PART V - SOFIA

I got home with the expectation of meeting my mom there and gloat to her about the audition. I was disappointed. Santiago was in his office slash studio staring at his MacBook.

"Hi, Santi."

He looked up and it seemed like he needed a second to recognize me, then he said, "Sofi, hi! How was school?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Okay."

"Come here, I would like to talk about your drawings." He got up and fished a portfolio out of his bag which I suspected contained the drawings I had given him this morning. We sat down next to each other on the sofa.

Santiago's house was not exactly what you would call a bachelor pad. He'd told me that he'd lived here for the past five years, ever since working for the Maine College of Art. I couldn't imagine Santiago staying in this house by himself. It was located in a nice neighborhood, and as the other buildings around, it had two stories and a gabled roof. The downstairs was equipped with a kitchen, dining, and living room, as well as Santiago's office where books about design and illustrations lined the walls. Upstairs, the master bedroom even had a walk-in closet and an ensuite bathroom. Each room was furnished stylishly as you'd expect from a design professor.

I tried to think of a reason why someone in their early thirties would rent a house this size. There was only one explanation: He was ready to start a family. I wasn't sure whether a ten-year older woman and her 17-year-old daughter were what he had expected when he'd signed the lease.

"I think you're doing a pretty good job lately," Santiago said.

A smile crept across my face.

"You got the concept of the vanishing point. Also, I like the way you draw shadows. It gives them – the drawings – more depth than before. You are sloppy about the details though."

He got up and ran his fingers along with the books on the shelf. He made a delighted sound when he found what he was looking for. It was a book about architectural drawings. "I should've given you that earlier, but I didn't think about until now. That should help you."

The moment he was about to sit down again, we heard keys jangling at the door, and Mom yelling "Hi, honey" into the house.

"Hi, Mom," I yelled back and a second later, her head appeared in the door.

"Hi to both of you," she said and came over to give Santiago a kiss.

"How's she doing?" she asked him her hand still on the back of his neck.

"It's getting there. Look at this one, do you see the way she drew she shadows?"

Mom nodded as if she knew what he was talking about and shot me a short glance. "Looks really nice, honey," she told me.

Mom had always been my biggest fan. Ever since I started drawing, she told me how beautiful everything looked that I produced. It still meant a lot hearing it from her, but it had a certain satisfaction having Santiago, a real professor, say it.

"Sofi, did you call your therapist to confirm the appointment on Wednesday?"

"Mom, it is not necessary to confirm every appointment. She gave it to me a week ago. I'm pretty sure her calendar remembers."

"Just call her."

I rolled my eyes but nodded.

Apparently, my mom did not believe in what is called an appointment calendar.

I was seeing a psychologist since I witnessed Frank beating my mom. At that time, everything happened at once: Within three months, Frank told me one drunken night that I was not his daughter, I came out, Mom lost her job, and we moved away from Frank. Mom didn't find a new job and our savings were scarce. She shipped me off to Mexico where I lived a happy life, but the anxiety never went away.

While I went upstairs and got started on my homework, my mom and Santiago made dinner. I heard occasional laughs from the kitchen, and it made me smile every single time. I couldn't remember one single incident when Frank made her laugh. And I was happy to be here and witness her happiness. Had I stayed in Mexico, the picture in my head would've stayed the one I got used to. Without any reservation, I could say that I preferred this version.