Nathan
I'd been home a lot for the past six months. Last summer, I had noticed how lonely Sam was without me and vowed to be there more, resulting in a steady decline in my grades. My mentor had been warning me for a while now: if I didn't do something about it soon, I was going to fail. So, I decided to put a lot of work into the project for my Defining Discrimination course, something that June was very interested in, for obvious reasons. She was too smart for her own good, that girl, sometimes even understanding the academic articles I had to read.
Surprisingly, I found myself getting invested in the material; it'd been long since I'd done anything for college without disliking it. When I was rewarded with an A+, I felt a sense of pride, something I definitely wasn't used to. June cooked for us that night — she blushed furiously when I told her that grade was partly the result of her help, and Sam had rolled his eyes, saying "It's only one grade. Thousands of people get A+'es every day".
"Who hurt you?" June had said, but he was right. One A+ wasn't going to fix all of my C's, it was only a beginning. And now that June was here, strictly speaking, I didn't have an excuse to go home directly after lectures and seminars anymore. Sam wasn't alone. He was fifteen. He'd made more friends at that party. Yeah, law was still not my thing, but I was able to study it at one of the best universities in the US. To not exploit that chance would be an insult to anyone who hadn't gotten in.
I needed to put more work in and start to be more serious when it concerned my future. I was never going to be able to finish in time to obtain legal custody of Sam; however, I could try finding a job before he left high school. That way, I could at least pay for the college education of his choice, instead of him having to go to law school because that's the only thing our parents would finance.
That was why when my mentor told us they were looking for an extra 2L to assist on the pro bono case for an illegal immigrant from Mexico, I surprised him by immediately asking if I could apply.
"For real, man?" he'd said.
"Yeah, for real."
"Okay, that's great! I don't know what happened to you, but whatever it was, I'm glad it did. I thought we were going to lose you, to be honest."
Yeah, I'd thought the same not long ago.
The team existed out of two more 3L and one more 1L; their former 2L partner had had to take a step back due to burnout. Imagine spending two years at law school only to have to quit because you overworked yourself. Again, I felt guilty for getting in in the first place. Yeah, I'd had a high GPA, but it wasn't like I'd ever gone out of my way to get it. I still suspected my parents had something to do with it.
All of that didn't matter, though. Because when I met our client, nineteen-year-old Cleo Ibarra Luevano, I knew I was going to do my absolute fucking best to get her out of this mess.
She was facing deportation — the other students, who had known her for several months now, were desperate and sleep-deprived. Cleo had tried to take her own life only two weeks ago, fearing that going back to Mexico meant having to go back to her abusive husband. I had to try everything, everything in my power to keep her safe in the USA — or, at least safer, and maybe, someday, happier.
I was trying to concentrate on the documents in front of me. The letters were swimming before my eyes, and every time my gaze landed on Cleo's name, I saw Lena before me, body swinging back and forth on a rope above the stairs in her parents' house. I hadn't actually found her; she'd been home for the holidays, and I was celebrating New Year's with Sam. Nevertheless, I could picture it. In the beginning, I'd forced myself to do it to pay for not being able to save her. Two years later, though, I didn't ever want to imagine it again. Cleo's hopeless attempt was digging up old demons, old demons I'd rather leave buried.
"You're thinking about Lena."
I wasn't even going to ask how she knew. When it came to June, there wasn't a lot that should still surprise me, and yet, it did. She was standing in front of me in her apron, frowning, long curls tied back in a braid. If I thought I did some damage control the night of the party, I was fooling myself. Ever since, she'd been giggling less, instead having these serious episodes where she'd be in my father's study for hours on end, doing god knows what. She was turning fifteen in a few weeks, and I was more determined than ever to get her a meaningful present that would cheer her up.
"Yeah, I am," I said, closing the file and slumping back in the chair. I ran my hands through my hair, suddenly noticing how stiff my muscles were. I'd had lectures and seminars from nine am to four pm, then drove out to the detention center to check on Cleo; she'd cried the whole time, barely able to speak. On the drive home, I'd had only been able to think about June's grandparents, how they came into this country and made it their home, how June was an American, but still viewed by some as an immigrant, as someone who didn't belong here. If only Cleo had as large a family as June had... At least, she wouldn't have been alone.
"Is it the case?" she said. "The girl? Did you go to see her again today?"
"Yeah, I did. She's not doing so great... In fact, she's doing really bad."
She inspected my face, concern etched into every inch of her, and I felt the sudden need to hug her like she did the day before New Year's. "Are you afraid she might hurt herself again?"
Strictly speaking, I wasn't allowed to discuss details of a case, much less the personal circumstances. Be that as it may, I needed to tell someone about my days or I'd fall apart. And I was sure June would never pass on the information to anyone else. She didn't know Cleo's name anyhow. Even my parents, who took their jobs very seriously, talked over their cases together.
"I don't know. I think she's certainly desperate enough." I sighed, rubbing my face in the hope it would erase the image of Cleo bleeding from the wrists. "I just keep seeing Lena."
Her gaze softened. Determinedly, she walked towards me, took my files, and stored them into my bag, accidentally creasing the corners. "Come on," she said. "You need to distract yourself. Help me cook."
Astonished by the suggestion, I complied immediately. She never let us help her; she said it made her all the more nervous. It'd only been recently we'd even been allowed to watch her at work in the kitchen. "Here, you cut up the sweet potatoes — really, Nathan, no one has ever taught you how to cut something, have they? You need to..." The next five minutes, she tried to explain to me how to cut up a potato in the way other people would. She had her own particular way of doing it, but that was slower, of course. As I finally got the hang of it, she started to recount to me what she'd already done, and why, and what we were going to do next.
Was this the way her mother and abuela had taught her? She once mentioned her dad possessed endless patience. After tonight, I could say with certainty she did too.
