Day one of the New Year. The clouds hung gray and thick. Flurries of snowflakes swirled and sparkled in the cold air.
The annual party in our lobby turned out to be more fun than I’d expected. Mrs. Russell’s ribs were delicious, and Mrs. Morris made candy cane cookies, and my former Halsey Tower neighbors all made a fuss over me—and over Dad and Kate and her diamond ring. Kate was wearing one of the loose tops that Alexa and I had picked out, and no one mentioned the baby on the way.
Teachers asked about my new home, and I said, “In a house, you can make all the noise you want without having to worry about downstairs neighbors. But it’s hard to get to know your neighbors because, well, no elevators.”
Mrs. Russell asked if I had “any boyfriends.”
“Just one,” I answered with a Mona Lisa smile. Mason came running over and gave me a sassy high five. He repeated “boyfriends” as if it were the funniest word he’d ever heard. I picked him up, and he held on tight.
I liked talking to Mrs. Russell, Mrs. Morris, and Dr. G person to person rather than student to teacher. Dr. G asked if I was singing again, and Kiki said, “You should’ve heard Sofia at her holiday concert! She had a solo in Spanish, and she brought down the house—no, the school!”
When we left, Kiki said, “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now you have to meet Isaiah.”
“Isaiah from Dalton? Haven’t I met him? You’ve been friends forever.”
“I think that might be changing.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
We said good-bye, and I walked alone to Riverside Drive. Near the Joan of Arc statue on Ninety-Third, a sign said “Treecycle,” and I saw a small pile of discarded Christmas trees. I headed down toward the winding entrance to the park, turning left at the hippo playground, which stood hushed and empty. The community garden was stubbly and brown. Even the dog run was desolate. Two men with strollers walked past me, and two older women were jogging. But the park was silent—it wasn’t vibrant, like in spring and summer and fall. Yet it had a stark beauty of its own.
I breathed in the cold air and remembered that exactly one year earlier, on New Year’s Day, I’d skipped the building brunch and walked across Central Park with Kiki. A few days later, I’d helped Dad dismantle our dry and droopy tree. My life had seemed to be closing in on me. Now it was opening up. I’d moved, made friends, started high school, and was going out with Sam, who was on his way to see me.
People say, “Life is short,” and sometimes, that turns out to be true. But for most of us, life is long. And knock on wood, tocar madera, my life—I was realizing at last—was mostly ahead of me.
I was glad there was a giant evergreen glimmering in our new home. Glad that Dad and Kate were getting their marriage license, and that in two weeks, the Halsey chaplain was going to officiate a small ceremony. Brian had joked they could make it a double wedding, but Bryan said no, they would take photos of the bride and groom and that would be their wedding gift. Brian added, “Still, you two are inspiring! There could be another wedding down the road.”
“Not a shotgun wedding,” Bryan added, and everyone laughed.
The most incredible thing was that I was going to be a big sister. Dad kept monitoring everything, and it appeared to be “all systems go”: one healthy baby, coming right up. Kate didn’t want to know the sex, but I did, so he said he’d tell me if I agreed not to reveal it.
“Can you keep a secret?” Dad asked.
“My father got my pen pal pregnant, and I didn’t tell a soul,” I replied. “I’m almost too good at secret-keeping,” I added.
He beamed. “It’s a boy.”
I felt pleased that I’d still be Dad’s only daughter, favorite daughter. And I pictured myself teaching the baby clapping games and Spanish lullabies. That night, Alexa said she’d show him how to shoot hoops—adding that he’d be “a natural at dribbling.”
No doubt the baby would demand a lot of attention, but maybe he’d unite us all more too.
I liked that in our new home, it was always okay to talk about my mom or Alexa’s dad. We didn’t have to pretend there hadn’t been other chapters, other loves, other lives. I was also glad Kate didn’t expect me to call her “Mom” and wasn’t planning on taking Dad’s name. In my mind, I had just one mom, and there was just one Mrs. Wolfe.
I followed the path toward Mom’s tree and stood before it. The tree was bare, of course. No leaves, no blossoms. But it was taller than it used to be, strong, sturdy, growing. Alive. Soon, it might be covered with ice, but there would also come a day when it would bloom.
I looked at the tree and whispered, “Feliz Año Nuevo.”
The tree was silent.
I did not need or miss my mother as much as I used to. I’d pushed through month after month and had gotten to where I could walk around the hole in my life without falling in, where I could think about her with pleasure, not just heartache. Right now, for instance, I didn’t feel like crying. What I felt was that somehow, my mother was with me—with me and within me. Abuelo had told me he felt her presence when he strolled along the hillside of Castilla too. She was inside both of us. Maybe outside too. Maybe everywhere.
Like a moonbow. I knew this was childish, yet I liked to imagine my mom watching over me. Not in a weird, supernatural way. In a quiet, natural way.
I looked at the spindly branches of the dogwood, and it was as if I heard her answer: I am watching, Sofia. What could be more natural than a mother watching over her child? Why should love end just because life ends?
My heart started thumping, and for a moment, the tree blurred. I listened hard, and I heard—or thought I heard—I’m here. Still here. Right here. I never really left.
It was my mother’s voice! Not my mother, no, but her voice, her words, her spirit!
I studied the tree and felt a deep calm. I’d been thinking I might tell her about the Snow Ball and my chorus solo and maybe even the baby. Instead, I put my palms on the small tree trunk, closed my eyes, and whispered, “Gracias, Mamá. Thank you.”
A hundred yards away, a loud voice boomed across Riverside Park. “Hey, Sofia!” Sam was striding toward me. “There you are!”
I looked up, startled. Then I waved and began to walk toward him.
“Here I am.”