Remission by Ofelia Martinez

Chapter 13

Humble Beginnings

Hector was surprised at how much we got done online without having to go to any stores. But I still promised to help him on Saturday morning, after the deliveries all came in, to arrange everything and stage any finishing touches. He didn’t have to pick his mom up until six in the evening, so I showed up at ten in the morning to get started.

He was right: he had no idea what to do with any of it. He had given the delivery men completely wrong instructions, making me question if he had been sleepy or drunk while everything was set up.

“Have you no concept of feng shui?” I asked him.

“That’s the manual on how to arrange furniture, right?”

My nose crinkled at his definition. “Sort of.”

“Well, what’s wrong?”

“Her bed is facing the door. We can’t have that. We need the headboard side of the bed up against the wall with windows, so the feet point toward the solid wall.”

Hector burst out laughing.

“Are you making fun of me, Dr. Medina?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand why it matters, but sure. Let’s move the bed. And please, outside of work, let’s use our given names.”

I nodded. “You didn’t wash the new sheets?”

“I was supposed to?”

“Oh. My. God,” I said, taking the sheets and asking for his washer and dryer, which, thankfully, he did possess.

Everything was nearly ready by two in the afternoon. We were both a mess, sweaty, disheveled, and out of breath from moving all the furniture.

“You owe me big time,” I said.

“I definitely do.”

Hector grabbed us two glasses of water, and we sat in the living room around the coffee table. I took the room in, pleased with what I had accomplished.

The results were cozy and understated but with a modern edge. The mahogany console now displaying art and fresh flowers was to die for. The coffee table was dressed with a candle, a tray with a stack of art books, and a sculptural design I thought Hector would like. Knowing little of his tastes, I’d done my best.

“So, what do you think?” I asked.

Hector shrugged. “Do you like it?”

“Not this again. It doesn’t matter if I like it. I want to know if you do.” I almost rolled my eyes at him.

He nodded. “If you like it, then I like it.”

Stubborn man.

“By the way,” Hector said, changing the subject. “I never got the chance to tell you—I thought what you did for your patient was really nice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think you called it the Mary?”

I almost spat out the water from my mouth. This entire time, I thought he hadn’t seen it. “You saw?”

Hector nodded. “Why do you call it that?”

“Um—Mary was kind of a legend. She was a patient during my first year of residency and Sara’s favorite patient. She was an older woman—in her fifties—and she had been a beautician. Whenever she was admitted, and on the days she had the energy, she would go around the oncology floor and give little mini-makeovers to the other patients. It might have been as simple as putting lotion on a patient’s hands and giving her a hand massage, all the way to full-blown makeovers.

“Eventually, she started adding music to her rounds. Mostly hip-hop and soul music, but usually the more upbeat variety. The staff really grew to love her.”

“I bet,” Hector said.

“Yeah. She could completely turn around the outlook of a patient having a rough day.”

“She make it?” Hector asked.

My face turned. “No,” I admitted. “Breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Hector said.

“Me too. She was an amazing woman. It’s a tribute to her that we keep the tradition going. If we have a patient who is really down, we have a girl’s day. It’s silly but—”

“Not silly at all. You know as well as I do that patient outlook is a big factor in resilience and is as important as chemotherapy or radiation.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you.”

“I’ve also been meaning to ask you—”

“What?”

“Why do you volunteer at the clinic?” he asked.

“Hector, if I offended you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to place doubts on your motives for volunteering.”

“Relax. That’s not why I was asking. It’s just . . . you seem overwhelmed by everything you take on.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose with joking exasperation. “Okay. Number one, never, and I mean never, tell a woman to relax. You will have the opposite outcome—”

“Noted.”

“And number two, don’t underestimate me. Besides, I only volunteer for a few shifts a month. I can’t imagine not doing it.”

“But why did you get into it in the first place?”

My gaze drifted away into space as my thoughts turned to many years back. I was starting to realize that as much as I hated talking about my mother, for some reason, Hector always got it out of me.

“My mom. She didn’t have insurance before she was diagnosed, so she ignored the symptoms for too long.”

“And if she’d had access to a free clinic, things might have been different,” Hector finished for me.

I nodded, unsure of what else to say, but the doorbell literally saved me. “You expecting someone?” I asked.

“No. It’s probably another shipment of something you ordered for the house.”

“Nope. I had you pay out the wazoo for expedited shipping so everything could be here before your mom arrives.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he said wryly.

“Anytime.” I grinned after him.

He shook his head as he opened the front door. “Mami!” he exclaimed.

I sprang up to my feet and walked over to them. Hector embraced a small woman, barely five-one in height. There was no way that tiny woman had birthed him. If she did, she could run the world one day.

She wore a pink jacket, and her hair was perfectly pinned back into a low bun. I smiled, realizing she wasn’t coloring the gray out of her hair. This was a woman I could look up to.

Mother and son froze for the entirety of a minute. Eventually, they broke contact, and he let her inside.

