Es decir, hasta que llegó mi padre.

En su día estuvo comprometido con la hija del alcalde, sellando lo que todos consideraban una alianza perfecta.

Pero era a mi madre a quien realmente amaba.

Mi madre había crecido con pocas oportunidades, trabajando como camarera en el Main Street Café, el lugar donde conoció a mi padre.

Dos semanas antes de que se casara con la hija del alcalde, se fugaron juntos. Un año después, nací yo.

Han pasado más de veinticinco años y nunca he sentido que realmente pertenezco a este lugar.

No me desagrada la chica que veo en el espejo, pero tampoco puedo decir que la conozca realmente.

Sin pensarlo, me toqué la mejilla.

Me parezco a mi madre: pómulos altos, cara en forma de corazón y piel del color de la miel calentada por el sol. También heredé de ella mis rizos, suaves y rebeldes. Los ojos, sin embargo, son de mi padre: verde pálido, claros como el cristal marino.

No diría que soy poco atractiva.

Lo sabía, racionalmente hablando.

Ser mestiza no era la razón por la que destacaba. Había otros como yo. Yo solo era la rara que nunca encajaba.

Pero encajar nunca se me había dado bien.

¿Era posible volver?

¿Debería siquiera pensar en volver?

Esa idea me acompañó mientras me bañaba y seguía dando vueltas en mi cabeza incluso cuando me metí en la cama. Cuando entró mi compañera de cuarto, fingí estar dormida. No estaba cansada, solo que no me apetecía hablar.

Emma podía ser molesta a veces, pero teníamos un acuerdo: si una de las dos estaba dormida, la otra no la molestaba.

Tarde o temprano, tendría que enfrentarme a ella. Todavía le debía el alquiler y se me acababa el tiempo.

Ya había estado a punto de no pagar el alquiler antes, pero esta era la primera vez que realmente me retrasaba. Me ardían los ojos y enterré la cara en la almohada para ahogar el sonido de mi llanto. No me costaba conciliar el sueño; nunca lo hacía cuando la preocupación me acompañaba.

***

La mañana llegó antes de lo que yo quería y me golpeó con demasiada luz.

Me levanté lo más silenciosamente que pude y me deslicé en el pequeño hueco que llamábamos cocina. El apartamento no tenía habitaciones de verdad, solo paredes que fingían serlo, así que mi intento de pasar desapercibida fue bastante inútil.

Ni siquiera pude abrir un armario antes de oírla moverse detrás de mí.

«Me has estado evitando».

I turned to Emma Kane. Twenty-eight years old, with impeccable blonde hair that always looked freshly combed, hazel eyes that reflected the light and perfect cheekbones that made her look like she came out of a magazine. Almost six feet tall and impossibly thin, she once told me that she had moved to New York from Wisconsin to be a model. I can't say I was surprised. That was eight years ago.

"No, Emma," I said in a tired voice. I was looking for a job all day. When I got home, I took a bath and collapsed. I was exhausted.

"Why were you looking for a job?" He asked, bowing his head as he watched me.

"Shit. I forgot to tell you." I sighed. "A customer bumped into me, I broke some dishes, and Gary fired me."

A decent roommate would have complained about how unfair it was, perhaps even offered me her sympathy. But Emma was not like that.

"So... don't you have your share of the rent?"

"Not yet." I took a tea bag, poured it into my cup, and poured hot water. I was dying for a cappuccino, but it didn't fit into my budget. However, I needed caffeine, so I settled for tea. "I'll give you your money soon, I promise."

He shot me a look, crossing his arms tightly. "I can't pay your rent too, Aleena. That's precisely why I have a roommate."

"I know," I said, avoiding his gaze as I pulled a bagel out of the freezer and into the toaster. "As soon as I finish eating, I'm leaving again. I've already done a couple of interviews, so it's only a matter of time."

January in New York was brutal, but at least it didn't rain. If the temperature remained above zero and the sidewalks were clear, he would go for a walk. Every dollar counted. After six months, I had almost stopped missing my car.

Almost. But not entirely.

By noon, he had spoken to six other managers, all of them with polite smiles and vague promises. He wanted to believe that one of them was serious.

Something had to go right. It had to be like this. In a city as big as New York, with restaurants on every block, there had to be a place for me somewhere.

Someone had to be hiring.

Something had to go right. He repeated it to me over and over again. In a city as big as New York, with restaurants on every block, there had to be a place that needed help.

Around one o'clock, I walked into a small café and ordered the smallest, cheapest drink on the menu, mostly to warm up. I didn't ask for anything to eat, although my stomach clearly thought it was a mistake.

After a short rest, I turned around and started walking in the opposite direction.

A couple of the sites I visited looked promising, although one was too far away, almost forty minutes round trip. It wasn't exactly perfect, but don't look at its teeth on a given horse.

I managed to gather some business cards and even got a couple of offers for a second round of interviews.

I told myself that I should hold on to that little hope. It wasn't much, but it was something, more than what he had given me the day before.

I couldn't call it progress. Yesterday I had a job, even if it was miserable. Today, at least, he had possibilities that seemed worth pursuing.

Aferrándome a ese pequeño atisbo de esperanza, regresé al apartamento. Estaba tan agotada como la noche anterior, quizá más. La idea de volver a pasar por lo mismo al día siguiente me revolvió el estómago.

Pues no lo hagas.

Estaba a punto de descartar la idea cuando dudé.

On second thought, maybe not. Emma would be out all day tomorrow with her boyfriend, Malachi, and would finally have some peace to search the internet.

Molly's call came shortly before noon. "Are you busy?" she asked, not even bothering to say hello.

I let out a sigh. "Yes, although I wish I wasn't. I've been away since eight o'clock trying to find work."

***

On Sunday it did not go as planned.

Monday didn't look any better: one interview was postponed and another was canceled entirely.

"You have to eat," Molly urged me gently. In his opinion, a full stomach solved half of life's problems. "Where are you right now?"

I narrowed my eyes, trying to imagine the exact spot. "Just down the street from MoMA."

The area surrounding the Museum of Modern Art used to be one of my favorite places, but today was not a day to wander around or enjoy the views. I was still looking for a job, but luck wasn't exactly on my side.

"Perfect. There is a place...". He sent me an address. "See you there in half an hour, okay?"

The place Molly recommended was small and set back from the main road. It was exactly the kind of quirky place I'd love to work at, but when I asked if there were any openings, the woman just smiled politely and said no.