Indivisible: Part Two

They slept at a hostel for a couple of nights while they figured out what to do.

There were people who had threatened to kill him if he ever went back, so he had to go to Canada instead and ask for asylum.

There’s always homemade food, and presents, and multiple renditions of “Las Mañanitas,” the Mexican version of “Happy Birthday.”

The feeling of heartbreak stays with me until dinnertime. It’s only made worse by the fact that Jorge came home from work looking a little flustered.

She holds her fork and knife delicately, eating small pieces of chicken.

I’m reminded of the reasons Ma used to say that Amy made her think of a robot—her slow, calculated movements, her way of speaking in a monotone, the way her eyes don’t light up even when she smiles.

It’s been a long time since I’ve heard Pa get excited about a job opportunity. All the other ones have led nowhere, so I can’t blame him for feeling a little apathetic at this point.

Kimmie’s face crumples up into a grimace.

We walk quickly, decisively, Kimmie always one step ahead of me.

“Well, I feel like people are always trying to tell me who to be. They’re always dumping their expectations on me about how I should behave, or how I should think, just because I’m Asian.” She scoffs.

Now that Adam’s text has brought adrenaline rushing through my veins, a part of me wonders if I should just head right back to the bodega and finish my shift.

I join Kimmie and Darryl in their standing ovation, telling myself that I’ll be happy for Adam, because he deserves this, and because if it was me up on that stage instead of him, he would be cheering me on, clapping for me until his hands turned red.

Looking into his eyes, I realize there’s a bit of green in them. Not a lot—just speckles here and there, which I had never noticed in the three years I’ve known him.

This moment feels intimate, like the curtain has been drawn, and Adam and I are the only two people left on the stage, the only two people left in the world.

Just getting ready for the matinee show, he says.

“We’re all trying our best,” Jorge says. “Even him. I know Ernesto’s methods aren’t always conventional, but—”
“Conventional? None of this has ever been conventional—starting with the fact that you and I had to become parents to two more kids almost overnight.”

I thought about it briefly—asking Adam if we could stay at his place instead of imposing on Kimmie’s family, but his apartment is already crowded enough as it is.

I learn that Mrs. Reid likes to paint, and she sits by the window in the living room each morning, filling canvases with beautiful images of lakes and mountains and forests, which she later sells.

There’s a little plaque that reads RESERVED on our table, but it’s not like we needed it anyway. All the booths around us are empty.

“I—I can’t find her!” Maria says frantically.

I’m not sure if she’s been running or if she’s just so agitated that she can’t even breathe, but slowly, she starts to get the words out.

As I push my way past groups of people, all I can think about is Sophie’s black hair. I look for it everywhere—in the long lines at ticket machines, in the throng of people walking up and down the stairs, and among the crowds that move quickly throughout the station.

I can feel a hundred judgmental gazes on me, but no one tries to help.

The boardwalk is right behind us, and straight ahead is an endless expanse of water.

As she and I sit down on a towel, with Pa and Ma smiling on the phone, I can’t help but think that, after all those times Ma told us to be strong and brave, that’s exactly what we’ve become. And no matter how hard they tried to separate us, how much the distance hurt, or how it nearly broke us, we are really, truly indivisible.