The Mare

Velvet

The night I came home I asked my mother why I never heard from my father. Why he sent money and birthday cards, but only sometimes, and only to Dante, not me. Even though people say mothers love their sons more, but fathers love their daughters more. At least that’s what Mrs. Vasquez from our old building said when I told her my mom liked Dante better than me. I didn’t get into that with my mom, though. I just asked why I didn’t hear from him. She said, “Sit down. I’m going to tell you something.” I sat down. She said, “The man you call your father isn’t your father. He’s Dante’s father, but not yours.” I said, “But I called him Papi and he answered.” She said, “I asked him to do that.”

I said, “But he gave me the shells.”

“No he didn’t. I did. I found them on the beach at Providence while I was pregnant with you. I kept it for you.”

I couldn’t talk anymore. She came to me and put her arms around me. My head went against her; she smelled to me like she used to, like safety. My body trembled, but I didn’t cry. It felt too bad for that. She said, “I’m sorry. But you are old enough to know the truth. I haven’t seen your father since I left DR. He said he would come for me, but he didn’t. Now you know what I mean when I say ‘bad blood.’ ”

I moved away from her and her arms came off me. I stood up. “Just because he didn’t come for you doesn’t mean I’m bad.”

She looked like she was going to slap me, but she didn’t. She looked like I slapped her; she even put her hand to her face. I was going to say I was sorry, but then she said, “Something else you need to know. I lost my job and I need to rent your room out. When I do, you’ll have to sleep on the couch.”