Miguel cried this time.
Patricia took a video.
Of course she did.
That summer, Miguel prepared for college.
He had earned a full scholarship to Georgetown University, where he planned to study public policy. Mariana pretended not to be terrified. She bought towels, notebooks, laundry detergent, and a small first-aid kit with enough medicine to treat a village. Miguel pretended not to notice.
One evening, while packing, he found the old note he had written as a child:
“Mamá, no llores. Cuando yo sea grande, tú vas a descansar.”
He brought it to the kitchen.
“You kept this?”
Mariana smiled.
“I kept everything.”
Miguel sat beside her.
“I meant it.”
“I know.”
“No, Mom. I really mean it. One day, I’m buying you a house with a garden and a porch. You’re going to drink coffee and boss everyone around.”
She laughed. “I already boss everyone around.”
“Not enough.”
