Free When Tito Loved Clara by Jon Michaud Page A

a moment, he said. “Mommy,I'm sharing this with Max, right?” He reached down and picked up the robot.
    â€œYes, baby, but you know what? We're going to get you your own robot! Would you like that?”
    â€œI don't have to share?”
    â€œNo—one for you to keep.”
    â€œOh, yes! Mommy! Yay! I like it.” He hugged her again.
    â€œYou're OK now?”
    â€œYes. I'm getting a robot, right, Mommy?”
    â€œYes, sweetie. Your father's going to buy you a robot.”
    Gilly let out a whoop of delight.
    â€œGood, I'm glad to see you happy, baby. I'm going to help Daddy get dinner ready. I'll call you up in a minute.”
    Reassured about her son's wellbeing, and with the threat of her own tears averted, Clara went upstairs and got Guillermo's food ready. He ate the same meal almost every night: six Tyson chicken nuggets, a cup of white rice sprinkled with grated Parmesan cheese, and half a Gala apple, peeled, cored, and cut into crescents. She didn't know what they would do if Tyson went out of business or if the miracles of modern agriculture failed to generate a Gala crop somewhere in the world throughout the year. Guillermo's palate was
that
discerning. The only other dinner he would eat was Red Baron frozen pizza, and that was reserved for the weekends. Now and then he also consented to eat a piece of grilled steak. Clara took a martyr's pleasure in preparing a separate meal for him every night. It drove Thomas nuts and he refused to participate. “I can't believe we have to make two dinners—one for us and one for him. Remember when he was younger? He used to eat grilled vegetables. He used to eat tofu. What happened?”
    â€œI don't know, but what are we supposed to do, let him starve?”
    â€œLet him go hungry until he eats what we eat. Kids all over the world would love to eat our food.”
    In her mind some things were not negotiable. She could no more let her son go hungry for an hour than she could abide him being struck by her husband.
    As she was peeling the apple for Guillermo's plate, Thomas came in from the patio with a platter of the aromatic salmon. Brown lozenges of caramelized garlic studded the streamlined fillet. Thomas looked at the food she was assembling for Guillermo and shook his head.
    â€œFYI, mister, you're going to be buying your son one of those robots,” she said to him as he went into the dining room. “The sooner the better.”
    Clara summoned Deysei from above and Guillermo from below. In addition to the salmon, Thomas had made a salad and sliced a baguette. She couldn't tell whether the beer he brought to the table was a new bottle or the same one he had been drinking out on the patio. She had passing nightmares about him becoming an alcoholic while he was out of work, though there was little evidence to support such fears. He looked a bit buzzed tonight, but it was not your typical evening on Passaic Street, she was willing to concede. Clara herself wouldn't have minded some wine, but Deysei couldn't have any and it seemed wasteful to open a bottle just so she could have a glass, so she drank iced green tea instead.
    Guillermo appeared from the basement stairs and went straight to his chair, biting into his first ketchup-dunked nugget before he was even properly seated. Deysei was the last to arrive and Clara eyed her closely. Dinner at Yunis's apartment, she knew, was usually eaten on the couch in front of the TV, often in the form of Chinese or Dominican takeout. Deysei was dressed for the couch, too. She had changed into a pair of pink-and-white plaid pajama bottoms, pink flip-flops, and a baggy white T-shirt with the word PRINCESS written across the front in silver cursive. Clara still didn't understand the whole nightwear as daywear fad among teenage girls,but that was probably the point—to piss off the older generation. She was still getting used to seeing her niece with cornrows. Yunis was right: Clara never