Mi Familia Tica

I found my host mom waiting for me when I exited the airport terminal that first, sunny afternoon in San José. She had dark wavy hair and wore a busy floral blouse.

She held a sheet of paper with my name printed on it.

I pointed at it and she smiled.

“Hola.”

Then she lead me to a taxi.

Inside, she leaned over from the front seat.

“¿Español?”

I shook my head.

After that, we rode in silence—through the city and into the suburban hills.

~

Her address was simple: The pink house, a block south of Pali.

Here, her son met us at the door.

“Hi. I’m Brian, come in and I’ll introduce you to the family. I take you’ve already met my mother?”

The woman who picked me up from the airport stepped forward. She smiled again, and this time it felt warmer.

He continued around the room.

My father.”

An older man with gray hair and strong arms shook my hand. He worked long hours driving a construction delivery vehicle, and was rarely home. I would see him just twice more in my four-month stay.

“Hola, …”

I did not understand the rest.

He said next, smiling at a woman with tight curls and a walker behind his father.

“This is my abuela… my grandma.”

“Hi, Abuela.”

It would take me a month to realize that wasn’t her name.

“And finally …. my girlfriend.” He gestured now to a pretty girl about his own age standing in the background. She took and awkward, waddling step forward.

“My daughter. Three weeks, can you believe it?”

His mother leaned in.

“Apenas tienes diecinueve años.”

Brian winced.

“She thinks I’m too young, but I’ll be a good father.”

He kissed the air in her direction.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

~

We walked through the kitchen, laundry, and outside, to where they slept—an added on room, no larger than a single mattress. Reggaeton music played softly in the background and posters of soccer players lined the walls.

“Find me if you need help with your homework. I’m also taking English classes at university. Maybe we can help each other? Or if you’re up for it, we can hike to the volcano or play football.”

“That sounds like a great idea. But I think I need to rest for a bit first. It’s been a long journey.”

My host mom then led me back into the main hose, down the hallway, and opened a door.

A tight room with green walls greeted me. In one corner sat a small bed with a blue cover. A desk with a tiny TV sat next to it, and a dresser with a mirror rested against the wall.

I set my bag in the corner, unzipped it, then opened a drawer to begin unpacking. The drawer was full of blouses.

“No.”

She reached out her hand.

The bed was mine, not the room.

Brian peered around the corner.

“Dinner’s at five. I’ll come get you.”

Then everyone left.