B0061QB04W EBOK by Reyna Grande Read Free Book Online Page A

birthday I celebrated without Papi being there. The first without Mami.
    The cake was beautiful. It was white and had pink sugar flowers all around. My grandmother’s oldest daughter brought her children to the house, not because she cared about our birthdays, but who could resist getting a free meal and a slice of cake? Even Élida put her pride aside and asked for seconds. Not once did she try to ruin our special moment with one of her usual remarks about us being orphans. That’s what a fancy store-bought cake does to people.
    Tía Emperatriz took pictures of us cutting the cake to send to my parents. We rarely had our photographs taken, and the thought of these pictures making their way to El Otro Lado—to Papi and Mami—was exciting. I thought those pictures would remind them of us, and that way they wouldn’t forget they still had three children waiting for them back home. I smiled the biggest smile I could manage because I wanted them to know I appreciated the money they’d sent for the cake. Carlos smiled halfway. He was very self-conscious about his teeth. Back then, not only were his teeth crooked, but there was also a tiny little tooth wedged between his two front teeth. Since he didn’t want anyone to see them, he would purse his lips and smile without showing any teeth. He looked as if he were constipated.
    Mago didn’t smile. She said that if she looked sad, then maybe our parents would see how much she truly missed them, and they would come back. From that point on, she continued to look sad in almost every picture we took.
    Her tactic didn’t work. The pictures were sent, the months went by, and still our parents did not return.

    The one who did come back, however, was Élida’s mother.
    We had been at Abuela Evila’s house for over a year when Élida turned fifteen. She officially became a señorita, and Tía María Félix came to Iguala to throw a big quinceañera for Élida. She arrivedloaded with so many suitcases she hired two taxis to take her from the bus station to Abuela Evila’s house. While everyone greeted her and made a big fuss about her arrival, we eyed the suitcases, wondering if our parents had sent us something.
    Élida’s little brother, Javier, was six years old. He held on to Tía María Félix and when Élida tried to hug my aunt, Javier pushed Élida away and said, “No, she’s my mommy.” Tía María Félix laughed and said it was cute. Abuela Evila scolded him and said that Élida was his sister, and Tía María Félix was Élida’s mother, too. But he wouldn’t let go of his mom.
    Mago would have taken advantage of this opportunity to say something mean to Élida. But the news Tía María Félix gave us sent us to our room, where we spent the night crying. “Your mother just had a little girl,” she said. “Elizabeth, I think, is what your mom named her.”
    We lay on our bed, huddled so close together our limbs were entangled. At night, barking dogs serenaded la colonia as they wandered through the dark streets. We listened to them, watching their shadows streaming in through the small window. What’s her name? I wondered. Elisabé? I’d never heard this name before.
    “A baby girl,” Mago said, breaking the silence. And it suddenly hit me: I was no longer the youngest. Some other girl I did not know had replaced me.

    The next day all my cousins showed up to see what Tía María Félix had brought for them from El Otro Lado. We didn’t see our cousins often, but now they were all there, having come as soon as they heard Tía María Félix had arrived. We watched as she gave our cousins presents—a shirt, a pair of shoes, a toy. We waited our turn, and when the suitcases were empty, Tía María Félix turned to us with a sad look on her face and said, “Your parents sent you something, but unfortunately I lost that suitcase at the airport.”
    “That’s a lie,” Mago said softly.
    “What did you say?” Tía María Félix asked.
    “Those toys that you