The first night, Camila makes them all congri.
She'd already been making it, already gone through the effort of soaking the beans overnight. Vee doesn't tear up when she cuts onions, so she's usually in charge of the sofrito. Camila is in charge of the long process of boiling, but they're out of sazón completa, so she hopes Luz doesn't notice the difference. It probably won't matter.
Camila stands in the kitchen and looks out into the living room. There's her daughter. There's Luz.
It's not, however, her niñita. It's not la muñequita, with her chubby little cheeks and that sweet little laugh and a sparkle in her eyes ("Tu risa como un manantial..." Alberto had sung, holding their infant daughter in his arms.) This is Luz with a gap in the middle. A little light flickering off-on-off-on.
"Amor," she says, and her voice is not certain, and Luz looks up. Looks right through her. "The aguacates are ready. Would you... would everyone like some with dinner?"
Luz's friends all look at Luz, and as much as it pains her to feel proud when her baby is hurting, she does. She is. She's proud because Luz's friends trust her, and they love her, and Luz has good friends like she's always deserved.
"I don't know what you guys can eat here." Luz swallows hard, her eyes unfocus. She blinks and looks back at Camila. "We should try."
"Thank you Mrs. Noceda," come a chorus of mumbles.
Of course, Luz has found her people in another universe. It terrifies her, but Camila understands it for what it is. If only Luz had spent more time here, more time searching for the kids that watch the anime, or the ones that play that game so many mothers thought was demonic when Camila was young. Because Luz could have fit in with those kinds of kids. Luz could have been safe.
Instead, here sits her daughter, plastered with bandages from the mythical creature that lives in her home, surrounded by teenagers with real pointy ears, staring at a wall.
She doesn't know what else to do. So she cooks.
When Camila was little, when she'd been sick or sad or hurt-her mother had cooked for her.
When Santo Domingo was all she had known, and her father had told her they were moving to the States-her mother had cooked for her.
When the other kids in school bullied her in a language she didn't understand yet-her mother had cooked for her.
So she will cook for Luz, and the people who Luz has come home with, because Camila is her mother, and this is what mothers do.
The second night, Camila makes them all mofongo.
The other kids haven't said much, and now they're all wearing Luz's clothes to varying degrees of success, so things feel a little more normal. Vee has put on a documentary about different animals for them, and Camila sees them in front of the TV, but it doesn't look like they're really watching it.
Vee slides into the kitchen, sitting at the table to smash the boiled platanos. The heat doesn't hurt her hands, so she always volunteers because she enjoys the process and getting her hands dirty.
"Do we have any more of the rocky road? I think they might like ice cream if they tried it."
Camila looks up from her cutting. "I think so," she says while Vee roots around in the freezer. "Behind the yuca?"
Vee holds the carton up, triumphant.
Camila has only been buying rocky road. She buys it because it's Luz's favorite, and because when Luz comes home, she wants to make sure she has her favorite.
But Luz is home, now. After dinner, when Vee offers it, Luz declines.
Luz and her friends go up to her room then, and Vee helps Camila with the dishes.
She sits up in bed all night and wonders: her daughter is home, yes. But when will Luz come back?
The third night, Camila makes them all mangú.
It's tonight that she has a conversation with one of Luz's friends.
His name is Gus, and he's smaller than the others, which breaks Camila's heart. He has a sweet face that has seen too much, she thinks.
"I really like your house, Mrs. Noceda," he says, standing in the middle of the kitchen. He doesn't sound younger. He sounds certain, sure of himself in a way that reminds her of Luz, just a few years ago.
"You can call me Camila," she says, "and please, this is your house, too. For as long as you all need to stay."
Gus blinks up at her, eyes wide and tired and a little glassy. "Thank you." He smiles to himself, at her. "I see where Luz gets her generosity from."
It's such a sweet sentiment. He sounds certain of that, too. "That's very kind of you, Gus. Thank you."
He stays there in the kitchen while she cooks, looking around. He looks at the potato masher she's going to use for the platanos like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. It's just her and him in the kitchen-Vee having changed her form and walked down to the corner store for some pepper.
"Would you like to try it?"
He looks at her again, and all she sees is childlike wonder. It makes her happy to see that not all of it is gone.
She shows him how to mash the platanos into a puree, and he goes at it with such concentration, she's reminded of when she'd taught Luz to do the same thing.
