talk to Maya, but I ended up falling asleep. The last thing on my mind was the way she looked both relieved and sad to see me.

Like she does now. She isn’t the same Maya from before, but I guess I’m not either. A lot has changed since we last spoke—six years ago. That conversation ended in an argument that spiraled out of control, the reason for it being my daughter’s father.

Despite our fallout, she’s still my big sister, and I have missed her.

“Of course I remember. You’d throw the biggest tantrums if it wasn’t piping hot. But that didn’t change as you got older.” She tsks. “You’d burn your mouth but you still wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Cold food is not enjoyable.” I smile, remembering those moments. “How was your sleep?”

I live in a one-bedroom apartment, and I have a full-sized bed. The only thing I had to offer was my couch or the floor. She took the couch.

“It was fine until I heard your neighbor upstairs. What the hell? Are they shooting a porno? God, I swear they were going at it. She had to be faking it because there’s no way.” She sets a steaming breakfast plate in front of me and Rosie’s divided plate with her food cut up into bite sizes. Then she brings hers over, along with two mugs of coffee.

“Yeah.” I rub my tired eyes because I didn’t sleep well either. “This happens a lot. I’ve already talked to him many times and complained, and he’s been issued a warning by our landlord, but nothing has really happened.”

As much as I’d love to move out, this is the cheapest rent I could find. And while my lease will be up for renewal at the end of the year, I don’t see myself leaving any time soon.

“Please don’t tell me it wakes up Rosie?”

“Thankfully not last night, but it has before.” It’s already bad enough not getting sleep because of my daughter, now I have to add a neighbor who doesn’t care. “But anyway, this looks really good.”

“It’s nothing crazy, and probably not as good as what you make, but I hope you like it.”

Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fruit. It all looks and smells good, but?—

“I only had eggs in the fridge. When did you go out?”

I’ve been so busy at the bakery I haven’t had the chance to buy groceries. But I was planning to get some today, since we’re not open on Sundays.

“I placed an order and?—”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Shut up and eat,” she says as she takes a seat opposite me, next to my daughter. “Or your food will get cold and I don’t want to hear you bitching—” She winces, glancing down at Rosie, who’s too busy eating to pay her any attention. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Clementine has a habit of dropping every cuss word you can think of in front of her,” I explain, cutting into my pancakes. “And I accidentally slip from time to time.”

She snorts. “Who’s Clementine?”