Page 21 of The Right Garza

I wake up toa noisy house.

Shrieking kids, slamming doors, clanging of pots and pans. Ah, Saturday mornings at the Mendez house. Oh, how I misseth thee—not.

Rolling over in Mama’s bed, I stretch, twist, and yawn. I have a foggy memory of her kissing my forehead and telling me she was heading out and that I should come to the restaurant for breakfast when I’m up.

With another lazy yawn, I get out of bed and promptly begin making it, folding the duvet just beneath the pillows, the way she prefers it. Mama never leaves her bed unmade.

Donning my shoes, I exit the room and am almost bowled over in the hallway by one of the kids.

“Sorry!”

Another crashes into the other. “It’s Aunty Lexi! It’s Aunty Lexi!”

I’m not their aunt, but as far as they’re concerned, every adult in the family who isn’t their “Mama” or “Papa,” is “Aunty” or “Uncle.”

“Hi, Aunty Lexi!”

And then I’m swarmed. Hugged, crowded, and bombarded with questions. I have nothing to give them, and it makes me sad. I’m the “Aunty” who always shows up with cool gifts.

Before I’m able to extricate myself from them, I dig out the last bit of loose cash I have in my back pocket—two hundred and seventy-five dollars—and tell them to split it up among themselves.

And then I was out of there.

I cross the street to the two-story craftsman-style home I spent a lot my formative teenage years in, with four hellion boys and their spoiled, screaming baby sister. It’s one of the nicest houses on this street, towering over our single-story Victorian cottage.

I’m about to use the brass lion head knocker when I remember that Trent gave me a key last night. It’s still early, and I don’t want to wake Monica if she’s still asleep, so I pat myself down for the key and find it tucked into the front pocket of my jeans.

Letting myself in, I inhale with a sigh. The Garza home still smells the same. Like green leaves and rain. As I walk around, touching surfaces, I notice that while the smell is the same, a lot of interior remodeling has been done and adapted to more modern styles. It’s nice, aesthetic and tasteful, but the homey feeling I remember is gone. It feels somewhat cold now,empty. Which I suppose it is, in a way.

I don’t get to mourn the loss, though, because Monica saunters into the open-plan kitchen just then.

“Lexi! You’re here.”

Warm, welcoming, and graceful are three words that come to mind whenever I think about Monica Garza. Tough when she needs to be, but kind and nurturingalways. Jamaican born, she stands tall at about six feet, with a rich, deep-amber complexion and soft brown eyes.

I slap my palm over my mouth. “Can I go freshen up and come right back? I’ve got morning breath and I stink.”

“Of course. Go, go. I’m just about to make breakfast.”

I scurry off to the guest bedroom where my suitcases are deposited at the foot of the bed. I fetch out my toiletry pack and head straight for the bathroom.

Showered and dressed in a fresh change of clothes, I feel more awake and people-ready as I amble out into the house. Monica is in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

“Okay, I’m clean and huggable now,” I say.

Laughing, she turns away from the stove and pulls me into a hug. “It’s really great to have you here again, Lexi.”

“I’m happy to be here.” We break apart. “I was supposed to come over last night, but they got a hold of me. I drank one too many beers and crashed in Mama’s bed.”

She chuckles and shifts back to the stove to flip her fritters. “Well, if there’s one thing the Mendez family knows how to do, it’slive.”

I help myself to a cup of coffee. “Yeah…but sometimes I wish they would do more.”

“There’s nothing better than a content man, Lexi,” she tells me. “People who can be content and joyful even while having little or nothing at all are to be envied. Real contentment is not an easy thing to come by, no matter how much wealth or ‘things’ one has.”

I shrug and take a sip of coffee. “Is Tillie still asleep?”

“She should be up, but she takes forever to come out of her room in the mornings. She spends twenty minutes just to ‘do’ her eyebrows alone. And then there’s the fake eyelashes.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “You girls these days.”