message. "I'm officially done. She doesn't trust me. She thinks I'm out playing around when I've been incarcerated. She says my jail story is all bunk."
"How long with this one?" Gitana asked.
"Three weeks."
"Oh, my God, a veritable eternity," Chase said.
"We'd planned on going to Pride together." Graciela almost looked mournful.
"So you even made long-term plans," Chase chided.
Graciela nodded. "I think I'm growing up. Are you two going?"
Gitana choked on her orange juice. Chase got up immediately to pat her on the back or provide artificial respiration if necessary.
"I'm fine really. It just went down the wrong tube."
Chase watched her keenly and then sat back down.
"Maybe I should hang with you guys," Graciela said. "A lot of lesbians think motherhood is hot."
"We never go to Pride," Gitana said. She gently pushed the dogs away. Any form of coughing, sneezing, crying or yelling brought out their nurturing natures.
"I think we should go," Chase said. "It's our culture and we should embrace it. Besides, there might be booths with literature about gay parenting or other mothers we could talk to."
"You hate people," Gitana said.
"I'm going to have to put my aversions aside for the sake of the child," Chase replied.
"I'm definitely going with you. I gotta see this."
Chapter Nine
"Mama, it's okay, really," Gitana said as she patted her mother's head. Jacinda was kneeling, stroking Gitana's belly and making cooing noises.
"Is this good or bad?" Chase asked. She accidently knocked one of the religious candles, the Fatima of Guadalupe. It wobbled precariously for a moment, but Chase caught it before it fell. It seemed she was always having little mishaps in this house of worshipping religious objects. Jacinda obviously had never read the story of the golden calf or ignored it if she had. There were a lot of graven images in this house—small statues of the Virgin Mary, pounded tin crosses, candles, rosary beads hanging from every doorknob in the place and decoupage pictures of Jesus mounted on pieces of wood hung all along one wall.
"Watch out, dude. I've almost lit the place on fire with one of those." Graciela pointed around the room. "God, she's got them all over the house, scenting Saints in the bathroom, like they're blessing your poop. It's like living in the goddamn womb of the Virgin. I mean, look at all these fucking things." Graciela pointed around the room.
Jacinda leapt up and despite her bad hip grabbed a spray bottle containing holy water and doused Graciela with it. Graciela screeched, "Jesus fucking Christ!” Jacinda snatched up one of the rosary beads hanging from the doorknob and chanted prayers like incantations.
"And you thought telling Stella was difficult," Gitana said, as they watched Jacinda, despite her bad hip, chase Graciela around the small living room madly shaking the rosary.
Jacinda's adobe house was in the South Valley, near the Bosque and the Rio Grande River, in an old neighborhood where the adobe homes were authentic. The house had small windows with blue frames, low-beamed ceilings and a kiva fireplace in each room. Chase felt like she was entering one of those made-to-look-real indigenous displays at the Folk Art Museum. Jacinda herself looked like she belonged in the display. Her long black hair was tied up tightly in a bun and she wore a woven skirt of blacks, blues and pinks and a white peasant's blouse.
That this diminutive, incredibly religious, old-fashioned woman had ended up with two gay daughters convinced Chase that God truly had a twisted sense of humor. Maybe Jacinda tried too hard. She'd personally performed three exorcisms on Graciela, to no avail. If anything, it made Graciela more blasphemous.
"Maybe we should have waited until Graciela wasn't here," Chase said.
"It'll be over soon. Mama can't keep up this pace for much longer."
Graciela ran to her
"How long with this one?" Gitana asked.
"Three weeks."
"Oh, my God, a veritable eternity," Chase said.
"We'd planned on going to Pride together." Graciela almost looked mournful.
"So you even made long-term plans," Chase chided.
Graciela nodded. "I think I'm growing up. Are you two going?"
Gitana choked on her orange juice. Chase got up immediately to pat her on the back or provide artificial respiration if necessary.
"I'm fine really. It just went down the wrong tube."
Chase watched her keenly and then sat back down.
"Maybe I should hang with you guys," Graciela said. "A lot of lesbians think motherhood is hot."
"We never go to Pride," Gitana said. She gently pushed the dogs away. Any form of coughing, sneezing, crying or yelling brought out their nurturing natures.
"I think we should go," Chase said. "It's our culture and we should embrace it. Besides, there might be booths with literature about gay parenting or other mothers we could talk to."
"You hate people," Gitana said.
"I'm going to have to put my aversions aside for the sake of the child," Chase replied.
"I'm definitely going with you. I gotta see this."
Chapter Nine
"Mama, it's okay, really," Gitana said as she patted her mother's head. Jacinda was kneeling, stroking Gitana's belly and making cooing noises.
"Is this good or bad?" Chase asked. She accidently knocked one of the religious candles, the Fatima of Guadalupe. It wobbled precariously for a moment, but Chase caught it before it fell. It seemed she was always having little mishaps in this house of worshipping religious objects. Jacinda obviously had never read the story of the golden calf or ignored it if she had. There were a lot of graven images in this house—small statues of the Virgin Mary, pounded tin crosses, candles, rosary beads hanging from every doorknob in the place and decoupage pictures of Jesus mounted on pieces of wood hung all along one wall.
"Watch out, dude. I've almost lit the place on fire with one of those." Graciela pointed around the room. "God, she's got them all over the house, scenting Saints in the bathroom, like they're blessing your poop. It's like living in the goddamn womb of the Virgin. I mean, look at all these fucking things." Graciela pointed around the room.
Jacinda leapt up and despite her bad hip grabbed a spray bottle containing holy water and doused Graciela with it. Graciela screeched, "Jesus fucking Christ!” Jacinda snatched up one of the rosary beads hanging from the doorknob and chanted prayers like incantations.
"And you thought telling Stella was difficult," Gitana said, as they watched Jacinda, despite her bad hip, chase Graciela around the small living room madly shaking the rosary.
Jacinda's adobe house was in the South Valley, near the Bosque and the Rio Grande River, in an old neighborhood where the adobe homes were authentic. The house had small windows with blue frames, low-beamed ceilings and a kiva fireplace in each room. Chase felt like she was entering one of those made-to-look-real indigenous displays at the Folk Art Museum. Jacinda herself looked like she belonged in the display. Her long black hair was tied up tightly in a bun and she wore a woven skirt of blacks, blues and pinks and a white peasant's blouse.
That this diminutive, incredibly religious, old-fashioned woman had ended up with two gay daughters convinced Chase that God truly had a twisted sense of humor. Maybe Jacinda tried too hard. She'd personally performed three exorcisms on Graciela, to no avail. If anything, it made Graciela more blasphemous.
"Maybe we should have waited until Graciela wasn't here," Chase said.
"It'll be over soon. Mama can't keep up this pace for much longer."
Graciela ran to her
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