The two of them used to have so much fun in the kitchen together, preparing this and that. She used to let Luz mix together whatever sauces she wanted from the refrigerator door to make "magic potions" in a bowl on the floor. Camila would always end up throwing it out when Luz would inevitably fall asleep on the couch.
When Luz was very little, Alberto would put her on his shoulders and pass her bits of the ingredients they were using while he helped in the kitchen. Most ended up in his hair.
She lets Gus work on the platanos, cutting a red onion by the sink with her back to him. She chooses the onion to cut first instead of the salami, because it'll make it easy to explain why she's crying.
The fourth night, Camila makes them all sancocho.
She's accompanied by Vee in the kitchen like usual as they wash the dishes, but this time there's another friend that joins them.
He's a little uncertain, standing in the doorway there.
"Do you need something from the kitchen, Hunter?" She asks, because the boy looks about ready to jump out of his skin. "We still have plenty of ice cream for dessert, or... whatever you need, please help yourself."
"I uh..." His eyes dart from the microwave to a cutting board to the fridge. He decides on the floor, and snaps his heels together, saluting. "Ma'am. Can I be of any assistance?"
She and Vee look at each other. Vee shrugs and wipes her hands on a towel, scooting away to the living room.
"Would you... like to dry the dishes?"
"Absolutely, ma'am."
"Hunter, you can all call me Camila, you know." She says, gently. There's something different about this boy. Something the other kids don't have. "I promise, if Luz has told you anything about la chancla, she's the only one who's getting it."
Maybe it's the wrong thing to say, but Hunter sidles up next to her, quietly taking up Vee's post.
Camila doesn't understand anything about the world they've all come from, but Luz has tried to explain it a handful of times in the past days.
"What kind of magic do you do?" She asks, and hopes it's the right question to ask.
He fumbles a plastic cup, and it clatters to the floor. "I'm so-I'm sorry. Sorry ma'am-Mrs. Camila-um." He shoots down to the floor, knocking his head on the counter as he does.
"Ay-honey, please be careful!" She doesn't know if it's okay to, so she just hovers a hand over his shoulder when he stands, his eyes trained on the counter. "It's okay. Please, we have about a hundred of those cups. You could have smashed it to bits for all I care."
He bites his lip, ventures a glance up at her. She smiles at him, hoping it'll help.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I promise."
He reminds her in this moment of the little dog her and Luz had found once, left on the side of the road. She'd pulled over immediately and picked it up to bring back to the clinic. But it had broken its back legs and it had shaken like a leaf in Luz's arms, and Luz had cried over it, and Camila had too. In the end, they'd gotten to it in time, and an elderly couple had adopted it and it had lived for many years, happy and healthy.
She would like that future for this boy, too.
"Would you like some rocky road?" She asks, and Hunter smiles.
The fifth night, Camila makes them all batidos de mamey for dessert.
Hunter and Gus have run through all of the ice cream, so she's left with two overripe mamey and a carton of milk as options.
When she sips hers, Luz's friend Willow looks at Camila like she's given her a winning lottery ticket.
"What did you say this was?" She asks, awestruck.
"Mamey," Camila says, "we had a tree in our backyard when I was little. It was my favorite fruit back then. I still love it."
"It grows on trees, just like it is?" Willow holds her cup up.
Camila picks up the other rough brown fruit and hands it to Willow. "Like this. You can cut it open and eat the fruit just like that. Or, make it into all sorts of things. Shakes have always been Luz's favorite."
Willow weighs the thing in her hand, still sipping her shake. "Why don't you have a tree here?"
"They don't grow in Connecticut," she explains. It had been one of the worst things about moving up here. "In the Dominican Republic, we had neighbors with mango trees, others with guayaba, and my grandparents' house had avocados and guanabana. You could walk down your street and come home with a whole basket of fruit for free."
"That sounds amazing," Willow says, wistfully. "I never knew how many plants the Human Realm had. Maybe I... never thought about it. Maybe I should have, with how much Gus talks about it..."
Every time one of the kids mentions the Human and Demon realms, Camila feels completely out of her depth. While she can understand that there are two distinct places, and that five out of the seven people in her home are from a place she'd only ever had nightmares of... It's still no easier to stomach.
"Can I try something?" Willow asks, considering the mamey.
"Will it break anything?"
Willow smiles, sheepish. "It shouldn't."
The girl goes to the backyard, and Camila watches her through the kitchen window. She sets the mamey down on the ground, and steps back. There's a green glow around her hands and eyes, and Camila's heart is about to give out at the sight, but then, like a real-life time-lapse video-there's a mamey tree in her backyard, just like when she was a kid.
