look great today. Your cheeks are so rosy,” I tell her when I arrive. Sitting down next to her hospital bed, I notice that someone has styled her hair, and I can see the Beverly Hills socialite she used to be.
“You flatter me too much,” Millie says. “I was never what they call a great beauty. But I’ll tell you, I never lacked attention from handsome men either.”
“Was your husband handsome?” I ask, taking out my notebook. “You said he did something in politics. Right?”
“Yes, he worked for the city. And he was very good-looking! I would have never married someone I wasn’t completely attracted to—both intellectually and physically.”
I think about how handsome Royce is—and funny and smart too—and feel myself beginning to blush, which Millie quickly notices.
“I’m sorry, Jasmine. That’s always been a trait of mine. I’m terribly forthcoming. I think my husband loved that about me. My mother always said I never had enough tact.”
“My best friend Kayla’s like that too, although she’s too honest about some things. It gets her in trouble.”
Millie gestures for me to open the window blinds. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d keep her opinions to herself though.”
Opening the blinds, I consider what I mean about Kayla’s honesty. “I try not to lie. And Kayla lies about stupid teenager things, like where she’s going or which boy she happens to be dating that minute, but she’s honest about how she feels. I wish I could be more like her in that way.” I wish I could tell Millie about my family’s situation. I think about it all the time, and the secret is starting to weigh on me.
“You’ll learn. In some ways you get braver as you get older. That’s why old biddies like me get away with saying whatever they want.”
We laugh together.
“We’re supposed to be talking about you,” I say, sitting back down. “What made you fall in love with your husband?”
“He was a dreamer, I suppose. People tend to think of politicians as pragmatic, doing what’s sensible, what’s realistic. It’s all a myth. Every single one is an idealist. Politicians are more about all kinds of crazy ideas than they are about what actually works.”
Does Millie know Royce’s dad, I wonder. Would she call him an idealist? I consider asking her, but I try to remind myself of the purpose of the project. This interview is to help Millie heal; it’s not for me. She’s here due to some heart trouble, and she told me she’d been in and out of the hospital for months now.
“What kind of politician was your husband?” I ask.
“A district attorney.”
“How did the two of you meet?”
“He helped us with a permit we needed for one of our buildings,” Millie straightens herself in her bed.
“Do you miss your work?” I ask, because she sounded a little wistful.
“A little. My sons run the company now.” She leans up in her bed. “Could you help me adjust this pillow? I’ve had a kink in my back all day.” As I shift her pillows behind her, Millie turns to put her hand on my shoulder. “I’ve had something on my mind lately, Jasmine. May I ask you a question? It’s only a little personal.”
I nod. “Yes. Of course.”
“What’s your happiest memory?” Millie asks.
I think for a moment, scanning through my happiest moments. My grandmother giving me the amber glass. Being named cheer captain at the end of last school year. Falling asleep on a mattress on the floor my first night in America, snuggled up to Danny, his little toddler’s body warm against me. I was scared, but I was also so excited to begin a new life.
Before I can even answer her, Millie starts up again. “Do you ever sense a little silver sliver of sadness around your happy memories?”
“I’m not sure what you mean...”
“I do. There’s something about remembering that just isn’t the same as the real thing. No matter how happy it makes you feel. When you remember something, you have to recognize that the moment will never happen again.”
Millie looks out the window, her expression pensive, like she’s remembering something that happened long ago. “Never mind about that anyway,” she says. “I shouldn’t bother you with an old woman’s regrets. What about you? Tell me about yourself. You’re a senior, aren’t you? Where are you planning on going to college? Is there a boy you’re seeing? Good news? Bad news? Future plans?”
My stomach turns. Only a week ago, I would have been excited about these questions, maybe even telling her about Royce. Things have changed. Boy, have they changed.
“Oh, you don’t want to hear about my life,” I say. I recall my dad warning me to keep mum on our “problem.” But why couldn’t I tell Millie? It’s not like she would call immigration on us, would she? She’s my friend, and so is Kayla.
“Sure I do. I find most people interesting. You just have to dig a little to get to know someone. Come on. What’s bothering you?”
I decide to take a chance. I can’t keep it bottled up inside anymore, and who knows, maybe Millie can help. She’s a dynamo who owned her own company. Maybe she could help me figure out what to do. “I’ve been invited to go to Washington, D.C.,” I say. “But I probably shouldn’t.”
“What do you mean you shouldn’t? Why are you invited there in the first place? You’re a little too young for office. You’re not secretly planning to take over the world?”
Her words actually make me laugh a little. “It’s not that,” I say. “I just don’t know how I’ll get there.”
I take a deep breath and tell her about the National Scholarship Award and the president’s letter. I tell her how my dreams came true only to be shattered by the discovery that I’m here illegally. “I can’t believe it. My parents hid the truth from us, and my brothers still don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen now. What am I going to do next year?”
As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I get nervous. Can I really trust her? What does she think of me? Why would an elderly Beverly Hills socialite care about an undocumented Filipino girl like me?
Now I feel silly for even thinking about asking her for advice.
Millie wrinkles her forehead like she’s thinking really hard. “But you still want to go to Washington, D.C., for the reception?”
“Yes. But what’s the use? They’ll just laugh me out of the White House.”
“You really think in this day and age, with everything that the presidential administration stands for, that they would just kick you out? A beautiful young girl like you who’s so smart, she got accepted for such a high honor in the first place?”
I shake my head. “There are lots of people who live in detention centers until they’re deported, told to never come back to America. Mom told me a story about one woman who lived here her whole life but was born in Mexico. They deported her for not paying a traffic ticket. And she doesn’t even know Spanish. She got a job working at a telemarketing company because she’s a native English speaker, but her life completely changed. She lost all her friends. Her belongings. Everyone she knew. Now she can never come back to America. We can’t risk it. I can’t risk it.”
Millie considers this. “I suppose you’re right. This is a dangerous time to be an immigrant. Still, being brave, following through, and meeting the highest politicians in the land might not be a bad idea.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so. You should get on that plane. You won that award fair and square.”
I did. Millie’s