“That’d be great.”
“Be back,” Brian says to his friends; then he hops up from the table and motions for us to go. When we’re out of earshot, he asks, “Everything good?”
“Yes and no,” I admit. “I’m grounded.”
“Grounded?! You steal a car or something, Charlie?”
“God, I wish. That’d be pretty badass, at least. No, I just got into a huge fight with my mom, so I’m banished from pretty much everything, including work.”
He arches an eyebrow at me, slowing down his pace as we walk. “Grounded from work?”
“I know. My mom is an interesting lady,” I say. “She’s just really hard on me and knows how to push me right to the edge, and, well…she said some things and I said some things and it wasn’t my finest moment.” I hesitate, then add: “I told her she was a terrible mother.”
Brian gives me a sympathetic look. We stop in front of the vending machines and he turns to me.
“I’m sorry that happened. But you aren’t the kind to just lash out without a good reason, Charlie. You’re a good person,” he says quietly.
“You are, too. Always giving great pep talks. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.” I smile at him. “And…since I am abandoning you at work and all, you can at least let me buy you a snack. Are you more of Snickers or Doritos kind of guy?” He gives me a look. “Oh! Right. Savory snacks. You told me that already. Doritos it is.” I swipe my card on the machine and buy two bags, which we start to munch on as we walk slowly back into the cafeteria.
“How long are you grounded for?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s the best part. It’s delightfully ambiguous!”
Brian returns the eye roll. “Oh, wonderful. Well, thanks for the heads-up. I’d have been looking for you.”
I nod, taking some joy in that, at least. “So until I’m out of exile, I guess we’ll just see each other in art?”
“Try and stop me,” Brian says with a grin.
I go straight home after school rather than doing, oh, I don’t know, anything else. I know I have to show my mom I’m sorry if I want things to eventually go back to normal for me. And I am remorseful over the fact that I hurt her. But the way we fight just doesn’t seem right. The way we make up could use some work, too. We don’t apologize; once my mom has stopped talking to me, I just have to deal until one day she decides we’re fine and acts like nothing happened. I hate it, but it’s just how it is.
So I do my best to repent by taking on chores: doing the dishes, making a healthy dinner, and even cleaning my room. Mom’s excellent at giving me the cold shoulder, though.
For days, I’m exiled.
But things aren’t all bad. Writing, Amelia, and sleep help keep me sane.
At school, it seems as if Amelia and I have fallen off Cal’s radar completely. No more hellos in the hallway. No more whispering in history class. He doesn’t even ask me to copy my homework. In fact, he pretty much acts like the two of us don’t exist, and that’s fine by us. I’m actually thankful for it, mostly because I worry I’d be such a pushover that if he tried to talk to me again, I might give in. Better that he doesn’t tempt me.
Amelia is trying to move on from Sid, which I think is wise. Word eventually gets out that she’s single, so there’s plenty of flirting directed at her. She even flirts back a little. Not because she’s really over him, but because she’s too goddamn stubborn to let him get the best of her.
In art class one day, as I’m gathering the acrylic paints Amelia and I need from the art supply closet, Brian finds me. The two of us haven’t really spent much time together since I’ve been grounded.
“Hey!” he says.
“Hey, Brian!” I say, excited to see him.
“Back to work soon?”
I sigh, reaching for the white paint bottle. “I wish.”
He starts to look through the paints, too, selecting the ones he needs and balancing them in his arms. “Still no luck getting through to your mom, huh?”
I shake my head. “Hopefully soon.”
“Hopefully,” Brian says. “Oh! So, I’m kind of a big deal.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He grabs the last paint bottle he needs and adds it to the bundle he’s carrying. “Yep. I get to pick what we listen to today.”
Getting to select the music in our art class is kind of a thing. It started with this old, junky stereo that Mr. Reed brought in. He’d put on one of his ancient CDs on days we were all working on our projects rather than listening to him teach a lesson. It was mostly oldies—like from the eighties and nineties—but every now and then, he began to let someone from class pick the music. He told us we could bring in our CDs, but hardly any of us owned any. (He got weirdly upset, actually, when one of the students jokingly asked if they still made those.) Instead, he eventually gave up and let us play music from Spotify.