Willow looks the thing up and down, and while Camila understands that these children are magical... she hasn't seen it until now.
"What do you think?" Willow asks once she's back inside.
It's still confusing, but Camila thinks that Luz's friends are kind and thoughtful. Just like Luz.
"It's beautiful," she says, still a little shocked, "Thank you, Willow."
The sixth night, Camila makes them all pollo guisado.
"Ms. Camila?"
It's a voice she hasn't heard much, but one she's wanted to get to know. She turns, and there's Amity in the doorway, wringing her hands together.
"Hello Amity-would you like to try this to see if it's seasoned well enough?"
"Oh, I wouldn't know-"
But Camila already has the spoonful ready, and Amity has cleaned her plate every single night since they arrived, so all things considered, Camila thinks it's a pretty tempting offer.
She takes the outstretched spoon, closing her eyes when she sips. "Wow that's-" She opens her eyes again, stands ramrod straight. "It tastes excellent, Ms. Camila."
Camila smiles at her daughter's girlfriend. "Praising my cooking will get you far with me, Amity."
This seems to relax her a bit. "Well... then you should know... um. I don't think I've ever eaten anything better in my whole life."
She knows Amity isn't lying. Mother's intuition, maybe?
"Thank you, sweetheart." She takes Amity's spoon from her and sets it in the sink. "Now, did you need something from me?"
"I, um," Amity begins, back to wringing her hands. "I don't think I ever thanked you-personally, I mean. For... you know, taking us in and everything?"
"There's no need. Luz's friends-and girlfriend-are welcome here." She smiles at Amity, and it looks like there's something else. So she asks, "There's something else though, isn't there?"
Amity sighs. "Um... I thought you might be able to help, being Luz's mom and all."
Camila sets her wooden spoon on its colorful ceramic holder and turns towards Amity, concerned. "Of course."
"Luz has been... distant. I mean, I... I understand why, but... I don't know what to do to help." Her voice shakes a little, and as concerned as she is, Camila can't help but be thankful that the girl Luz has chosen cares so deeply for her daughter. "She feels guilty. I know she does. But... I don't know. She shouldn't... but I can't say that to her. I can't-I won't ever tell her how to feel."
Camila thinks for a moment. She's been worried about it, too. Immensely grateful as she is to have Luz back, she's also been thinking quite a bit about what's changed in her daughter. At the dinner table, Luz's eyes are mostly downcast. She doesn't finish her food like she used to, she doesn't talk for hours upon hours like she used to, she doesn't have the same sparkle in her eyes, not like she used to. The same can probably be said for her friends, but Camila hasn't known them long. Whatever it is that they've gone through together-it's changed them all.
"You know," she starts, smiling against her worry. "Luz used to come up with all kinds of stories. She'd write them down and get so excited she'd just have to come down and read them to me. All sorts of things she was interested in. Things you probably know a lot about: magic, demons, spells-that sort of thing." She turns the stove off. "One day, she brought me a story that she was especially proud of. It was about a warrior who was fighting against a monster that could get inside of her head. It would remind the warrior about the friends that she had lost, and the sadness from those memories were what defeated the warrior every time.
I didn't realize it at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the monster was all her sadness about her..." Camila has to take a deep breath, has to wonder why it is she's laying all this on poor Amity. "About her father. She wrote that the warrior knew there was something she could have done to prevent losing those people. Luz never finished that story, but I still have the notebook."
"She's told me about him... she must have been so young."
Camila nods. "Four. I don't know what it was that made her believe this-but she's always thought there was something she could have done. That he'd still be here if she'd... I don't know what."
Amity looks like she's digesting the information. "But at four?"
"There was nothing anyone could have done. It's taken me years to understand that. But I'm not sure Luz ever has."
Amity looks her in the eyes, sad. Sadder than any fourteen year old should be. "I think you're right."
The seventh night, Camila orders them all take out.
It's Friday, and she's emotionally, physically, spiritually exhausted. It's been a long week at work, and a long week at home. Both rewarding, both draining.
There's a little more joy in the house, she thinks. Gus has started watching her vast collection of novelas on VHS in earnest, which Camila finds both confusing and amusing, because there are no subtitles. Vee knows a little Spanish now, and is parsing through what she can for him, to what sounds like little success.
