She frowned.
“Yeah, like a Lakers theme. We could have flat-screen TVs everywhere, showing ESPN and MTV. It’d be a restaurant too, but mostly, you know, beer and snacks, like quesadillas and hot wings.”
“I hate sports. You know that. I hate going to sports bars. Why would I want to own one?” He let her hand go, and she watched the light fading from his eyes as he knitted his eyebrows and sighed, ran his hand through his spiky black hair.
“What are you doing, Bee? Why are you ruining this? I’m trying to do something good for us here, and you’re picking a fight. I thought we were just sharing ideas.”
It was stupid to fight; he was right. They could hash out the details another time. This was a celebration of possibility. She wanted to go back to holding hands and dreaming with him. But the memory of wringing herself dry, for him, wouldn’t leave her alone. She looked at him, this man she loved, and saw loss. She couldn’t help picking at the scab that would never leave the wound. Under her breath, “I was thinking of a more traditional place, that’s all. More romantic.”
“But come on, Bee. Let’s be realistic. You think that would make good business sense? Think about it. Most of the bars stayed open even when the restaurants closed. We’ve got to think about demand and profits, or we’ll sink ourselves into a hole.”
“You’re sure proud of that one year as a business major, aren’t you?” As his face crumpled, she regretted saying that. “We can have a bar, I guess. But I want mariachis and dancing, not TV.”
“You’ve gotta think about cost, Bee. All that costs money.”
“Dancing is free.”
“Fine. You dance.” His voice had gone cold.
She drew away from him and walked toward the bar. She imagined women in folklórico skirts twirling like butterflies around the tables, tapping their black high-heels to the rhythm, their colorful ribbon-woven braids gleaming in tandem with their spinning. She imagined standing at the front of the room singing a ranchera while couples danced around her, cowboy boots and wide-brimmed hats touching. Ay ay ay ay, canta no llores. Her bisabuela used to sing to her in the bedroom she’d shared with Matty: Cielito Lindo, los corazones. “I don’t want a bunch of drunken borrachos watching football or soccer or whatever in my restaurant.”
“Katrina understands,” he mumbled.
Bianca’s insides turned to ice. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Like hell I’ll forget it. Did you tell her about this place? Before you told me?” Doubt and suspicion surged through her anew. Maybe Katrina had been telling the truth. Maybe Gabe was a two-faced liar.
“Look, it’s nothing. Shit, Bee. She’s my friend.”
“Your friend? Your . . . friend?” She spit the words as if they were bitter chiles. “So for all your big talk, nothing’s changed.”
“Calm down. Jesus Christ. I just mentioned I was thinking of buying a restaurant.”
“Okay, Gabe. You buy a restaurant. You do whatever you want with it. You share it with whomever you choose. You always do what you want anyway.”
Gabe stomped toward her across the room, and for a second, she was afraid he would hit her. His face was dark and frustrated. His fists were clenched. But she didn’t recoil as he grabbed a clear glass sparkling from the counter and hurled it across the room. She stood still and silent as it crashed, shattering against the white plaster.
“Why do you make everything so damn difficult?” he asked, his voice a hollow drum. Bianca didn’t know. She didn’t know why she made everything so difficult. She stared at him, but he wouldn’t look into her eyes. He sighed deeply, his shoulders and chest heaving as he exhaled. “I’ll be in the car. Lock the door.” He dropped the keys on the bar where the glass had been and walked out, the door sounding a hopeful ding-ding after him.
Bianca reached for another glass from the bar and held it up to her left eye, gazing toward the wall where a matching glass had shattered. As if through a crystal kaleidoscope, she searched the broken pieces for color. She saw none.