“Hello, Mrs. Medina,” I said. She looked at my outstretched hand and pushed it to the side. She caught me by surprise into a hug, and I couldn’t help but hug her back. It was hard not to become emotional. I hadn’t embraced a mother of any kind in a long time.

“Please,” she said in broken English, “call me Marisela.”

Once I could see her face, I realized she wore a little bit of makeup, and short, pearl, teardrop earrings. She gave off an air of elegance, but it was understated and subtle. I could only describe her in one word: Grace.

“We can switch to Spanish if you’d like,” I said in Spanish. After that, all our conversations were in Spanish. It intimidated me a bit. Obviously, she and Hector would speak the proper Spain-derived Spanish of the Mexican elite, while mine would be Mexican barrio Spanish—’hood Spanish. I was relieved when neither of them commented on my linguistic shortcomings in our native tongue.

“Who is this?” she asked Hector but didn’t move her mother’s gaze away from me.

“This is Carolina Ramirez. She is a doctor at the hospital I work at now.”

“Oh?” his mom asked as she studied me from shoes to face.

“Yes, Mrs.—I mean, Marisela. Your son is my boss. I helped him get the house ready for your arrival.”

She looked back and forth between us, making me shift my weight from one foot to the other.

“Mamá,” Hector whined. “I was going to pick you up from the airport.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking a car,” she said.

“And you lied to me about what time your flight was coming in.”

“Well, how else was I going to manage to get a car? You are too busy. I wasn’t going to bother you.” She playfully palmed his cheeks twice. “I’m starving,” she said. “Let’s go out to lunch.”

“I’ll be heading home,” I said. “Marisela, it was so nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your time in Kansas City.”

She turned to me and pinned me with a look of warning. “No. You must join us.”

“I can’t . . .” I said as I looked down and pulled on the hem of the ratty old workout t-shirt I had worn in preparation for sweating and heavy lifting.

“Oh, you both can go as you are. We aren’t going anywhere fancy.”

“That’s right,” Hector said. “Mom loves going to American chain cafés when she’s in the states.”

“I do,” she said. “Please join us.”

There was no way out of this lunch. I wasn’t supposed to meet his mother. My part of the deal was to help him get ready for her arrival, not to meet her. Still, I couldn’t stop grinning.

We drove separately so I could make my escape after lunch and give them time to catch up. When we got to the café, Hector ordered our food at the counter. Marisela and I settled in at a corner table with a view of the patio.

“So,” she said, “how long have you been working with my son?”

“A few months.”

“Is he a good boss?”

“He’s okay,” I said, surprising myself.

She laughed. “I value honesty.”

I smiled at her. Hector brought us our coffee after placing our order. “You two talking about me?” he asked.

“We wouldn’t dare,” his mom said.

“So,” I said. “Where in Mexico do you live?”

“Oaxaca,” she said.

I expected Hector to have grown up in Mexico City for some reason. “And do you like it there? I’ve never been,” I said.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Beautiful people and beautiful food. Whenever you want, you have a home there,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Do you have any suggestions on things to do while I’m here?” she asked.

“Let’s see . . . if you are interested in art, I suggest the Nelson-Atkins Museum. You wouldn’t think it of Kansas City, but we have a rather spectacular collection, including a Caravaggio.” I didn’t know where I pulled that suggestion from. I’d only been to the museum once and only knew about the Caravaggioin the collection because Mandy wouldn’t shut up about it.I guess I was trying to impress her.

“I was thinking something more . . . casual?” she suggested.

That took me aback. I had always assumed Hector came from money. I expected his mother to be cultured and want to see the more elegant aspects of the city. I certainly didn’t expect her to ask for casual ideas.

“Um—well, not far from that museum is a beautiful rose garden,” I said, hoping she would be satisfied with that answer.

“I love roses,” she said with a sparkle to her eye. “Maybe Hector can take me there tomorrow.” She looked at her son expectantly.

“Of course, Mom. Whatever you like.”

We had a pleasant and superficial conversation the rest of our lunch until Hector had to take a call from one of his residents about a patient. He stepped outside for privacy, leaving me alone with his mother. I didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I thought I would.

“Okay, now that we have a minute alone, I’d like to talk with you about Hector,” Marisela said, peering out the window to confirm that Hector wasn’t yet coming back from his call.

“I’m not sure—”

“I like the way he looks at you,” she said.

“What?”

“He hasn’t smiled like this in years,” she said. “I’d like to thank you for that.”

“Oh. Please don’t get the wrong impression—”

“Don’t worry.” She cut me off. “I know you aren’t together. But when you haven’t seen your son happy for many long years, believe me, you will grasp at anything that brightens his life.”

Hadn’t been happy for years? What was she talking about?

“You don’t know anything about the state of his marriage, do you?” Her eyes narrowed.

I only shook my head. She turned once again to peek out the window, then returned her attention to me. “Hector is too stubborn to let go of the past. I’m sure he hasn’t told you.”

