Chương 9
“Yes.”
“Are you suing my mom?”
“Who told you that?”
“She said lawyers can take our house.”
Mariana looked through the glass wall of her office. Employees moved between desks, carrying laptops and coffee cups. Ordinary work continued around her.
“I am not trying to take your house.”
“But you sent a paper.”
“I asked your mother to remove things she posted that were not true.”
“She said it was true to her.”
“That is not how facts work.”
He was silent.
Mariana softened her voice. “Where are you?”
“In my room.”
“Are your parents home?”
“My dad is. He’s on calls.”
“Does he know you are speaking to me?”
“No.”
She should have told him to get Rogelio. She knew that.
Instead, she asked, “Why did you jump?”
The silence stretched so long that she checked whether the call had ended.
“Mom said it was a prank,” he said.
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“That I should jump on the field part. She said it was separate from the cake.”
Mariana pictured the stadium: green frosting over stacked layers, no separate platform, nothing an eleven-year-old could reasonably mistake from across the room.
“Did you believe her?”
“At first.”
“And then?”
“She said not to be a baby.”
His voice had become almost inaudible.
“What did she promise?”
He sniffed once. “The phone.”
“Did she say I would buy it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you buy things.”
The answer held no accusation. That made it worse.
“Did she tell you to say the line about the phone?”
“No. I thought everyone would laugh.”
Mariana pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“Did you want to hurt Emiliano?”
“No.”
“You destroyed his birthday cake.”
“I know.”
“He had not blown out his candles.”
“I know.”
“He is being teased at school.”
Diego started crying then, but quietly, with the effort of a child trying not to be heard through a wall.
Mariana stopped.
The part of her that wanted him to understand had crossed into wanting him to hurt. She recognized it only after she had succeeded.
“Diego,” she said.
He did not answer.
“I should not have told you that just now.”
“But it’s true.”
“Yes. It is true. And you need to take responsibility. But I should not use Emiliano’s pain to punish you.”
His breathing steadied slightly.
“Am I a bad person?”
“No.”
“You kicked us out.”
“I asked your family to leave because what happened was not safe or respectful.”
“Security came.”
“They did not touch you.”
“Everyone looked at me.”
Mariana closed her eyes. “I know.”
“I hate the video.”
“So does Emiliano.”
Another silence.
“Can I tell him sorry?”
“You can ask him if he wants to hear it.”
“How?”
“I will ask him if you may contact him. If he says no, you must accept that.”
“What if he never says yes?”
“Then you live with having hurt someone who does not owe you forgiveness.”
“That sounds like something from school.”
“It probably should be.”
A faint noise came from Diego’s side of the call, a door opening.
“I have to go.”
“Diego.”
“What?”
“Do not delete this call from your tablet.”
“Why?”
“Because hiding it will make things worse.”
He whispered, “Okay,” and hung up.
Mariana sat alone for several minutes.
Then she called Rogelio.
“Diego contacted me.”
His breath caught. “What did he say?”
“I am not giving you every detail. He is frightened that lawyers will take your home.”
Rogelio swore under his breath.
“Did Lorena tell him that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You need to find out.”
“I will.”
“And he needs an adult who is not asking him to defend either parent.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His voice hardened. “Do not use my son to make a point.”
The accusation was deserved enough to make her angry.
“I told him Emiliano is being teased.”
“Why would you tell him that?”
“Because it is true.”
“He is eleven.”
“So was he eleven when he jumped into the cake, or only now?”
Rogelio did not answer.
Mariana regretted the sentence before the line went quiet.
“This is what she means,” he said finally.
“What?”
“You know exactly where to cut.”
He ended the call.
That night, Mariana asked Emiliano whether he wanted to hear an apology from Diego.
They were on the living room floor building a miniature stadium from cardboard. Emiliano held a strip of green paper against a ruler.
“Did he call you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he is sorry.”
“That’s not an apology to me.”
“No.”
“Did he cry?”
Mariana hesitated. “A little.”
Emiliano pressed the ruler harder.
“Was Mom with him?”
“His mother?”
“My aunt.”
“No.”
“Then maybe he means it.”
Mariana watched him measure the paper.
“You do not have to talk to him.”
“I know.”
“What do you want?”
He drew a line with a pencil, erased it, and drew it again.
“Can he send a message?”
“Yes.”
“No video.”
“Okay.”
“And you can read it first.”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
The message arrived the next morning.
I am sorry I jumped on your cake. My mom told me it was a joke and that there was a part I could jump on but I saw there wasn’t and I still did it. I wanted the phone and I wanted people to laugh. I did not think about your candles. I am sorry people saw the video. You don’t have to answer.
Mariana read it once, then handed the tablet to Emiliano.
He read slowly. His finger paused beneath the words I still did it.
“Is that a good apology?” he asked.
“It is honest.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No.”
“What makes it good?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He read it again.
“Do I have to say it’s okay?”
“No.”
May you like
He typed for several minutes.
I am not okay yet. Do not come to my school. Do not make jokes about my birthday. I will tell you later if I want to talk.
