It can be intimate to be caught staring at one’s reflection in a mirror. To be walked in on as one takes in their details with great attention. Diego does just that as he barges into Camila’s well-kept bedroom. Rap pours from her speaker and now travels for her father and mother, Eleanor. Camila turns toward them, allowing the parents to fully grasp the formal yet masculine outfit hugging her short body. Diego directs his eyes to the dress hung on the closet door behind Camila. Then, aggressively scratches his beard and closes his eyes while audibly sighing.
“¡Camila de León, estamos tarde! Change right now. No daughter of mine is leaving this house dressed like a boy,” says Diego, making Eleanor tense a little behind him.
Even with his few good inches above his daughter’s height and an intense stare, Camila doesn’t show any sign of intimidation. Instead, she steps toward him with arms crossed, wrinkling her perfectly ironed button-down. He matches her stance and glares at brown eyes so similar to his that it is like glaring at himself. It isn’t just the eyes, though. Everything about Camila is like staring at his younger self. Even more so when Camila dresses in chinos and dress shoes.
“That sounds great! You guys say hi to the family from me,” Camila responds, smirking.
Eleanor’s eyes widen at her daughter’s nonchalance, then shifts her eyes to her husband. He has raised an eyebrow at Camila and opens his mouth to reply, but Eleanor grabs one of Camila’s hands. The clicking of her heels is silent because of the music, but her voice isn’t as it passes her perfectly painted lips.
“Honey, please listen to your father,” Eleanor says, caressing Camila’s face with her other hand. The girl leans into the familiar touch. “For me, just this one time, put the dress on instead.”
Camila scoffs and pulls away, slapped back to reality. “Mami, please don’t make me wear that,” she whispers.
Eleanor only looks down at her feet as Diego grabs her by the shoulders from behind, gently moving her away from Camila. He shakes his head with a noticeable eye roll, his wife by his side, then raises an arm. Eleanor quickly reacts by holding his arm with both hands before he can swing it down. The two lock eyes and breathe heavily before lowering their arms. Camila doesn’t even flinch at the action.
“Mira Camila, no te recomiendo que juegues con mi paciencia. ¡Cámbiate! Now! And can you stop that stupid song?” Diego yelled. “No sé como más decirte esto. You’re not a boy, you won’t ever be a boy. Stop trying to give me a son when I had a daughter!”
Still by her mirror, Camila reaches for the phone and raises the volume of a rock song. It blasts through the modest, two-bedroom house. At that, Diego takes long strides toward the speaker on the nightstand. He turns it off, causing it to switch back to Camila’s phone. She maxes the volume on her phone from across the room. Eleanor lightly shakes her head, not being able to act before her daughter fires back at her husband.
“That’s rich. So to you, Prima Kami looks great in a suit, but I must change? Why should I?”
That earns a malicious laugh from her well-dressed father. He places a hand in one of his pockets with a smile and joins his wife. Eleanor is now closer to the doorway and on the verge of tears. Diego attempts to intertwine his fingers with Eleanor’s, but she doesn’t respond to the affection. She moves her hand ever-so-slightly to her back. Camila doesn’t notice this moment between her parents. After taking a quick glance at his wife’s hands, Diego looks back up at his daughter and clears his throat.
“If you can’t respect me and the rules of this house… grab your things and go.”
“Ah, ¿sí? Gladly!”
Diego leaves the room to head to his own, as his wife stays and cries in faint sobs. Soft as they are, they still interrupt Camila’s music. Their room, larger and more organized than their daughter’s, was at the end of the same hallway. Diego could hear his wife fighting to breathe normally between cries. He grabs a big suitcase from their closet and returns to Camila’s room. Eleanor whimpers for him to stop when he enters the room.
“¡Perfecto! Entonces, you better be gone by the time I’m back,” Diego says, throwing the empty suitcase on Camila’s bed. “I’ll wait for you in the car, El.”
Then, he leaves the room and noisily exits their house.
Still crying, Eleanor moves closer to Camila, who opens the suitcase furiously, shoving random belongings into it. “Mijita para,” Eleanor manages to sniffle out. “Where are you even gonna go?”
The question makes Camila stop and leaves her standing in front of her closet with clothes in her arms. Eleanor stands near the suitcase and stares at it before she removes things from it. Her tears fall on the suitcase, smudging some light makeup as Camila redirects herself to her. Next to her mother, Camila calms Eleanor’s trembles with the tightest hug they’ve ever shared.
“Te amo, Mami, pero I gotta go. I could stay with Tía or anyone else, but I won’t wear something that doesn’t feel right.” A honk startles them out of their hug as an R&B song plays. “Vaya, Mami. I’ll let you know where I go,” she says, receiving a final squeeze and kiss on the forehead from Eleanor. Then, she stops the music and packs in silence, attempting to ignore her messy room.