While starting a garden is something Camila has always said she was going to do, now she doesn't have to. Willow has grown every fruit, herb, and vegetable they've eaten in the past week in the backyard. She spends most of her time there with Hunter, who's using Camila's library card to check out every single book on botany the Gravesfield branch has.
Amity spends a lot of time with Camila, making herself as useful as she possibly can, no matter how many times Camila begs her to relax. She'll mop the floors, wash the dishes, even dust the windowsills. It's sweet, she thinks. Sweet, too, that the time spent not trying to get into her good graces (not that she isn't already) is spent with Luz.
Luz, her daughter.
The one she's spent the least amount of time with.
Camila had known, that first night, that when Luz was ready she would come to her. She'd seen something in her daughter's eyes-something she hadn't wanted to approach. Under all that relief-my little girl is home safe-there's something brewing. Something that is terrifying, something that is changing.
When everyone else is occupied, it's relief that finds her when Luz walks into the kitchen, alone.
"Mom?"
Camila turns, and she sees Luz as much older than she is. "Hi my love," she says, and finds that she's treading carefully. "What's up?"
Luz has been all but a brick wall. Luz has been stoic and quiet and distant, and then-then she's crying, and Camila is dropping everything and running to her daughter, her baby, her little light.
"Mi amorcita, mi amor," she mumbles into the crown of Luz's head. They say the scent of you stays right there for your whole life. Camila thinks it's true-she remembers the way Luz smelled as a baby. Here, it's still the same. "Breathe, my love. Breathe."
There were so many moments when Luz was little where she'd work herself into a tizzy, wild and lightheaded and nauseous. It had happened on the first day of preschool, the first day of kindergarten, and then Alberto had died, and something in Luz had packaged that response up and hidden it away.
Here it is, back after a decade. Luz is heaving sobs into her shoulder, clutching at her jacket and Camila's heart is breaking over and over and over again. She will stay strong for Luz, because she has to. She will only cry because it is a necessary and sympathetic response to her baby hurting like she is. She will rock Luz until she can breathe again, and she will hold her until she knows that no matter how far she goes from home, home will always be here.
When Luz calms enough to sit at the table with her, Camila's first thought is: and I have been such a bad mother, I don't have a home-cooked meal for my daughter.
That's not what Luz needs, of course. Food isn't the cure-all that Camila's own mother had thought it was.
Luz needs support, like the kind that Camila had given when she'd held her hands as she'd taken her first steps. Like the kind that she'd given when she'd held her at the wake. Like the kind that she'd given when Luz had been turned down by a crush. Like now, when she's rubbing Luz's back, and Luz's head is in her hands.
"It's my fault they're here," Luz says into her hands, and her voice is thick with tears, and Camila just wants to hug her again. "I did this to them."
Camila considers this for a while, just running her hand over Luz's shoulders.
Finally, "Luz, do you remember that boy you made friends with in the first grade?"
It's a long moment of silence before Luz snorts. "Austin? Allan? Aiden?"
She's got her. Sometimes for her daughter, support comes in the form of a distraction.
Camila waves it off. "No me acuerdo. It doesn't matter. What I do remember is how you treated him. How he treated you."
Luz takes a deep breath, wiping at her eyes. "I gave him my whole Hot Wheels collection."
"And he...?"
"Threw gum in my hair in front of everyone at recess." Luz smiles humorlessly. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"
"'Perate," she scolds, "I'm getting to my very smart Mom Wisdom."
Luz shoots her a look, but doesn't say anything.
"You've always been a giving person, mija. A lot of times you give to people who don't deserve it. But your friends..." She points upstairs where they can hear the vacuum going, then gestures outside where Willow is heaving bags of mulch for the landscape and Hunter is pruning a massive basil plant. In the oven, there's a sheet cake baking that Gus has made. Camila smiles. "They don't have to do as much as they do, but they give back. These are real friends, amor. They love you."
Luz looks around. "I love them too," she says, quiet.
Camila sets a hand on one of Luz's. "I'm so happy you have people that love you as much as I do." She smirks at her daughter. "And I didn't raise you Catholic for a reason, mijita. Don't let bisabuela's guilt haunt you like it did me."
Luz laughs at this. She leans her head against Camila's shoulder, and she holds her daughter as tightly as she can.
One day, she knows, Luz will go back. She knows this because she knows her daughter. Brave, kind, giving Luz. She will return to danger and magic and the world she's fallen in love with. And Camila will be here-hugs and food and love and a home...
Because this. This is what mothers do.