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Chapter 5

I rush through the door, dropping my bags somewhere along the hallway. I burst into the lounge, and see her sitting on the couch.

'Mama!' I scream, throwing myself down next to her.

Mi mama's nombre es María . She was born and raised in Mexico City. Español is her first language- she only learned English when she met my dad, in Australia, on a holiday. Even now, she isn't fluent. She was a Mexican girl visiting Melbourne to improve her English speaking skills. He was called Sam, and he was a stereotypical Aussie surfer dude- you know the type, blonde, tall, golden. They were in love, and after mama returned to Mexico, my dad visited to see her again, then moved there. They bought a house together, and had me and Lucía. After quite a few years, they moved us to Australia- I was 9. Lucía was 11.

Mi mama is the kindest person I know. I don't know why she chose dad out of everyone she could have had. She was- and is- beautiful, and everyone that knew her loved her.

And, my dad. Well, he isn't very nice. He puts up an illusion around others, but once you know him, he shows his true colours. He becomes stormy. He becomes the person that he is today. That he is around me.

So, I was excited to see mama, to say the least. I've missed her.

'¡Hola, mi pequeña magdalena!'

(Spanish for 'Hello, my little cupcake!')

'Hola, mama! I missed you!'

'I missed you too, mija.'

Dad's sitting on the couch next to me, watching me. I could almost hear him scheming, coming up with a way to ruin my relationship with mama. To ruin this reunion. To make her as disappointed with me as he is.

'María, have you heard about Lucía winning her award?'

I glare at dad. Why does everything he says have to be about oh-so-perfect-Lucía? Why aren't I good enough?

'Lucía won award?' Mama says.

'Yes, for her contemporary dance.' Another thing that she's better at than me. Another thing that I will always be belittled about.

'I am upset I miss that. You must been very proud, Sam.'

'Of course. I'm still trying to get Sofía to join dance, but I guess it's too late now. And she's always objecting.'

'Sofía not have to do anything she does not want to.' says mama. Thank god for her, saving me. 'Oh, Sofía, how was netball practise? Your dad say you were there.'

'Oh, it was really good.' I say. What I don't say is "it saved me from falling deep into the dark vortex that is my brain." 'I'm on the A team.'

'Oh, mija, I'm very proud!', says mama, pulling me in for a hug.

'Gracias, mama' I say.

'Ah, I have to begin cooking! Help me make the pozole?' Pozole is a traditional Mexican dish. It's a type of Mexican soup with meat and vegetables, and it's mama's favourite.

'Sure.' I say, and we head into the kitchen.

'What has happening that I've missed?' Mama does her best, but English isn't her first language, so when she speaks, it is quite often broken.

'Mama, we don't have to talk in English if you don't want to.' I say, chopping up vegetables.

'No, mija, I need learning.'

'Ok, mama, well, I saw Caitlin again.'

'Ah, ella es muy linda. How is she?'

(Ah, she is very pretty. How is she?)

'Good. And, as you know, I got into the A team. Um, Lucía got that award?'

'No, no, mija, don't talk me about your hermana. I will talk her later. I am asking for you. What is happening that I missed?'

'Mama, that's about it. Oh, pass the garlic.' I mix in the vegetables and garlic, then start adding spices. 'How are abuela y abuelo?'

Mama pauses. She almost looks sad, then covers it up with a smile. She says 'Tell you later, mija'

We finish prepping dinner, then go to the lounge again. Lucía has decided to return home, so mama fusses over her for a while, asking how she is, but then she goes deadly serious.

'Mijas, you know how you mentioned abuela y abuelo, Sofía?' Mama says to me.

'Si, mama' I say.

'Ah, screw it, mija.' she says. 'We talk in espanol for this.' she says. I'm worried, because she never switches to Spanish- she always tries to keep up with speaking English.

'Sofía, Lucía, ¿saben cómo ha estado enfermo el abuelo?'

(Sofía, Lucía, you know how grandad has been sick?)

'Si, mama?' Lucía says.

Mama tears up.

'Queridos, el abuelo falleció. La enfermedad se puso terrible, y-'

(Darlings, grandad passed away. The sickness got terrible, and-)

I don't hear anymore before the tears come. I let out an ugly sob, and run up to my room, crying, listening to mama's sobs, and dad's fake words of comfort behind me.

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