“I can’t marry my brother, can I.” She is sure on this matter and I have to nod my head in acknowledgement of this fact.
“But you can marry someone like him.” I breathe it out as a prayer.
“You mean he can be just as ‘guapo’ and nice and love me just as much.”
I nod my head to her and hope I can hold back the tears forming at the corners of my eyes, flooding and pooling in the lids.
All of this is said as we climb into the car, going on our next outing, the library or gym class, who remembers.
I don’t think my son has heard the exchange, until from his seat he mumbles, “and what will my wife be like, as wonderful as my sister?”
And I climb into the front seat right before a tear plops onto my lap, and I smile as big as a mom can smile without dancing.