A Song in the Daylight. Paullina Simons
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so transparent that recently Larissa had started asking her the exact opposite of what she wanted. “Wear a jacket, it’s freezing out.” “No, I’m fine. It’s not that cold, Mom.” “Em, don’t wear a coat today, it’s supposed to be warm.” “Are you kidding me? You want me to freeze to death?”
Michelangelo had manifest gifts of artistic ability. A note from his first grade art teacher read: I think he is showing real promise. He drew a donkey in geometric shapes, even the tail. Kandinsky by a six-year-old. Or was it just his name that fooled his parents into delusions of gifts? Che was wrong about him. He might not have been an angel, with his obdurate nature and single-minded pursuit of his own interests, but he sure looked like an angel, with his cherubic halo of blond curly hair and sweetest face.
No one was particularly sure what Asher did. Today he played guitar, yesterday took karate, tomorrow would run track. Or maybe not. Asher spent every day just being in it, and when it came to New Year’s resolutions he was the one who could never think of anything to write because he would say, “I don’t want to change anything. I have a perfect life.” He was the one who a month ago, at almost thirteen, refused to make a Christmas list because, as he chipperly put it, “I really don’t want that much.” He wanted one thing: an electric miniscooter. If Larissa and Jared could have, they would’ve gotten him the scooter in every color available, black, lime, lilac and pink. Here, we couldn’t decide which color to get for you, have all four of them, Merry Christmas, darling. The blood of angels flowed through Asher’s veins. He should’ve been named Angel.
Jared maintained Asher resembled Larissa in temperament and looks. Larissa knew: only in looks. Emily, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with being in any way like her mother, perming her hair, coloring it blue. Larissa was usually impeccably put together; Emily made a point of looking like hardcore indie Seattle grunge. Larissa didn’t play any musical instruments, Emily did. Larissa loved theater, Emily hated it. Larissa frowned for Emily’s sake, but shrugged for everyone else’s. If that’s rebellion, I’ll take it, she said. I’d rather blue hair than grandchildren.
Larissa wished Che could know her children. She missed Che. They grew up together in Piermont, had known each other since they were three or four. Larissa loved Che’s mother, a funny little lady who smoked a ton and cooked great. They were always broke, but somehow Mrs. Cherengue found the money to ship Che’s dad’s body back to Manila. The mother and daughter flew to the Philippines for the funeral. That was fifteen years ago. Larissa was barely pregnant with Emily. She was devastated and sore for years. How could you leave me, Che? What about us living parallel lives? What about us seeing each other every day? What about our friendship?
But Che remained in Manila (“It feels a little bit like home, Lar, what can I say?”), and then her mother got sick and died. Larissa cried for months after she heard. Larissa’s own mother, Barbara Connelly, said, “I hope you’re going to cry like this when I kick the bucket.” That comment went pointedly unanswered.
Che had already met Lorenzo by the time her mother died. So now she lived in Parañaque, without her mother, hiring out her passionate protesting, waiting for Lorenzo to propose and give her a baby, not necessarily in that order.
Che came to her house one morning. I’m in trouble, Lar. I’m in deep deep trouble. Larissa was a senior, Che a junior. Seventeen, sixteen, going on too adult. I’m pregnant.
No. Are you sure?
I’m positive.
Oh, please no. Are you sure?
I’m completely positive. I’m two weeks late. I’m never late. What am I going to do?
Don’t worry. We’ll fix it. Whatever happens.
No, you don’t understand.
I do. It’s bad. But it’ll be okay.
Lar, it’s the single worst thing that can happen to me. Honestly. What am I going to tell my mother? She’ll kill me.
No. Your mother? Never. She’s a sweetheart. And why would you tell her?
Oh, Larissa. My family is not your family. I tell my mother things.
No, not this. Especially not this.
Well, what am I going to do? She’s going to have to know eventually.
Why? I’m serious. Why will she have to know? We’ll go to Planned Parenthood. They’ll help us. You’ll see. Your mom will never have to know.
Planned Parenthood costs money.
Don’t worry. I’ll … I’ll help you. But we have to go there quick. Get a test.
Lar, a test? And then what? I can’t have … I can’t do it. Don’t you understand? I’m not like you. I’m Catholic. I can’t do it.
Well, what are you going to do? You gonna be Catholic, or you gonna be smart?
Why can’t I be both?
Choose, Che.
I can’t. All I know is I can’t have this baby. But also, I can’t not have this baby.
That’s what I’m saying. I’ll get the money together.
How much you think it’s going to be?
Over three hundred dollars.
Che cried. Where am I going to get that kind of money?
I’ll give it to you. I have it. I have it saved up.
How am I going to pay you back?
Don’t worry.
How did you save that much money?
Little by little. Dollar by dollar. Took me four years.
Oh, Larissa.
It’s okay. That’s what it’s for. I didn’t know what I was saving for. But I knew I would need it for something.
I can’t take your money.
To save yourself?
Save myself for the short term, burn in hell for eternity.
Che, you’re not going to burn in hell. Who told you this? Larissa appraised Che, contemplated her. I didn’t know you and Maury went that far, she finally said.
Che wouldn’t look at Larissa. We didn’t. With a fake-casual shrug at Larissa’s startled face. Oh, last month, during spring break, remember Nuño?
No, I don’t remember Nuño!
Yeah, me neither. It wasn’t meant to be. Just a fun few hours.
Maury was Che’s boyfriend, her high school sweetheart. They were going to the junior prom next month. Yet there it was.
Oh.
I know. I told you it’s no good.
You can’t tell this to your mother, Che. You can never tell her.
She’ll know.
She won’t.
God will know, said Che, bending over her hands, on the stoop of Larissa’s quiet Piermont house. They were going to be late for school half an hour ago. It was a sunny morning.
You’ll be fine, said Larissa. You’ll be okay. You’ll see. You can’t have a baby at sixteen. That’s all there is to it. There’ll be plenty of time to have a baby. But we’ve got big plans after high school, after college. We’re going to travel the world. We’re going to go live in Rome and teach English as a second language.