Indivisible: Part One

I’ve been helping Ma and Pa at the bodega for a couple of years now, but I only took over the task of restocking the shelves last summer.

He didn’t even mention all the weekend workshops he’s been to, or the other conservatory he did last year at a different acting studio.

If there is one thing I like about winter, it’s that the cold air somehow neutralizes the smells of the city, but when I take a long breath, I’m pretty sure I catch the stench of trash somewhere nearby.

Ma makes a bigger meal than usual, which feels almost like a subtle sign that we’re celebrating something.

Sophie bends over, and I worry that she’s going to throw up right there on the street. I instinctively reach for her, putting an arm over her shoulder.

For a couple of minutes, I’m too lost in my own thoughts, but then, inevitably, I notice that Kimmie is practically glowing, and not just because of the electric-yellow top she’s wearing.

It could just be Mrs. Solís again, but deep down, I know I can’t be that naive. Whoever knocked must’ve come for a good reason.

It’s so ironic that all I’ve been doing is worry about them—where they are, how they’re doing, what’s going to happen to them. It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be asking themselves the exact same questions about Sophie and me.

My voice comes out shrill.

My parents used to be devout Catholics.

Ma and Pa felt like they had to choose between their gay son and their religion, since they couldn’t find a way to reconcile both.

Some of them pretend that they’re here to buy something, and then they start a casual conversation when they’re at the checkout counter.

“I shouldn’t meddle,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. But I do want to say this: I have never regretted asking for help when I needed it. Sometimes, the only way to be strong is to let someone else carry some of the weight with you. Just something for you to think about.”

His room is like mine on steroids—there’s so much Broadway memorabilia that you can’t even see the color of the walls.

Now they bring food, and leather, and all sorts of other stuff over from Italy, and acting and singing aren’t relevant skills for the job.

I’m lathering my arms with a sponge, my hair covered in shampoo, when all of a sudden I hear it—a loud, piercing scream.

My heart hurts when I see Ma’s good shoes, and her chanclas, and Pa’s loafers, but I don’t have time to get nostalgic.

Having never met my own grandfathers, he looks to me like a stereotypical grandpa in the making: round glasses, hunched shoulders, wrinkles around his eyes.

I know he’s working pro bono, so he’s not making a penny out of this, but I also kinda hoped that he would be a bit more energetic.

Mr. Wilkins raises his eyebrows, listening intently.

He does his best to remain composed, and he manages to do it pretty well. He keeps his expression neutral, his tone always measured and polite, and I struggle a bit as I watch Pa turn into this artificial version of himself.

I feel stifled, like I’m being choked.

I put a hand on my stomach, preparing for his retaliation, but then he clears his throat.

“We will reconvene tomorrow at ten AM. Court is adjourned.”

“We will reconvene tomorrow at ten AM. Court is adjourned.”

While I shove my phone back in my pocket, I catch a snippet of what Kimmie and Adam are saying.

Despite the fact that I feel as though the whole world is spinning, I’m able to formulate a single clear thought inside my mind: Sophie.

I look around, feeling disoriented. I can hardly remember how I got here, let alone the fact that I’m supposed to be with Kimmie and Adam.

When I walk in, the first thing I notice is how quiet the apartment is. The air feels heavy and grim. Someone may as well have died.

I don’t know what it is—if it’s the fact that we’re talking about her, or divine intervention, or just coincidence—but my phone rings in that moment.