PART 2
My parents’ rent wasn’t a minor detail.
For almost two years, I deposited forty thousand pesos a month to help them with the house they were renting in Coyoacán after selling the family home in Querétaro.
Officially, they had moved “to live more peacefully.” The truth was that my dad had spent too much trying to maintain the same standard of living as before, and my mom preferred to ask me for money rather than upset Diego or Verónica.
It all started as something temporary.
“Just a few months, Marianita,” my mom told me the first time. “Your dad feels terrible about asking for help.”
What she meant was: your dad feels bad if others find out, but not bad enough to stop accepting your money.
Diego never contributed because “kids cost too much.” Verónica never contributed because “private school is so expensive.” I did contribute because I was the single one, the one who earned a good salary, the one without a family of my own, the one who could manage.
After Hawaii, I waited for an apology.
It never came.
What did come were more photos. My mom in a blue dress by the sea. My dad holding a cocktail. Karla writing: “Thank God for these days with family.” Diego replying with heart emojis.
No one mentioned my name.
On the first of the following month, I didn’t make the deposit.
At 8:43 a.m., my cell phone rang.
It was my mom.
“Mariana, the rent is due today. Did you send the money yet?”
Not a “good morning.” Not a “how are you?” Not a word about Hawaii.
Just the rent.
“No,” I replied.
She stayed silent on the other end.
“What do you mean, no?”
I poured myself some coffee in my apartment in La Condesa, took a deep breath, and said exactly what they had taught me:
“Just for family, remember?”
The silence was so long I thought I had hung up.
Then I heard my dad in the background.
“Give me the phone.”
His voice was harsh, as always.
“This is childish, Mariana.”
“No,” I said. “It’s consistency.”
“You’re punishing your parents for a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? They excluded me from the trip I paid for.”
My mom started to cry.
“Honey, you’re always busy. We thought you wouldn’t mind.”
That was the turning point that opened my eyes.
They didn’t think it would hurt me.
They thought I was prepared.