Ten
Letter to Jubilee
I write poems for us, mijita. The world brightens in the dark forests of metaphor. I’m grateful for the strength you give me. I’m learning to love girls like us, gritonas and lloronas but chingonas too, like Sandra, fighters, baby girl, with the strength to kill gods, with the strength to realize they were never gods to begin with. Mira—
Girls like us
Light La Virgen candles for protection
sometimes from ourselves
Morgue numb, rib-cracking,
petal backward, unblossoming
Girls like us learn to save ourselves
memory slipping like snakes down the throat
Bind our heart-hands, burn
& never cry out
Girls like us have been crying for a thousand years,
never stop crying
We know
something is breathing, is alive
Girls like us swallow fish & glow & fin
nightwise through rivers, ditchwater girls
We fight drowning by learning to breathe
underwater, gills full
All backwater summer, white flies seethe
around girls like us
Backhand, back-sass, break-bone girls—
when our survival depends on how far we backbend
in haystacks, stain our skin
red, hex your father’s gods, dip them in batter
fry for tacos & serve them back
with cilantro & limón
lick the chile from our fingers.
Eleven
Such Sweetness
With Jubilee
Something was different in Bianca after the Anne Geddes dolls; Joshua sensed it. Bianca had already invited him and Jayden to Thanksgiving dinner at her abuela’s and didn’t renege. But most of his calls went to voicemail. He should’ve been relieved. Jayden hadn’t brought up what happened outside Anne Geddes, but it had shaken Joshua. What was he supposed to tell the kid? He was in love with a delusional woman? Wouldn’t that screw him up worse than having Joshua for a dad/uncle? What Joshua had learned about Bee so far: she needed a lot more help than he could give.
But he was scared to lose her.
He and Jayden dressed up for the occasion; they even wore matching ties.
What would her family think of them? Would her abuela be like Patti?
“I’m nervous,” he whispered to Bianca, holding her hand as they walked the front path toward her abuelos’ gated community. She looked beautiful, wearing a deep-blue dress and matching heels. She’d dressed Jubilee in a lighter blue dress. Joshua had picked them up at Matty’s so she could give directions to her abuelos’ house. They lived thirty minutes down the 5, toward Knott’s Berry Farm in Buena Park.
“They’ll love you. Believe me. You’re perfect.” She sounded genuine, like maybe she’d forgiven him for the doll slip.
“I don’t know about that.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “You’re a knight in shining armor.” After she’d given him the cold shoulder all week, this behavior was a major surprise. Why the change? If only they’d had more time to talk privately before he met her family. He wanted to bask in her warmth, but he still felt like he was missing something, and it unnerved him. Maybe he’d have to learn to feel a bit wobbly, a bit disoriented around this woman.
“Me too?” Jayden asked from his arms. “They’ll like me too?”
“You, mijito? You, they’ll adore.” She tickled under his chin. “But prepare yourselves, guys. My family is huge. No. Huge is an understatement.”
The house was impressive. Two stories with a manicured lawn and sculptured bushes. This was nothing like P
atti’s in Pomona. Joshua felt out of his league. Bianca opened the door without knocking; Joshua took a deep breath and held Jayden tighter.
She wasn’t kidding. From the doorway, he stared in shock at the crowd: dozens of people spread across the long linen-covered folding tables beside the formal table in the dining room; they stretched into the living room and entryway. A colorful chandelier hung above the main table, beside an oak china cabinet. The spacious room, filled to capacity, hummed with noise: loud laughing, conversation, children crying, dishes clanging, aunts setting out the food.
“It’s like a restaurant,” Jayden whispered.
“Hey, everyone,” Bianca yelled above the din. The room quieted and “everyone” turned toward them. Joshua tried to smile, hoping he didn’t look too nervous.
“Mija!” A small, round-faced woman with short, dark hair and glasses approached, arms extended. “You brought your novio.”
“Hi, Abuela.” Bianca kissed her cheek. “This is Joshua Walker and his son, Jayden.” She nodded toward her abuela, who was wiping her hands on her apron. “This is Abuela.”
Joshua smiled, genuinely this time. Although Abuela’s amber complexion was flecked with brown liver spots and skintags, her taut skin and the glow of her aura made her appear much younger than Joshua suspected she was. Bianca so resembled her, Joshua could’ve taken Abuela for Bianca’s mom. He extended his hand to shake hers and said, “Great to meet you, and thank you for inviting us to your home.”
