Eliana

“ W hat are the odds I convince you to be my wing woman this weekend?” Nicole walks into my room with an excited look on her face. “I’m thinking we start at Club Café and end at Dani’s.”

“Hmm that depends. Will I be playing the role of your jealous ex-girlfriend to get you out of painful conversations?” I snicker.

“You only had to do that once ,” she protests.

“And I ended up getting kicked out of the bar because the girl flirting with you thought I was a crazy stalker who couldn’t let you go!

” The worst part was I had been tossed out before I could grab my coat.

If not for the shots I had taken forming an invisible liquor jacket I would’ve frozen my ass off.

“Don’t act like you didn’t have fun. I even got you on the dance floor!”

“I honestly don’t remember the last time I’ve gotten that drunk.” I remembered the hangover, though. It was not pretty.

“Sounds like the perfect reason to say yes then.” Nicole throws my closet door open and pulls out a hanger. “You still haven’t worn out this cute little black dress you thrifted?”

“Ugh I know it’s practically screaming at me to be worn out.”

“Perfect. So then Saturday’s a date?”

“Yes! Absolutely. Let me just double-check my calendar…” Ah shit. “Dammit. I’m already booked. I’m watching Kai.”

Nicole’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I thought you had weekends off from nannying?”

“Normally yes, but they’re going to an anniversary dinner and their backup babysitter dropped out last minute. I couldn’t say no.” I mean I probably could’ve, but I loved seeing little Kai babble new words and getting his bearings running around the apartment.

“Well at least you ended up dropping that tutoring gig. You were spreading yourself way too thin.”

“About that…” I wince, preparing for Nicole’s scolding. That was the thing about living with your best friend: they look you in the eye and tell you the cold, hard truth whether you want to hear it or not. Or at least that’s how Nicole and I operated.

“I have a bad feeling I’m not going to like this.” Nicole sits on my bed, crossing her arms.

“Violet, didn’t he show up thirty minutes late and ask you to do his homework for him?”

“Yes...except I may have left out the part where I still agreed to be his tutor despite all of that.” I give Nicole a sheepish smile, hoping she’ll go easy on me.

“I’m sorry, say that again. I must have misheard you.”

“I said I’m Jake’s tutor.”

“Well Jake is a very common name. This simply must be a different Jake than the one you ranted about for three hours?—”

“Two hours?—”

“For three hours to me a few days ago. It has to be someone else. A different Jake. Either that or you managed to give yourself a minor concussion that also comes with amnesia. Or maybe you’re really sick and hallucinating.

That could also be it.” She shakes her head before walking over to me, pretending to check my vitals.

“Don’t worry, if you’re coming down with something, I can take you to the hospital. ”

“Are you done now?” I roll my eyes, batting her hand away.

“I am satisfied for the moment, yes. Please continue.”

“It’s the same Jake I spent three hours venting to you about.

And before you give me too much shit for it, you should’ve seen his face when he realized I was serious.He just looked so helpless and I…

I just caved, okay?” I drag my hands over my face, too embarrassed to face Nicole, who I know was trying her best not to look at me with pity.

She never had any issues telling people no or actually keeping the boundaries she put in place.

Me, on the other hand…”I’m an absolute sucker, aren’t I? ”

“No, you’re not. You just have a soft heart for anyone who's had it rough and a tendency to spread yourself too thin to try help everyone you think needs saving instead of imposing boundaries for yourself.”

“Damn. You sound a lot like my therapist.”

“Well maybe you should listen to both of us and give yourself a break. Starting with pulling out of this tutoring gig. Seriously, I don't know how you’re managing to stay afloat with all the different things you’re juggling right now.”

“Lots of coffee. And spite.” It’s amazing how caffeine and an immense desire to prove people wrong can really drive a person.

“I’m serious, Ellie. I’m worried you’re going to burn yourself out if you keep going like this. ”

I shrug. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. It’s not the first time I’ve had to juggle working several jobs and a bunch of different classes in my life, and it probably won’t be the last.”

Nicole shoots me an empathetic look. “And I’m guessing you still have to send money to your mom?”

Attending one of the most elite (and expensive) private universities in Boston has only been made possible due to a combination of scholarships, loans, and work study appointments.

