out when she saw Jaime lying helplessly on the bed. She began praying very quickly in Spanish.
Our ER doctor, a woman who looked a little too young to actually be a doctor, came over to tell me that Jaime had stabilized and that he would be all right. Celia practically pushed me aside and announced that she “was ze boy’s mother” and that the doctor should be speaking to her, and not to someone who wasn’t family.
“With all due respect, Mrs. Castillo, I think that Jaime’s fiancée should be here for this,” the doctor said, giving an encouraging smile in my direction. Maybe she, too, has to deal with a woman like Celia. Celia grabbed my ringless hand and thrust it into the doctor’s face.
“Dey are not engaged,” she said. The ER doctor looked at me as if I’d just informed her that I would not be donating my kidney to my twin sister. “And he was about to break up with her anyway.”
As if the humiliation of being broken up with by your boyfriend’s mother isn’t enough, I was asked to leave the Emergency Room. But apparently, that wasn’t enough, either, because Mrs. Castillo then demanded that I be removed from the hospital. As I was being escorted down the hallway by a very burly candy striper, Celia called out to me: “How come every time my son ees with you he either ends up een the hospital or jail?”
That whole jail thing wasn’t really my fault, either.
* * *
I got back to my apartment at a little bit past six o’clock and threw my bags down next to the door. I stood, frozen in the entranceway, feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. I tried to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t escape the sensation of the walls closing in around me. The feeling was back. I had to get out.
As I walked into my bedroom to change out of my work clothes, it dawned on me that I could leave. I could pack a bag and leave New York. Tonight. My job was gone. My boyfriend was gone, and I didn’t have much else besides a Redweld folder filled with take-out menus.
I’d done it before.
The summer after my first year of law school, I packed up and went to live in the South of France for three months on a whim. Before that, I’d moved to Prague for a year during college, waiting until I’d found myself a place to stay before even letting anyone know I was gone. I’d even run off for two weeks in high school, leaving my mother in Brazil while I flew off to Greece to spend time with my grandmother.
The wanderlust was hitting me again.
The last time I felt like this was seven years ago, after him . The love of my life. The one I couldn’t live without. The one I thought I’d grow old with. Once he was gone, it felt like my insides had been ripped out and I couldn’t bear to sit still, not even for a minute.
I never say his name anymore. Never even hear it. Everyone around me is careful never to mention it. They call Adam “him” in hushed tones. Steer me away from buying books with characters named Adam. Anything not to upset me.
Turning over my options in my mind—Should I stay? Should I go? Where would I go if I left? What would I do if I stayed?—I poured myself a glass of wine and walked out to my balcony. Sitting outside, watching the world go by, I told myself that I did not want to be my mother. Never putting down roots, never staying too long. Running. Always running. That was not the recipe for a happy life.
The doorbell rang and I popped up from my seat, hoping that it would be Jaime. For a moment, I was afraid that it might be Celia, but I put that thought aside and rushed to the door. Standing there was a New York City detective.
“May I help you?” I asked, wondering why my doorman hadn’t called ahead to announce him and why I hadn’t answered the door through the chain instead of swinging the door wide open as I had.
“Detective Moretti, Eighteenth Precinct. May I come in?” he asked. He showed me his badge and didn’t even try to enter my apartment until he’d
Our ER doctor, a woman who looked a little too young to actually be a doctor, came over to tell me that Jaime had stabilized and that he would be all right. Celia practically pushed me aside and announced that she “was ze boy’s mother” and that the doctor should be speaking to her, and not to someone who wasn’t family.
“With all due respect, Mrs. Castillo, I think that Jaime’s fiancée should be here for this,” the doctor said, giving an encouraging smile in my direction. Maybe she, too, has to deal with a woman like Celia. Celia grabbed my ringless hand and thrust it into the doctor’s face.
“Dey are not engaged,” she said. The ER doctor looked at me as if I’d just informed her that I would not be donating my kidney to my twin sister. “And he was about to break up with her anyway.”
As if the humiliation of being broken up with by your boyfriend’s mother isn’t enough, I was asked to leave the Emergency Room. But apparently, that wasn’t enough, either, because Mrs. Castillo then demanded that I be removed from the hospital. As I was being escorted down the hallway by a very burly candy striper, Celia called out to me: “How come every time my son ees with you he either ends up een the hospital or jail?”
That whole jail thing wasn’t really my fault, either.
* * *
I got back to my apartment at a little bit past six o’clock and threw my bags down next to the door. I stood, frozen in the entranceway, feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. I tried to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t escape the sensation of the walls closing in around me. The feeling was back. I had to get out.
As I walked into my bedroom to change out of my work clothes, it dawned on me that I could leave. I could pack a bag and leave New York. Tonight. My job was gone. My boyfriend was gone, and I didn’t have much else besides a Redweld folder filled with take-out menus.
I’d done it before.
The summer after my first year of law school, I packed up and went to live in the South of France for three months on a whim. Before that, I’d moved to Prague for a year during college, waiting until I’d found myself a place to stay before even letting anyone know I was gone. I’d even run off for two weeks in high school, leaving my mother in Brazil while I flew off to Greece to spend time with my grandmother.
The wanderlust was hitting me again.
The last time I felt like this was seven years ago, after him . The love of my life. The one I couldn’t live without. The one I thought I’d grow old with. Once he was gone, it felt like my insides had been ripped out and I couldn’t bear to sit still, not even for a minute.
I never say his name anymore. Never even hear it. Everyone around me is careful never to mention it. They call Adam “him” in hushed tones. Steer me away from buying books with characters named Adam. Anything not to upset me.
Turning over my options in my mind—Should I stay? Should I go? Where would I go if I left? What would I do if I stayed?—I poured myself a glass of wine and walked out to my balcony. Sitting outside, watching the world go by, I told myself that I did not want to be my mother. Never putting down roots, never staying too long. Running. Always running. That was not the recipe for a happy life.
The doorbell rang and I popped up from my seat, hoping that it would be Jaime. For a moment, I was afraid that it might be Celia, but I put that thought aside and rushed to the door. Standing there was a New York City detective.
“May I help you?” I asked, wondering why my doorman hadn’t called ahead to announce him and why I hadn’t answered the door through the chain instead of swinging the door wide open as I had.
“Detective Moretti, Eighteenth Precinct. May I come in?” he asked. He showed me his badge and didn’t even try to enter my apartment until he’d
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