Celia embraced him and Jayden both in a warm hug. “Ay, mijos! We’ve heard so much about you from our hija. Pásale, come in. We’re starting the blessing.”
Bianca led them through the crowd to a table near the back, squeezing between dozens of cousins, boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, and children, all dressed up. Joshua was glad he’d thought to dress them up too. He and Jayden were the darkest faces in the mostly Latinx room, though he did see one Hawaiian-looking woman and a couple of much fairer-skinned people, even one or two blonds. Some family members nodded and smiled warmly, shaking his hand and hugging or kissing Bianca, who clutched Jubilee to her chest. Some of the family looked at Jubilee strangely, a few shook their heads. Bianca held her head high as she passed. The majority of faces were welcoming. But Joshua couldn’t help being self-conscious. Bianca acted oblivious to the stares and whispers. Did she know how they looked at her? Did it bother her?
Behind Bianca’s chair, against the living room wall, a high chair was set up for Jubilee, one of the four around the table. Who’d left it there for the doll? Matty and Handro?
“How do you know all these people?” Jayden whispered as they took their seats.
Bianca laughed. “They’re family.”
“They’re family? Whoa. That’s a lot of family.”
Bianca’s lips quirked and she winked at Joshua, who’d been thinking the same as Jayden.
Trays and bowls were brimming over in the middle of every table all around the room: sliced turkey and ham, candied yams in melted marshmallows, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, stuffing, rolls, and a pretzel-crusted Jell-O salad covered in what looked like whipped cream but Bianca said was sour cream. Her Tía Lydia made it, and it was sooo good. Joshua had to try it. Aside from the food, on gold-trimmed china plates in front of them were thin, white candles. A tradition in Bee’s family that had started the year her bisabuela had died; in honor of Bisabuela’s memory, they each took turns passing the fire to light their candle and say what they were thankful for. Everyone participated, and Abuela usually cried.
When Joshua’s turn came, he said, “I’m thankful for you all welcoming me into your home. And for my boy, Jayden, who brings laughter to my life. And now, for Bianca . . .” Glancing at the highchair, he added, “and Jubilee.” Bianca kissed his cheek when he lit her candle. She looked toward the head of the table. A woman nearly identical to Bianca watched them. She was thinner and graying at her temples, one elbow on her place mat, her arm supporting her forehead as if she had a headache, and the other hand on a necklace around her neck. Joshua watched her thumbing the beads; it was a rosary. Rosana. He’d recognize Bianca’s mother anywhere. Someone, an aunt maybe, put an arm around her when Bianca said she was thankful for fathers.
Mama was nearly last to give thanks, before Abuela, who did cry as Bianca predicted she would. Mama was thankful her daughter had come home. But Bianca didn’t even look up at her.
After dinner, Matty called Joshua to join him and Handro. Most of the male cousins were watching TV in the family room. Bianca had taken Jayden with her female cousins and their children to play upstairs, and for a brief moment, Joshua wondered if Jubilee somehow helped Bee feel like she “fit in” with a family where all the women (even the college-age, younger women) seemed to have children in tow. Again, this was a case-study note he’d have to file away in his memory, since he definitely couldn’t ask her outright.
Bianca’s brother and his partner looked cute together. Bianca called them her favorite guys. Matty was taller and wider. Something about his demeanor made Joshua want to impress him, gain his approval. “Josh is an X-Men fan,” Matty told Handro. “He’s the Beast.”
Joshua nodded.
“You should come with us to Comic-Con in San Diego next year then,” Handro said. “Matty’s debuting his new comic—it’ll trend so hard, watch, it’ll transcend X-Men.” His voice was enthusiastic and melodic, as if singing instead of talking. Bee had said he was a host at a swanky gay bar in Orange County, which seemed perfect, he was so friendly.
Matty said that was a good idea but gave Joshua a look that meant Are you gonna be around in a year? In defense, Joshua blurted out something about how much he liked Matty’s sister, adding, “She’s smart and classy. Already, she acts like a mom to Jayden.”
