The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(6)

Cesar laughs. “If she’s dead to you, how is it nothing?”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it.” I can still feel the ache from the stab wound Bianca left not in my back, but in my chest. But I can’t talk about that with Cesar. If Bianca is dead to me, I don’t have to think about how different things would be if I’d never come out to her. If Bianca doesn’t exist, I can move forward with my life. I’m grateful for the “only ask once” rule, so I don’t have to think about it too much.

I’m also glad Rover was big enough that rumors only ever really spread within a single friend group. Whatever rumors there were about me, Cesar never got wind of, and vice versa. I like it that way.

I pull out my phone again to distract myself from any Bianca thoughts. The Instagram is getting a few likes and follows, but nothing too noteworthy. I groan. I know that realistically it won’t blow up right away, but it’s hard to be patient.

“Stop checking. You’re just gonna make yourself mad,” Cesar says, and Do?a Violeta’s pit bull puppy starts yapping at us from a few houses away. It’s enough to distract Cesar from nagging about my phone. He’s right, though. I make it a point to stop checking, at least until we get home. I turn the phone on silent so I won’t be tempted to look.

Cesar goes to the chain-link fence, where the pit greets him and licks his hands through one of the holes. The poor dog is never allowed inside, so she’s stuck in Do?a Violeta’s shaved-down front lawn all day. Most of us stop to bring her food, but there are a couple of kids who volunteered to do her landscaping, since her lawn was getting out of control. Now the grass is always cut, but the poor dog doesn’t have a lot to entertain herself with.

Cesar always makes it his mission to give her attention whenever we walk by. Aside from the efforts of the community, the puppy is the only thing holding Violeta together. She’s only about a year old, and cute enough to distract Cesar from my problems. It’s obvious he’s trying to fill the empty space Bianca left, but he doesn’t need all the details. I love that about my brother.

Do?a Violeta doesn’t seem to notice us until we’re right in front of her, hugging her and kissing her cheeks. She smiles at us with watery eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“We brought you tamales,” Cesar says over the music, gesturing to the plates in my arms. She doesn’t answer, so we go inside to heat them up for her. Otherwise she might never eat. While Cesar heats the tamales, I straighten up her sitting room a bit. Her furniture has those clear plastic coverings to keep it from being comfortable. I always hated that as a kid and still don’t understand it. The covering on one of the couches still has faded permanent-marker drawings on it from when Bianca and I tried to “decorate” when we were little. My face heats at the memory. It’s like no matter where I go, Bianca is right there taunting me.

When the food is ready, Cesar and I sit on the floor of Violeta’s porch while she eats, telling her any stories we can come up with to lift her mood. The longer we stay, the less sad her eyes get. We wait to say bye until her smiles aren’t forced, and we can trust her not to spend the rest of the day crying.

“Thank you for this. Los quiero muchísimo,” she whispers as she kisses my forehead, then repeats with Cesar.

“Love you, too,” we both say as we give her a big hug before heading to the corner store for Cesar’s Takis, then back home. The childish orange paint job makes our house stand out from the others. Dad, Cesar, and I painted it one summer while Mami was out of town. Orange is her favorite color, and he wanted to surprise her, but since we were eight and nine, we weren’t experts. Mom says she doesn’t want to repaint it because of the money, but really I think she’s holding on to that piece of my dad.

When we get inside, sweaty and Taki-less (in my case), I finally privilege myself with a glance at my phone. JoyeriaFlores is by no means viral, but it’s got a few hundred notifitications on Twitter and Instagram, with plenty of people excited in the comments. I quickly check Etsy.

Half the items have already sold. I throw myself onto my bed and happily convulse, squealing loud enough for Cesar to come in all concerned.

“Okay . . . I don’t wanna know.” He backs away slowly from my squealy frenzy.

Once I calm down, I type up a thank-you post for everyone’s support, promising to restock some of the favorite items soon. Then I get to work trying to get the rest sold. I go back in my mom’s room and put on some jewelry, then take some videos for TikTok. I only post one and save the rest in drafts to post later. Hopefully one of these videos hits everyone’s For You page so it can blow up. When the front door opens, I rush over to greet Mami, preparing myself for a swift un-grounding.

“Mami, I have a surprise for you!” I say, hugging her.

“A surprise?” She raises an eyebrow.

I grab my phone from my pocket and pull up my Twitter post, then I hand her the phone. I hold my breath while I watch her every expression, trying to calculate how far into the post she’s read. Her expression doesn’t change, but her thumb moves to click on the Etsy link.

“Do you like the name? Look at the sales! Isn’t that amazing? This will be my new job! I can help you with your workload and I’ll take care of all the online stuff.” I feel like I’m about to cry from pure joy. Mami must be so proud of my entrepreneurial genius. She hands me my phone back.