28

Ma had to take time off work to come to portfolio night later that week. We met at school, in the foyer, and she asked where we should go first.

“Let’s go to my Spanish class,” I said, and soon we were sitting next to each other in front of Mrs. Quezada, who listened to me explain the assignment to Ma.

“Interesting,” Ma said. “So what’s your new holiday?”

I handed her the poster. Ma studied it, and Mrs. Quezada said, “I didn’t know that Wren had lost her father. This is very touching, and I’m sure you two will commemorate the sad event together.”

Ma kept her head down, looking at the poster much longer than necessary.

Mrs. Quezada pulled out a sheet and pushed it on the table between us. “This is the comment sheet, Mrs. Kaiser,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you would leave a comment about Wren’s work.”

Ma had to clear her throat before she said, “Yes, no problem.”

While she scribbled something on the sheet, I saw red blotches forming on her neck. Then she got up and very politely said goodbye to Mrs. Quezada. As she walked out of the room, I noticed she was holding herself up much straighter and stiffer than usual.

I hurried after her, but once Ma crossed the hallway, she ran right down the stairs and out through the main door. I caught up with her in the parking lot.

I expected her to yell at me. But she didn’t yell.

“I can’t do it,” Ma said quietly. “I cannot talk about him.”

When she looked at me, I could see she wasn’t angry. Instead, there was something in her eyes that I hadn’t seen before. She was hurt.

* * *

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In bed that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about the pain I had seen in Ma’s face as she’d held the poster. I’d wanted to hurt her back, and it had worked. But now I tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.

By the time Ma came home from her shift at the diner, I was still awake. I heard the water running in the bathroom, followed by the toilet flushing. Ma’s bed squeaked as she lay down. And then, quietly, I heard her sob.

I pulled the pillow over my head.