Finances were tight but manageable if I was only worried about myself.

The main issue was also having to worry about my family.

Once my dad left, my mom picked up as many odd jobs as she could find.

That left me to take care of my baby sister, Josie.

Where I was quiet and often too scared to speak up for myself, Josie was loud, defiant, and a force to be reckoned with.

She was also the best listener, despite being ten years old.

I think she realized early on that since our mom was stretched to thin to handle our finances, that I would the primary caregiver emotionally.

I may have been too young to pay the bills, but I was the one who made sure Josie was fed, got to school on time, and completed her homework.

As soon as I was old enough to get a job and contribute to our family I did.

While my mom still worked wherever she could, most of the gigs she found were part-time, or paid so poorly she was living paycheck to paycheck.

After my first semester at Westchester, I realized the only way I could afford to pay my own bills while still helping my mom was to pick up extra side jobs.

Anything I made from nannying or tutoring was sent to my mom, while the work-study money I earned as a research assistant was mine.

Most days it felt like the only thing that was mine was my research.

The first place where I ever felt fully listened to and supported unconditionally .

“Of course I’m still sending money home. I want to help out and have the means to, so why shouldn’t I?” I felt a sense of responsibility to help make my mom’s life easier. Make Josie’s life easier.

“Do you think you could tell your mom that money is tight right now? “

My stomach drops at the thought. My relationship with my mom was a bit more complex than some, though very common amongst other second-generation immigrants.

I was your classic angsty teenager grappling with the identity crisis that came with being raised by a Middle Eastern parent while growing up in American culture.

As a kid, I would get annoyed having to translate my school documents for her or explain common phrases, jokes, and pop culture moments most other parents seemed to know.

But the older I got, the more I understood the magnitude of all she had sacrificed in her life for me and my sister — immigrating to America, barely knowing the man she was marrying, and unable to speak any English when she first arrived.

It was exceptionally difficult for her to land a job or even make friends.

She was all alone and yet she persevered.

The years after my dad had left my mom was like a candle that had been left on overnight — melted to the core with nothing much left of herself.

Which is why I still sent money home to tide them over.

And also called them every night to check in.

“I could….in theory tell my mom I can’t send money anymore. Maybe.”

Except it wasn’t just my mom I had to think about, it was also Josie.

Leaving my little sister for college was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, but I knew I needed to do it.

I had never done anything for myself until I decided to go to Westchester.

When it was time for me to start college, she assured me she was fine on her own. I wasn’t entirely convinced.

Nicole sighs, “I get it. It’s hard to feel like you’ll ever be able to pay her back for all she’s had to sacrifice. It’s not just the money we have to think about.”

And this is why I loved Nicole. She understood me as a person, and she knew what it was like to feel the same pressures that I did.

Nicole’s parents immigrated from Cuba when she was seven years old.

I’d been assigned to show her around the school and the rest was history.

Initially we bonded over our love for The Lion King and over time we connected over experiences other kids in our grade knew nothing about.

Like the way we would translate bills and school documents as best as we could for our parents every night.

Or how they would ask us to proofread any emails they had to send to their coworkers to make sure there weren't any major typos. The way you would feel everyone’s eyes on you in the grocery store whenever your parents spoke to you in their native language.

Our parents may not have been raised in the same country, but there’s a shared bond and understanding between most immigrants who left everything they had in hopes of making their children’s lives a little better.

And a shared understanding among children of immigrants that our successes weren’t just made on our own— they were made off the sacrifices of our parents.

We knew that one day we would be able to thank them for allowing us to have access to more opportunities than we could have ever imagined.

One day their sacrifices would be worth it.

One day they would pay off. Which is why it was so hard for me to tell my mother no.

How could I when deep down I knew I wouldn’t have anything in my life if it wasn’t for her?

Nicole ends the silence that’s consumed our apartment. “Well if not this weekend, maybe we can have a girls night out next week? You and me are gonna paint the town red.”

“That sounds like a plan, but until then…” I trail of f, my eyes catching on the stack of books and half-completed homework assignments.

“Until then, we figure out how to make it to the end of this week alive.”

“How many all-nighters do you think we’re going to have to pull?”

“Too many, Eliana. Too many.”