Chapter 2 C-2

LUCIANA'S POV

My phone rings as I help Rodrigo wash while he plays with his legion of yellow ducks in the bathtub. He stares at me, his eyes widened in surprise and anticipation. "Is it abuela?"

"I'm not sure, but let me check," I say while rinsing off the lather from my arms. " Don't drown yourself while I'm gone, little sailor".

He giggles and continues playing with his ducks while I step out of the bathroom quickly and pick up my still ringing phone. It was my mum calling. I accept the call and walk back to the bathroom to check on Rodrigo who is now flying the largest duck in his collection like an airplane. I cock my head in confusion trying to remember if ducks even fly.

"Baby, it really is your abuelita," I proceed to smile at Rodrigo who puts down his duck in excitement and claps happily in triumph.

"I knew it was her," his childish voice said, seeped with giggles which sounded magical like the chiming of bells or wind chimes.

"Rodrigo, _m'ijo_, how are you?" My mum's familiar voice comes out of the phone which I place on the washbasin and then go to finish up Rodrigo's bath.

"I'm fine, grandma. How are you?" He inquires while I softly massage the shampoo into his wavy raven black locks which look exactly like mine, albeit much shorter in comparison to my waist length ones and a little more straighter.

" Oh, honey, I'm doing alright. Mexico is treating me just fine," she responds affectionately. "Are you taking a bath?"

"Yes, grandma. Mama is done bathing me now though. How did you know that?" Rodrigo says doing his best not to bounce around with his always seemingly endless energy while I try to dry him up with a large towel.

My Ma chuckles and responds, "I used magic. Don't tell anyone, especially your mama".

My son stares at me with his honest honey-brown eyes and then tries to avoid my stare while speaking in a conspiratorial tone, " Don't worry, abuelita. I won't tell her. Cross my heart".

I roll my almond shaped dark brown eyes skyward at their silliness and walk into Rodri's bedroom, phone in hand, while the little conniver walks ahead of me to go pick out the pajamas he'd like to wear to bed. I sit on his tiny bed running my fingers over the Lilo and Stitch bedcover he practically "cute trapped" me into buying. I wasn't going to, but I really couldn't help myself, especially when he did that thing he always does with his doe eyes.

"Talking about heart," my madre voices out bringing me out of my thoughts, "I got Sheila to fix another blind date for you since you chose to forget to go for the last one and left your poor date waiting in the cold for hours," she continues, placing emphasis on the "forget".

I roll my eyes and sigh while looking at Rodrigo standing on the other side of the room, who, it seems, is confused between wearing his Donald Duck pajamas and the other one with miniature sized SpongeBobs plastered all over it. He ends up choosing the former, as I had already guessed he would and places the other one nearly into his nightwear drawer. I palm my forehead and chuckle. His obsession with ducks needs to be studied. He looks at me, his doe eyes widens in confusion, having heard my chuckle. I blink guiltily and avoid his eyes, trying to focus on the conversation with my madre.

"Mum, first off, what's heart got to do with a blind date? Secondly, I didn't leave him in the cold. I clearly remember repeatedly telling him beforehand I wasn't going to be coming for that date and yet, he chose to wait for me in the cold. What did he want? To guilt trip me or something?" I actively soften my voice towards the end, trying not to sound confrontational, so I won't end up hurting her feelings.

"Ah, m'ija," my mum sighs from the other end of the receiver, "Alright. I know it's not your fault he chose to go anyway. But still, you've not even gone to any of the blind dates I've been setting up for you in Mexico, and now, in Ireland. And God knows how hard it is to set up a blind date for you when I'm literally continents away from you. Sheila is already fed up at this point, since you end up not going to any of the dates I beg her to set you up on. She says it's giving her matchmaking services a bad name or something along those lines," my mum says the last part with a mocking tone and a slight scoff which I knew truly held no malicious undertones.

Her love hate relationship with Sheila never fails to baffle me. According to my sources- said sources being herself, Sheila and my father- it all started even before I was born, since their teenage days in highschool when they both fell for the same guy, a dude called Juan who was an aspiring musician back then. All this was before she met my father and ended up falling for him instantly on one of these so called blind dates. Probably why she pushes me to go on all of these blind dates.

"I really get that you want me to move on from Connor, but I'm too preoccupied with finding a job right now to actually focus on dating someone. Plus, there's Rodrigo to think about too. How do you think he would feel with a strange man suddenly intruding into our lives, ma?" I really lower my voice during the last part while staring at my son who has just finished buttoning his pajama shirt.

"I know that bastard ex of yours did a number on you, m'ija, but still. I just want you to find a good man, a really good one who will love and treasure you and my grandson like you both really deserve. You really need someone who will take care of you, and I just want to see you have that, you know. Just like your father did for me," my madre enthuses from the other end of the receiver, her voice a bit more muted and melancholic than it was a few moments ago.

I sigh shakily with my eyes closed. I feel Rodrigo's little body all warmed up from his bath nesting against me. I hug him closer with one arm, my other holding my phone up to my ear. This felt comforting. _He_ felt comforting.

"I understand where you're coming from, ma and I totally appreciate it, but I just need to focus on finding a job now. I've been working these underpaying part-time jobs for too long now, and I need something real, something more reliable, you know. Plus I've kind of grown tired of men for a while now," I speak out, no longer feeling that usual shaky feeling that overwhelms me whenever I hear about my father. My dead father.

