by Pixie Chica
“Ay mi niña, why didn’t you tell me? Your health is more important. Is it the flu? A stomach virus? I’ll make you some chicken soup and you’ll stay in bed. Do you want me to cancel my trip to Vegas with your father?” She’s going a mile a minute and I can’t help but chuckle. No matter how mad I am at the situation, it doesn’t change my love for her.
“It’s probably because I haven’t eaten all day. I’ll go downstairs and grab something. Promise. And don’t you dare, he planned all this to let you see your favorite artist,” I tell her, giving her a kiss on her cheek.
“Okay, but if you need us, you tell me and we’ll stay home. And make that two of whatever you choose, you’re withering away. Actually, I’ll do it for you. We all know these parties never serve anything but dainty hors d’oeuvres.” Then she walks out, going to the kitchen where she’ll undoubtedly prepare a feast for me.
Once I’m alone, I glance in the full-length mirror, appreciating how the beautiful red dress with an open back looks on me, but I’d much rather wear it elsewhere. Perhaps to a club, dancing to a Caribbean rhythm. I’m a proud Cuban-American and the music of my heritage has always called to me. It may be cliché, but I’m a slave to the sound, the need to move with the beat is something I can’t control. Unfortunately, it won’t be that, but soft music with no passion or fire playing tonight. Being not only a birthday party, but also an introduction into their world, my parents opted for more formal.
After changing into my regular clothes, I find my dad and mom in the kitchen swaying to the beat of Celia Cruz’s Te Busco as he sings along. It’s an oldie, and a song I’ve heard numerous times as it’s one of their favorites. I watch quietly, envying the love they share. He’s so gentle with her, a direct contrast to what everyone whispers about him under the breath. Murderer. He protects her with every fiber of his being and would go insane if he were to lose her. It warms my heart to know true love exists, that I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They’re perfectly matched in every way. As always when the song ends, he sweeps her off her feet, kisses her, and says ‘te amo, mi corazón’ before setting her down. With their moment over, I clear my throat to make sure they don’t take it any further. They aren’t shy about their love, a fact I can attest to having accidentally interrupted them twice. You can’t unsee that. Ever.
“Didn’t see you there, mi Ivisita. I heard you aren’t eating. What’s the matter?” He asks, looking me over to check for himself. This is the problem; I’m viewed as fragile while my brothers are treated as if they can conquer the world. I’m la luz de sus ojos, which is both maddening and endearing.
“Pa, I’m fine. I just need some food in me before I start getting ready. I wouldn’t want to be late to my own celebration, appearances and all, you know?” I add with a smirk, not missing his resulting frown.
“Mija, why are you acting so strange?”
“I just want to get this over with. Could we talk soon though? I think I need some changes now that I’m turning eighteen.”
He lifts my chin and I try to mask my emotions, but he’s always been able to see underneath it. “Ivisita, I don’t like the sadness in those eyes. I know this life isn’t what you want for yourself, but it’s our way. No matter what happens, I’ve always had the family’s best interests in mind. Please remember that, as well as this – I love you,” he states, dropping a kiss on my forehead then walking away.
“What was all that about?” I ask my mom, wondering about the expression that crosses her face. “I don’t know, mi niña. Now eat.” I do, but his words stick with me the whole time, something not feeling right about them.