Mine

Chapter 1.

"Hun, take the pillows in my bed, I know how much you love those." Says mom with a tear running down her cheek. "I just- I'm so proud of you but I want you close to me, can you not move?" She asks while getting a tissue out of the box.

My mom. Oh Jesus, how do I even begin explaining her role in my life? Yes, of course, she's my mom. But she's been more than that. She's my best friend. My whole life I've been expected to be all A's, yes, but my mom has always wanted me to do more, to be me.
Through my anxiety growing up, being haunted by my dad's expectations and my little sister looking up to me, having a mother that secretly wants me to go out there and live my life as a whole different human being, has helped. A lot.

"Mom, it's okay, I have my own, remember?" I say while hugging her.

"Well yeah, but I know you always wanted these, so have them. It's an order." She says with a hard New Jersey accent.

She was young mother. When she was 10, she moved to New Jersey cause Cuba had it rough, and her family wanted better. By 15, she started going out with my dad, and as her sweet sixteen she got the huge surprise of getting pregnant. Hell, she went through a lot, without the support of my grandparents, she had to move to my dad's place. After I was born, my grandparents kind of collected their shit and went to give her full support. My mom still thinks it was just because of the little baby -yes, me- and not for her, she says they still see her as a huge disappointment.

"So, you're visiting every weekend, right? You know I'm still working on that internship and I don't know if I'll get paid to be able to come visit." I say as I stand up to go to her room to get the pillows.

"Yes, Em, trust me, I'll be there as much as I can." I hear as I come back to my room. "Also, your father said he will be sending you some cash every month."

"Yeah I know, but that's for the rent and the services. Thankfully I'm close to the center so I won't have to spend so much on-" I have to shut up immediately as my mom makes a sign of silence placing her index on her lips.

"What? What is it?" I whisper.

"It's your dad, he's home." I'm officially confusion right now.

My mom notices my face, so she says "He thinks we're at the mall."

I giggle very quietly.

So my parents... They fight most of the time. But I can't complain 'cause they also love me to death. They can be goofy too, as you can tell.

"I'm going upstairs if you need anything! Just be careful, they could be home any minute" I hear my dad basically shout at someone.

"What did he say?" My mom asked in a whisper even though we both know what we heard.

"Mom wait, don't jump into conclusions." I say as I get out of the room to come downstairs and check the whole house.

"Emma!" I hear my dad's voice all happy behind me, making me turn around to face him.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Oh, well, you weren't supposed to hear..." He says without even looking at me.

My dad. Santiago García. A hard working colombian. You must be wondering: how did two latinos met in the US, and how did they manage to get me to be born in Colombia? Well, let me tell you. My dad was in the US to study. He had earned a scholarship somewhere near New Jersey, but after just three months of seeing my mom, he knocked her up. Thankfully, his parents were understanding and welcomed my mom to their home. In Colombia. So my dad had to give it all up for her and go back to his hometown.
After a year, and with a two-month old baby, my mom's parents decided to go to Colombia and see how she was living. They ended up bringing her back to the US. So if I know anything about my latin culture, it's all on my parents, 'cause I could only live in Colombia my first two months. But it's cool 'cause I still visit. I love it.