Camila packs everything she can fit in the suitcase while shedding some tears. She notices she doesn’t have much when she looks around the humble room, and it’s almost entirely empty. The closet stores empty hangers, while doors and drawers are left open without care. Camila grasps the handle of her suitcase, giving her former bedroom a final look. Then, she leaves the house and gets in a taxi.
At the annual family dinner, the couple sits in silence. Multiple people try speaking to them, but they mostly keep to themselves. Lucky for them, nobody mentions how distant they are from each other, as opposed to other family functions. But that’s as lucky as they get because almost everyone approaches them to ask about their daughter.
“Y la Camila?” Abuela María, Tío Pedro, Prima Sofía and company ask.
“She wasn’t feeling too good,” Diego replies each time around.
Eleanor stays silent each time. With newly fixed makeup hiding her previously reddened face, she only smiles as the family members wish Camila to get better soon.
As they return home, the drive is mostly quiet. The radio is off, and apart from when Diego says a word or two hoping his wife will respond, they sit in silence. He isn’t getting the response he’d like. Eleanor’s face is turned away from Diego’s view, but her sniffles give away that she is still crying. The humming of the AC is as consistent as Diego’s attempts to hold his wife’s hand, but she ignores him. Neither of them is accustomed to the quiet ride. It’s the first time that they aren’t playing the family playlist. At home, they head into their room, and Diego informs Eleanor he’s showering. The silence continues as he showers with hot water, reddening his skin. As he finishes, he turns off the running water and goes to grab the towel, but there isn’t one.
“Shit,” he mutters. “¡Cariño! Can you bring me a towel?” Diego yells over to the next room. No response.
Only the dripping of the last droplets of water echo in the bathroom. He calls out a second time, but then assumes she’s probably not in the bedroom. Therefore, wet and cold, he drags himself to his bedroom to get a towel. Diego puts on his typical sleepwear of an old t-shirt and some boxers. From their room, which remains as undisturbed as when they arrived, he notices a dim light from Camila’s room. He huffs and follows the light through the hallway.
“Eleanor, is that you?” he says. Better be, he thinks. Unless Camila would like to be kicked out twice in a day.
Eleanor sits on the bed in Camila’s room with a book in her hand. One of the many books Camila had gifted her but that she never got around to reading. Eleanor is always far too busy to take time for herself. Work, parenting, and taking care of their home aren’t things she can just drop for some books or whatever else she’d like to do. Still saying nothing to her husband, Eleanor grants Diego a second to glance around the room regretfully. It is nearly empty, except for the furniture Camila couldn’t bring with her and the bedsheets that now cuddle her mother.
“Here you are! I was calling you, El. Let’s go to bed,” he says after clearing his throat. “We can celebrate the empty nest,” he continues, halfheartedly.
She glances up from the novel and scoffs at his janky smirk. “I’m not coming to bed. There’s nothing to celebrate, Diego.”
Eleanor marks the page she’s on before closing her book with swollen eyes. Diego takes them in, internally cursing himself for being the cause of those. He takes a couple of steps straight toward the wooden-framed bed, trying to approach her. Seeing his intention, she raises the palm of her hand and gets out of bed, leaving behind the white and blue sheets that smell of her daughter.
“Don’t,” she says. “I’m sleeping here tonight. I’ll be gone to my mom’s in the morning.”
“N-no. Why?” Diego stutters, taking a step closer. “Please don’t.” He grabs her hand, but she quickly pulls it from his grasp.
“Why? Today, we tried forcing our daughter to be someone she’s not. Not for me, or us, but for you!” She raises her voice, then takes a deep breath before continuing. “We didn’t respect her, Diego… and you kicked her out for it.”
“I KICKED HER OUT? I didn’t see you disagreeing on that!” He is losing his temper, but her raised eyebrow centers him. “Honey, you know I couldn’t let her see my family like that. Can you imagine the things they would say about us?” Eleanor rolls her eyes as Diego makes another attempt to have her within his reach. “No. Don’t give me that, El, please. You know it’s true. What would you like for me to do?” His voice breaks, sounding smaller than Eleanor has ever heard it. He sits on the bed, scratching his neck and looking up at his wife.
“It would be easier if you’d just apologize instead of giving excuses,” says Eleanor. “Or, better than that, if you accepted that you made a mistake, instead of trying to take digs at me as if I don’t feel horrible already!” She walks to the closet where Camila’s last piece of clothing hangs.
“Eleanor, mi vida, I am so sorry I kicked out our baby over that. Please don’t leave me, too,” Diego begs as Eleanor walks over to him with Camila’s hanger.
With even breaths, she makes him stand and guides him to the doorway. Eleanor sniffs to hold back a sob.
“You say it like she left willingly,” she quavers. “You kicked her out, Diego! And it’s not me who needs an apology… Fix what you broke. I will only come back when my baby does.” She shoves the dress into his chest with enough force to push him out of the room before closing the door.
Natalia Pereira Rodríguez
Fiction
BFA Writing 2023
Guayama, Puerto Rico
