Mestiza

Chapter 3 - Maria

There's nothing that I want more then to take a shower and sleep until next month. Jet lag is actually the worst. Let's not mention the fact that I just flew across the world, alone, and I'm supposed to find my way to a hotel by myself, ALONE, in a strange country.
Lucky me.
I pass through customs relatively quickly, I do get priority because I'm an unaccompanied minor. The official checking passports has a red face and receding headline, and he had to stand up to properly see my face. This is what I deal with as a fifteen year old girl who isn't even five feet tall.

Okay, I'm sorry. I'll try to bring the sarcasm down a few levels.

When I've collected all my suitcases, a airport guard helps me wheel my cart outside and hail a cab. "To the Hampton Hotel, please." I tell the driver, wedging myself in between my luggage.
The traffic in Manhattan isn't that bad compared to Metro Manila. Within the hour, we've pulled up in front of the hotel and a bellhop is pulling my bags out of the taxi. I pay the driver, and follow the bellhop through the swinging glass doors.

I've met my mother a few times before. She nice enough, but she left my dad, and my Tatay is the sweetest, kindest person I will ever know, even if he is easily distracted. There must be something very wrong with her if she would be willing to leave him, because I certainly didn't want to. The few encounters I've had with her have been short and uncomfortable, and I always dread them to be completely honest. But I pick up my feet and take a deep breath, scanning the room for my mother.

I see her in the hotel lobby now, facing the other direction and perched one of the couches. My mother's name is Anna Petrov. She's Russian, with blonde hair, pale skin, and a narrow, beaked nose. She's tall and skinny, with delicate hands that seem like they'd break if I touched them.
"Nanay?" I say softly, tapping her shoulder. She turns, and I can tell it takes her a moment to recognize me. "Maria!! My anak!" she says, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. I hug her back, breathing in the scent of her perfume, and peek underneath her arm at the girl who must be my stepsister.
"Maria, this is your ate Emilia. Em, "ate" means older sister in Tagalog. Oh, I can't believe my girls are finally together!" she says, beaming at us.
"Hello, ate." I say quietly, flashing a quick smile before I become too shy.