Historically Inaccurate

🌥 T W O 🌥

"Buenos días," I rub my left eye as dad walks into the kitchen, interrupting my session of staring at my cup of coffee for some good three minutes without touching it.

"Buenos días," taking the cup, and leaning so he can place a good morning kiss on my cheek, I move out of the way to let him get access to the coffeemaker.

"It's Monday, why do you look so tired?" He lets out a small laugh, filling up a cup for himself.

Trying not to think of all the shenanigans I did last night, I simply smile.

"Mondays are reason enough to look tired." My father has an uncanny ability to crave work like an addict. Thankfully, that same energy also makes him fall asleep easily at night, and he sleeps like a rock, so I didn't have any problems last night when I snuck into the apartment around two in the morning.

"Morning classes, huh?" He's already dressed up to leave, even though it's still six in the morning.

"Mm-hmm" As for myself, I have class around nine, but since I bike to school I need to leave home about eight thirty — and, I mean, have you seen the bike racks at a college campus? The school puts five spots for about every fifty bikes or something. If I can find a pole close enough to my building and not get a ticket that is a blessing.

I once saw a bike chained to a bush outside the Nursing building. Nursing students ain't fucking around with their education, I'll tell you that.

"At what time do you get back home?"

"I should be back by five."

"You work today?"

"Well, if I want to eat out, yeah." I work at the library as an aide, simply doing the dirty work the librarians in movies do. Shelving books away, helping people find that book that is obviously right in front of their faces, but they didn't want to look it up, signing people up for library cards, except Jeremy — Jeremy lost the book I lent to him in eighth grade and never gave it back to me. Fuck Jeremy.

"There's plenty of food here at home," dad moves his arm towards the stove and the fridge. "You won't go hungry for days—"

"I haven't gone grocery shopping, actually."

"You won't go hungry for a day."

"For hours, probably, I used the leftover carne seca to make you some tacos de machacado con huevo  for lunch." I walk to the microwave and extract the small bag I'd wrapped for him just minutes before he entered the kitchen (which I did not microwave, I left them there so they'd stay warm. I'm not that much of a bad cook, stop judging me). Mom used to wake up early every morning to make him lunch, so I do it every now and then for the sake of nostalgia. "There. See? I'll make a good housewife."

Dad chuckles, taking the bag.

"Thought you didn't want to be a housewife."

"I don't, I'll make my husband do half of the work like it's meant to be, but I know güelita only asks you about how I cook and do everything for you." I'm not saying my grandma is lost in the old times, she tries to understand the world is different these days. But I know a part of her still thinks I should cook and clean and do everything for my dad since mom is gone. Because who cares if I go to school and also work when there's things to clean, amirite?

Dad rolls his eyes, placing a hand over my head and messing it up. I move away as he finishes up his coffee.

"Gotta go, si no, se enoja el jefe." He says that, but I doubt I've ever heard of a boss getting angry at my father. He's a hard worker. He used to be very fair when he was younger, but after years of working under the sun his skin has become a darkened tan, nearly matching my own skin color, though I got mine from my mother's side of the family.