The Flip-Flop Beating I Took

Chapter 70

I sat on the stairs for a long damn time, all alone, frozen, staring off into space like a ghost. I don't even know what I was thinking. Maybe nothing. Maybe I was just checked out, head buzzing. I was in shock. When I finally got up and went to my room, my body felt whole, but inside I was numb, kinda hollow.

Mariana was lying on the mattress on the floor, the one we always set up but hardly ever used 'cause she ended up jumping into my bed. I lay down on my bed, looked around the whole dark, quiet room, just the sound of the street coming through the window. My heart beating slow, light, empty. And I broke down.

When the alarm went off in the morning, Mariana was already up. The mattress was all messed up for me to fix, like always. I went down to the kitchen and saw my mom putting water on to boil for coffee.

The kitchen in the morning had that Monday vibe: cold tile underfoot, lazy yellow light, scratched-up Formica table, fridge humming low, and the smell of coffee starting to fill the air. My mom was stirring the spoon in her big mug of water—I never got why she stirred something that was just water about to boil.

"Good morning, Mom. Where's Mariana?"

"Huh, she already left. Said she had to head out early." She gave me that X-ray look, sharp and dry. "She didn't tell you anything?"

"Nope. I didn't think it was that early." I yawned to buy time. "Gonna brush my teeth."

I dodged out of there. In two seconds flat, she already knew Mariana and I had a bad fight. My mom knows us better than we know ourselves. Impossible to hide.

In the bathroom, I opened the cabinet and stared at the pile of toothbrushes with no owners. I ran my finger along the handles till I found mine. The other one I recognized was Mariana's. The rest could disappear and I wouldn't notice. Weird how everything in me bumped into her. When she was gone, it left a big hole inside me, and the silence dropped in and just sat there.

I squeezed out the last bit of toothpaste, the cap fell into the sink and I cursed. Brushed my teeth slow, looking at my messed-up face in the mirror, and the question hit me on its own: "Do I tell him that Mariana knows?" I rinsed my mouth, tapped the brush on the edge, thought better. No. If I warned him, he might wanna go talk to her "to make sure she keeps quiet," and then shit would really hit the fan. If she got scared, she'd ask for help, and asking for help would mean spilling everything. If nothing happened, Mariana wouldn't tell anyone—I knew the girl. That shit would rot inside her, but it wouldn't come out her mouth. That's why I always trusted that little slut.

I put the brush away, splashed water on my face, breathed. By my count, she'd go a few days without looking at me. I had to give her that time. But this time it had been seriously fucked up, heavier than any fight we'd had. And I was still on the hook to go to his place. Part of me, the naughty side, was pushing me to go. The other part was freezing up. I didn't want to.

I dried my face on the towel, ran my hand through my hair, and turned off the faucet, wrestling it to stop dripping.

I already knew.

I had a plan.

First, I needed to convince my mom, again, that it wasn't a good idea for me to go do the cleaning. She'd think I was nuts, but it was the only way. I'd give the money back to her, explain it right, and let her tell him herself that she wouldn't let me. That way I'd come out on top. Then I'd use it with Mariana to prove I was sorry. She'd forgive me, give me the cold shoulder for a few days, and boom, life goes on.

I rinsed my mouth, washed my face, and headed straight for the shower. I'd slept without bathing and my body had that sour smell of dried-up guy sweat. The water hit hot, opening up my skin, and I stood there replaying the plan in my head.

Plan locked in.

I wrapped myself in the towel and flew up the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my stepdad in the kitchen, spreading butter on bread like it was Sunday. He pretended not to see me. I pretended too.

In the room, the routine: hunt for jeans that'd fit over my ass without being too worn out, some random top, comfy bra, books in the bag, quick charge on the phone. I was still picking jeans when the door opened without a knock. My mom came in serious, that serious for a tough talk.

"Sit down. I wanna talk to you."

For a second, I swore she knew everything. I froze.

"What is it, Mom?" I felt the panic on my face, no hiding it.

"I talked to your stepdad." A tear was already forming in the corner of her eye. "And I wanna tell you what we decided."

My feet carried me to the bed on their own. I sat. My body sank into the mattress. Felt like a sentence.

"I thought it over. I didn't raise my daughter to be a maid, no way. I like that you got the drive to work, but I didn't leave the sticks, didn't bust my ass like the devil, just for you to have the same future as me. You're gonna study and get a decent job."

"Oh..." It came out pathetic, like a half-laugh of disbelief that died in the air—the relief was better than pissing after holding it forever.

She kept going, firm.

"Baby, it's honest work, I know. But it's not for you right now. I don't want you getting a taste for work too soon."

I just looked at her, picturing the scene in my head. He must've said something that morning, planted the seed, and she, who already didn't want it, just needed a nudge. I could see her whole worry laid bare, like she was trying to pull me out of a hole she knew inside out.

I knew they'd worked on her head, but the argument made sense. My mom came here real young and only got shit jobs 'cause she had no education. My aunt, Mariana's mom, who's younger and went further in school, always said kids shouldn't "get a taste" for work before finishing studies, 'cause they think a little cash fixes everything and ditch the books. Everyone called her crazy. Only my mom and, get this, my dad agreed.

My dad agrees with everything my aunt says, too. One day I'll tell that story. He only stuck with my mom 'cause my aunt had sense and kicked his ass out. Another time.

I just listened.

My cleaning plan died right there. I opened my wallet in the backpack, pulled out the money I'd been carrying everywhere, counted it, and held it out to her. She refused.

"You keep it." She took a deep breath, looked like she might really cry. "Buy your makeup and those cheap clothes from China you like, okay, baby?"

"But Mom, that's not fair..." I don't even know why I argued. It came out almost crying, emotional, sorry.

I don't know what hit her in that second, but that tough woman in front of me was one step from breaking down. And breaking down ain't something my mom does. I saw her pull in the whole room's air, fill her chest, her eyes turned to anger, and she flipped to turbo mode.

"I said keep it. You feeling sorry for a man's money? That lazy fuck doesn't spend shit in this house and just eats."

I jumped, like I didn't know her outbursts, and fired back right away:

"And he eats good, huh, Mom?" Already guarding my bad eye so I wouldn't catch a smack there.

The joke landed perfect. Her eyes jumped from emotion to that fake anger, almost laughing. She grabbed the flip-flop, nearly tripped over her own foot, and came at me with the "beating" all choreographed, warming up my leg with the slap.

"You show some respect!" She said laughing, missing on purpose. "What you thinkin'?"

"That you gave the young stud a taste of your pussy."

"Julia! Show some respect!" And she laughed louder, trying to hold the pose.

I backed away, holding the towel and cracking up, and her chasing me, flip-flop raised, full actress.

"Mom, no use pretending to be all moral now, you know?" I poked. "The one coming out of the bedroom all messed up at eight in the morning ain't the parish saint."

"And how's that bum mess me up?" She shot back, but her naughty face gave it away. "And if you say that in front of the neighbors, I'll whoop your ass!"

She swung again, missed, and cracked up crying with laughter.

"I raised a brat. God forgive me."

She took a deep breath, still smiling, but that soft look came back, the one that fit my face right into hers.

"Go get ready, you little pest. And keep that money. Buy your junk. But study and don't fuck up your life."

The hard part was not fucking up.