“Isn’t that problematic for you and your kid?” Was he trying to be an asshole? Or was he genuinely concerned? “What do you tell him about Bee’s doll?”
“It’s a coping mechanism, right? She’s not insane or anything.”
“My mom says we need to unshock her.” Matty crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowning. “I’m not so sure.”
“What shocked her in the first place?”
“Has she told you about her therapist?”
“She’s mentioned her ‘appeasing-her-mother appointments,’ but she hasn’t actually given any details.”
“Don’t you think you should ask her?”
Was Matty trying to make Joshua feel like an idiot? “I wanted to let her work through it in her own time, not push her. Besides, I thought therapy was supposed to be confidential.”
Matty sighed. “After our dad died, she was a wreck. She couldn’t be consoled. Not by me, not Mom, not anyone. She stayed in the Valley with that douchebag she called a boyfriend. She told you about Gabe?”
“The rough sketch anyway. He sounds like a player.”
Matty picked at his cuticles. Handro put his hand on Matty’s leg. “She showed up at our house in the middle of the night right before Easter. She collapsed on our couch and when she woke up, she acted as if the doll was alive and she was its mom.”
“Her mom,” Handro corrected. “Not its.”
“Sorry. Her mom.” He sounded irritated, a scratch to his voice Joshua hadn’t heard before. He seemed calm around Bee and handled Jubilee with care. “I should know better by now. We never call Jubilee a doll. She’s Bianca’s baby.” He said this last part as if he were reciting a script; it wasn’t mocking, exactly, but Joshua understood what Bee meant when she’d said her brother was a talented actor in high school; she was surprised he hadn’t pursued a theatrical career. His current role: patient brother who loves his sister. He’d masked his true feelings well. Joshua hadn’t realized he was so frustrated about having to pretend for Bee.
“Why do you do it?” he asked. “I know why I go along with Bianca. Why do you all?”
&n
bsp; “Because we love her,” Handro said.
“Look,” Matty said. “We were afraid she’d gone crazy, that we’d have to send her to a mental health facility against her will. And I’m sure you know by now what it’s like to go up against Bee when she doesn’t want to do something or disagrees with you.” He chuckled, and there it was, the brotherly love that Joshua had sensed before. “Luckily, her therapist said she could be treated at home, with meds and therapy, and a lot of patience from us.” He looked toward their mom, and Joshua followed his gaze. Bianca still hadn’t introduced them. “Bee’s angry with her,” Matty said, as if reading Joshua’s mind.
Before he could respond, Bianca’s mom stood in front of them. “Am I allowed to meet this handsome young man?” Her dark hair curled around her face the same as Bianca’s, only Mama’s was streaked with gray. Joshua noticed again the string of beads dangling from beneath her cream-colored sweater. He thought of Patti and her rosary and stood to shake Bianca’s mom’s hand.
“Good to meet you, ma’am. I’m not sure about handsome, but I’m Joshua Walker.”
“Bianca’s been keeping you a secret.” She kept his hand in hers. It felt rude to pull away.
“I’m not sure about that, ma’am.” His palms were sweaty.
“Oh, Mom, leave him alone.” Matty’s voice was playful and casual again. “Bee’s upstairs with Jayden.”
Bianca’s mother let go and sat in an empty folding chair beside her son, smoothing her slacks.
“Mom, Josh wants to know why Bee hasn’t introduced you two yet.”
“You mean a more compelling reason than I’m a nag?” She laughed. “She assumes I would say you could be the unshocking cure my baby girl needs to get her life back on track. Watching you interacting tonight, I’d say I’m correct.”
Damn, he could see where Bee got her intensity. Did this woman actually expect him to cure her daughter? He didn’t even know what was wrong with her daughter. He was just playing along because he liked her so much. But unshocking her? He didn’t know about that. He assumed she meant Bianca suffered from PTSD, but he’d never heard anyone phrase it the way Mrs. Vogelsang did. Keep it cool. She’s teasing you. His mouth sandpapered. He couldn’t form a response.
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