Step by step, I felt myself relaxing, just chatting about the right amount of salt in a dish, or doing some pre-tasting. I was sure I was slowing her down more than I was helping her. She didn't mind, laughing brightly at my ignorance in the cooking department, and I think it was the little lights in her eyes that distracted me from everything that happened today.
This, this was the reason I didn't live at campus, June smiling at my crappy jokes and Sam arriving downstairs to ask when we were going to eat already. He deserved to be thrown in the pool for that, and naturally, when dinner was served, Sam was wearing different clothes than thirty minutes earlier, his previous outfit drying on a chair outside.
"You're infinitely better than Valentina, Nathan," June said, as Sam and I gulped down the delicious food. "She always forgets what she's doing, and then she puts on some music for a little ambiance, and before I know it, she's dancing around the kitchen." The fond smile on her face disappeared. Lost in thought, she moved around the vegetables on her plate.
"I'm not sure if that was meant to be a compliment," I said. "I don't think you can get any worse than that."
She smiled again, a weary smile. "True. She's the worst. I wouldn't trust her to turn over a fish stick. You're definitely already ahead of her. And I see enough room for improvement."
I smiled back, realizing it meant she wanted me to cook with her again. Sam also seemed satisfied with the idea. "Good," he said. "You two can be like my own personal servants."
June and I shared a look. "You're doing the dishes tonight," I said.
Sam sighed. "But—"
"Are you really going to try to go against a lawyer in training and me?" June interrupted.
Sam seemed to contemplate the idea for a while, investigating the ceiling like there was a solution written there, then sighed deeply and began to gather our dirty plates.
I didn't think about swinging bodies once that night.
While June's birthday was growing nearer, so did Cleo's court date. We were hoping to at least get her out of the detention center by arguing her life was at risk there; it was a horrible place to be living in, and we hoped her depression might decrease slightly if she could get away from there. We'd also finally obtained more evidence of her husband's abuse in Mexico. Despite that, things were looking grim. The chance we were going to lose was significantly larger than the chance we'd win; the licensed lawyer who was supposed to be supervising and guiding us was showing up less and less. All four of us knew. None of us wanted to say the words out loud.
It was causing sleepless nights, and I made sure the 1L's were having additional meetings with their mentors so they could keep an eye on them. I didn't need my mentor for that. I had June, and she was more adept at calming me down than anyone I knew. Cooking together had become a sort of ritual. By the time she was almost fifteen, my kitchen skills had improved at such a rate, I wondered if she should start her own cooking school. And for that, for always being there when I needed her the most, she deserved the best birthday present I could think of.
It was the first time in weeks I was picking them up from school. It was Friday, the start of the midwinter break, and June's birthday was in a few days. Sam knew I would be getting them today, just as he knew where we were going. Still, it was June who first spotted the Mercedes-Benz, even though she had no indication to think I was going to be there.
Gentle rain drizzled down from the sky; Sam's hair was stuck to his forehead, June's was frizzy, her cheeks red. She smiled at me from a distance, while Sam had stopped to talk to one of the girls who'd been at the party. June paid her no mind, and vice versa. How were they keeping up with this? It was clear Sam had made some friends June couldn't stand. Had he even noticed?
"You came to pick us up," she said when she and Sam had finally reached me and I opened the door for her. "I thought you were going to pick up that guy at the airport."
"Yeah, I was done early today," I said. "Figured you two might like to go with me. Sam used to love watching the planes take off when he was a little kid." Sam smirked at me; he was bouncy, elated. It was a wonder she hadn't noticed anything about his behavior yet.
Or mine, for that. I was trying to keep the giant grin off my face, barely able to wait for her reaction. If only she knew... I hoped she was going to love it — I thought she would, but now that the moment was getting nearer, I was starting to have doubts. Not that it mattered; we were at the point of no return. Only going forward now.
We led her to the arrival hall for JFK's incoming flight, casually, pretending it was no big deal. "What's he look like?" Sam asked. June must have thought he was very fond of my non-existent friend, or maybe she was confused since he seemed excited while he didn't even know the guy.
"He doesn't stand out much," I said — just like June, I was a good liar. A professional maybe even, after two and a half years of law school. "I'll point him out when I see him."
June was quiet, arms wrapped around herself. Yeah, it was cold in here, but it was probably more the memories of her home city chilling her than the a/c. All these people were arriving from the place she'd grown up in, the place most of her family lived, and they'd probably be able to go back whenever they wanted to, while she was stuck here. Maybe we should've told her in advance.
"Oh, there she is," I said then, and when June looked up, frowning, I was sure we'd done the right thing.
She stood there, frozen, feet sewn onto the ground, staring at the person who had just exited the arrivals gate. Valentina hadn't seen her yet; she was trying to adjust her bag, which was pressing into the skin of her shoulder, muttering something under her breath. A small smile appeared on June's face, and as she started to walk towards her cousin, the smile grew wider and the little lights in her brown eyes began shining brighter than they ever had done before.
I couldn't help but smile myself, a large one that almost felt unnatural. Sam wanted to join them, but I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. No, this was their moment. They hadn't seen each other for seven months — this reunion should be all about them.
There was a loud shriek when Valentina noticed her cousin. In a wild gesture, she dumped all of her luggage on the floor, and then ran towards June, crushing her in a stifling hug. They were talking in rapid, loud Spanish, embracing and suffocating each other every few seconds. Valentina took June's face in her hands, as if to inspect her, then held her at arm's length to see the whole of her. The older girl was shaking her head disbelievingly, and June burst out laughing. Valentina twirled like a model, and June nodded approvingly, probably commenting on her outfit. Around them, other people smiled shortly, watching them reunite for a moment before getting on with their business.
Yeah, we'd done the right thing.