"M'ija," my mum lets out a heavy sigh on the other end, "This topic of finding a new man which you've constantly been avoiding, I don't feel comfortable with it. I don't feel comfortable with it at all. It's like since that useless _cabrón_ you've chosen to stay away from men entirely. What's really going on?"

My lips purse and I begin to run my fingers through Rodrigo's hair to calm my turbulent emotions. "It's not got to do with men, mama. I'm just tired. That's all." The lie slips out of me quite easily, more easily than it used to.

And before she can continue this conversation which I really feel uncomfortable with, I decide to turn the topic away from me entirely. "We've been talking about me since, ma. But what about you? How have you been holding up since Rodrigo and I left?"

My mum's voice comes after a pause, the shortest of pauses, but still a pause. "I've been alright my little dove. I've been going to the community baking get-together with our new neighbor, Asa, a lot more than I used to. Plus there's this new young Priest at the Church who's quite cute and all the young ladies adore. The seats have been more filled whenever it's his turn to say Mass. Plus, Yuki, that beautiful Japanese lady who lives opposite us, remember her?"

I hum and mumble incoherent words even though I really don't remember her. I try to picture the house opposite ours back at home, but nothing really comes up.

"She's been teaching me how to make some of her country's delicacies like curry and..."

"But ma," I cut in on her, "I'm asking how you're doing, how you've been doing since his death," the last part comes out with a struggle, my voice sounding strangled and barely containing my emotions.

Rodrigo snuggles up closer against me and stares at me with his beautiful browns, his eyes wide, as they usually are, with a look I do not really understand. Pity? Empathy? Assurance?

I look at him longer while waiting for my mother's response. His tiny soft hands reach out slowly and enclasp my larger slender ones in his warm hold. I blink, surprised and then slowly, a smile breaks open on my face.

"Go pick up a book you want me to read for you tonight," I whisper softly to him away from the receiver, wishing I could capture this warmth forever, this feeling of my hand being held in his. He nods and lets go of my hand, then jumps off the bed, strutting towards his powder blue bookshelf which held all of his night-time stories and a few of his many puzzles. I stare at the palm he had held in his, feeling bereft.

"Well, I've been better, M'ija," she begins, pulling me away from my thoughts, in a strained voice which she tries to suppress by sounding more cheery. But I know. I can tell when she's faking it.

"But," she continues, her voice growing stronger and calmer at this part, "I'm going to be fine. Maybe not on some days, but on others I will be. It won't always be like this for me, you know. And neither should it be for you, my little dove".

I smile in relief. "Okay, mama," I responded, watching Rodrigo who was walking quickly towards me, trying his best and almost failing not to run. He's holding his copy of Andersen's "The Little Mermaid".

"I've got to go, M'ija. I love you," my mother says.

"I love you too, mama," I say beckoning on Rodrigo who was now sitting against me, patiently waiting with his book in his hands, to talk to his grandmother as well"

"Me too, abuelita. I love you," he says out loud, coming closer to the phone.

"Thank you, cariño," my mum says affectionately to Rodrigo, before she continues, "You both sleep well, okay? And we'll talk about this blind date again, Luciana. Don't you forget," she says the last part with that stern tone she always uses whenever she calls me by my first name.

I let out a small laugh and a "hmm" in acquiescence, although I didn't really agree.

"Goodnight, mama. Sleep well".

"Bye, abuelita. Goodnight," Rodrigo says as enthusiastically as ever, while he bounces on the bed, book still in his arms.

She ends the call and I place my phone on his bedside table decorated with some of his Lego toys and some tiny multi-colored duck plushies. We both lie down on the bed, with Rodrigo cuddling closer into my arms which I put around him. He gives me the book to begin reading like he did the night before and the night before that. This was our special ritual we'd adopted for as long as I can remember.

"The Little Mermaid, uhn. You prepared for a night of bawling and tears?" I tease him with a smile giving him a small nudge.

"I'm a big boy now, mama. I promise I won't cry anymore over a stupid little story," the little chipmunk says with a pout, his nose in the air, trying to look disdainful.

I roll my eyes and grin, "Stupid little story, you say? Okay then, mister. I better not see you crying at the end"

He huffs and nods, telling me to start reading to him. I do so, trying to make the story sound more interesting and dramatic by giving my voice a somewhat exaggerated dramatic tilt to the parts it felt fitting to.

"But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much," this part I said in a cleaner more melancholic tone like I always have whenever I read the book for Rodrigo.

He turns to me, his head resting on my chest and quietly asks a question he never has before, "Why do mermaids have no tears, mama?"

"Well, my love, in some folklore, mermaids do, in fact, have tears. These tears are said to be the sea glass you see lying around the beach or even pearls in some others. But, to me, I think writing that mermaids have no tears is the author's attempt to point out how much more suffering mermaids have inside even when they're sad since they're unable to cry because they're surrounded by saltwater. So, you couldn't even really tell if they cried. Imagine not being able to cry when you're very sad, wouldn't you feel even worse inside?" I point out, trying to explain this in a way that makes sense to a smart five year old.

Rodrigo draws circles with his index finger on my arm and nods, "Yes, I would, mama. The mermaid not being able to cry makes her feel even sadder. I wish I could give her a hug".

"Me too, baby," I say quietly, resting my chin on the top of his thick head of hair, "Me too".