“Told me what?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Oh, a great many things. For example, I don’t think he has told you he has been separated from his wife for a couple of years now.”

My hands got clammy, and I wiped them on my jeans, grasping at the cool fabric. I wasn’t sure Hector would want me to know these profoundly personal details.

Why was Marisela telling me all this? The thought of Hector being available sent my head spinning, but separated or not, he was still married. To me, there wasn’t much difference between being separated and being married. Nothing could come from Marisela’s revelation.

“I can tell by your reaction that I was right. He hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“Marisela, I don’t know if he’d want me to know—”

“I want you to know,” she said. “Andrea is a good woman. She knows about you.”

“What?” Blood pounded in my ears. How in the hell did his wife know about me? If I hadn’t been sitting down, I would have lost my balance at Marisela’s words. Suddenly, I was joining Marisela in her paranoid checks for Hector outside.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “She is glad Hector has found someone who makes him happy.” Marisela studied me for a moment as I digested her words. “And,” she added, “I think she also hopes that his finding someone else means he’ll finally agree to the divorce.”

I was dazed, and my head swam. Surely, this is what was meant by an out-of-body experience. Not only did his wife know about me, for some reason, but she was discussing me with his mother. This was all too weird.

“Few marriages can make it through the tragedy of losing a child. I’m sure you know what happened.”

I nodded, still wordless. I didn’t know the details, but I knew their son had died.

“Andrea became very depressed. The poor thing. It’s understandable. She ended up drinking and having to go to a rehabilitation center. Don’t worry. She’s doing much better now. But even before his marriage, my son had led a tough life.”

The revelations about Hector were coming in waves, and I was growing uncomfortable at knowing so many details about a life which he clearly wanted to keep private. I had never imagined he’d had a hard life prior to the tragedy of losing his son.

“We were very poor when he was growing up. I’m sure you can imagine, for a poor, brown kid from Mexico to make it as far as he has in life, it took a lot. He’s always had to fight. I tell you this because I think it is important for you to understand his character. He doesn’t know how to not fight, or how to stop once he’s started.”

I couldn’t believe he had come from nothing. I had always assumed he was from an upper-class Mexican home. I’d convinced myself he’d grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Though his mother didn’t give many details, I understood that being poor in Mexico was much more dire than being poor in the United States. My heart constricted at the thought of a little boy balancing grade school and work—selling things or stealing things. Did he go hungry? Had they even had basic utilities when he was little? I couldn’t have been more wrong about him. He was what he was because he made himself from the ground up. No one handed anything to him. He had every right to be as proud as he was.

“Why are you telling me all this? It really seems very private to Hector.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I tell you because he never would.”

I nodded again, this time egging her on. She nervously glanced out the window to ensure Hector was still on his call. We had precious little time now.

“Still,” Marisela said, “even though her mental health has improved, Andrea could only repair things with Hector at the expense of her sobriety. She is not willing to make that sacrifice, and so Hector has stayed away. At first, he held onto the hope that time would heal their relationship, but Andrea is moving on. Hector needs to also. You understand?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted.

“She’s asked him for a divorce many times over the last two years, but he always refuses.”

“He still loves her,” I said.

“No.” Her forehead scrunched up a bit. “He doesn’t love her. He will always care about her, but the romantic love they shared is gone. For both of them.”

“Then, why won’t he give her the divorce she wants?”

“You’ve met my son, right?” She laughed. “He’s got some ego in him. He believes himself to be perfect, and a perfect man wouldn’t get a divorce. He won’t admit defeat.”

“So it’s pride?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it’s pride but also something more. He took his vows very seriously, Carolina. Even now that he has met you, he is battling himself to let go of his past. The vows he has made to his first wife are still important to him, even if he isn’t in love with her anymore. She is also the mother of his only child. He’s having a hard time releasing his responsibility for her.”

Hector joined us back at the table, and I couldn’t ask her any of my million questions.

I had been so wrong about him and what I thought he cared about. I had misjudged him, and I had no right to. Marisela was obvious with her intent. I knew a Mexican mother matchmaker when I saw one. She took one look at me, like Ramiro’s mom used to look at me, and decided I was meant for her son.

If Hector was indeed engaged in an internal battle to let go of the past, I couldn’t be the one to nudge him in the opposite direction. While I wasn’t too concerned about getting married, I knew if I ever did, it would be for life—no matter what. I understood Hector’s demons now, and I couldn’t stand between him and Andrea, despite what Marisela wanted. This was Hector’s life, and he had to live with his own choices.

“I’m taking some time off,” he said slowly as if he were trying to get my attention.

I focused on his words. “Okay,” I said. “Going anywhere fun?” I sipped on my coffee.

“Yeah. I’ll show mom around here for a few days, then I’m taking her to Colorado Springs before she heads back home. I’ve never been, and I think she would enjoy it.”

“Colorado Springs is great,” I managed to say.

As we said our goodbyes, Marisela drew me down to her level to embrace me. I returned the hug, and she whispered in my ear. “Give some thought to what I said.”