Historically Inaccurate (Wattpad Books Edition)

Chapter Two

The kitchen is half of our living area, so Dad and I usually eat sitting on the couch. The window over our sink faces east, and in the morning rays of sunshine beam through the small rectangle. Whenever I can't sleep, I get up extra early, make a pot of coffee, and stare out of the window for long periods of time with a warm mug between my hands, like today.

We have a small balcony to the side of the apartment, but I remember being small and seeing my mother do the same at our old house, holding her cup of coffee and taking the morning light by the kitchen window. Two birds are perched on the high wires that pass above the duplex. Breathing out close to the glass, I carefully draw a third one over the fog.

"Buenos días."

One of the birds flies away.

"Buenos días." Yawning, I turn to look at my father as he walks over and places a good morning kiss on my cheek.

"It's Monday. Why you look so tired?" He smiles and moves over to the counter where a green mug is already waiting for him next to the pot of coffee.

Trying not to think of all the shenanigans I got up to last night, I take a sip from my own cup. "Mondays are reason enough to look tired."

My father has an uncanny ability to crave work like an addict, working forty to fifty hours a week on construction projects and finding little things he can do on the weekends to make himself busy. Thankfully, 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 in work attire even though it's six thirty in the morning.

"Mm-hmm." I have class around nine, but considering I bike to school, I need to leave home about eight thirty. Sometimes it feels as though the school only has a rack for twenty bikes or so. Students compete for them, especially during morning classes, and this is not ideal when you're running late. If I can find a pole close 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 kids aren't messing around with their education, I'll tell you that.

"At what time do you get home?" he asks.

"I should be back by five."

"You work today?"

"If I want to eat out, I do." I work at the library as an aide, shelving books, helping people find that text that is obviously right in front of their faces, signing people up for library cards.

"There's plenty of food at home." Dad points to 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. There was a little carne seca, so I made you some tacos for lunch." I walk to the microwave and extract the small bag I'd wrapped for him minutes before he entered the kitchen. (I did not microwave them, I left them there so they'd stay warm. I'm not that bad of a cook.) Mom used to wake up early every morning to make him lunch, so I do whenever I can so he won't have to eat fast food every day. "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 abuelita asks you about how I cook." My grandma has not seen me since I was a baby, and we seldom talk. But from what I know, she understands the world is different these days, though she still thinks I should cook and clean for my dad since Mom is gone.