“Amazing! What are we going to listen to?”
Not missing a beat, Brian says, “I’m thinking the Smiths.”
I smile and roll my eyes. “Of course you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing! It’s just that it’s a total boy thing to like that band.”
“They’re a great band!” he insists.
I shrug. “They are. I’m just saying.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brian says, smiling. “You have a better suggestion?”
“Hmm. Lion Babe?” I offer.
“I wouldn’t say it’s a better choice, but it’s good. I’ll give you that.”
“Brian?” a voice calls just before Layla pokes her head into the closet. “There you are! Mr. Reed needs help carrying the easels into the class. They’re in the storage room.”
“Sure. Be right there.” Brian looks at me. “They only need me for my brute strength,” he says, and I laugh. “See you in there.”
I finish picking out the paints for a painting of Central Park in winter that I’m about to embark on, and then I head back into the art room.
When I get to my table, Amelia’s already got our canvases set up on our easels and Brian’s music is playing. Only it’s not the Smiths. It’s Lion Babe.
Chapter Seventeen
Try as I might to get out of going to Titi Lina’s gender reveal party, Mom won’t budge. Not even after I caved and said I was sorry.
It’s been a while since we’ve seen Titi and the family, she says, and she keeps reminding me that I’m grounded and I need to be on my best behavior if I ever wish to be ungrounded.
I’m not big into parties in the first place, even though we used to go to parties all the time when I was little. My dad only had one younger sister, Titi, but they had a huge extended family with dozens and dozens of cousins, mostly from Puerto Rico. (I think half of the people he called his cousins weren’t really his cousins at all, just friends who had become like family.) They had carved out their own little community in this—let’s be honest—otherwise pretty white area of Connecticut, and someone was always finding a reason to get together, eat, and drink. My mom liked to joke that they’d throw a party whenever someone sneezed. ¡Wepa!
As a kid, I always felt super out of place at these parties. Though I was surrounded by people who looked like me, I still felt like an outsider. They all spoke English and Spanish, for one. (Papi almost never spoke Spanish at home, so I only ever picked up on a few words here and there.) Plus, they all seemed so comfortable together, laughing and dancing to Latin music. The adults drank and traded chisme, the younger kids did a lot of running around and playing games, and the older kids would just kind of hang out.
I’d sometimes try to join my cousins who were around my age, but I always felt awkward. It’s not even like they were mean to me or anything. I just felt too embarrassed for liking One Direction and Taylor Swift, for speaking like a “white person” (their words) rather than with an accent, for going to school in a super-white town and having mostly white friends. Truth be told, I sometimes even felt like I was b
etter than them—getting a better education in my white-ass town, speaking perfect English. How messed up is that? They knew two languages and there I was thinking I was hot shit because I knew what an Oxford comma was. Hey, internalized racism. How you doing?
It was especially ironic because it’s not like I felt like I fit in super well with my white peers, either. (They always asked me things like “Can I touch your hair?” or “What are you doing for Cinco de Mayo?” or “Do you know So-and-so?” in reference to anyone who shared my last name or also happened to be Puerto Rican.)
After Dad passed, Mom and I stopped going to as many parties with his family, though we were always invited. To the few parties we did attend, she’d often let me bring Amelia so I’d have a buddy.
And that’s when genius strikes: I need to ask if Amelia can come to this party with me.
I casually mention it to my mom, who lights up at the suggestion. So I call Amelia (again, on the landline—when will I be free of this torture?) to extend the invite.
She answers and says, “I can’t believe I have to talk to you on the phone rather than text. That’s friendship.”
“No, true friendship is coming with me to my aunt’s gender reveal party!”
“Lina?” Amelia asks, surprised.
“Yes, it’s this weekend, and I know you want to come.” I sigh. “My mom’s forcing me to go.”
“I didn’t even know Lina was pregnant. Thanks for sharing.”
“Sorry! You know I’m not super close with them anymore. But will you come?”
“Maaaaybe. When is it?”
“Saturday. We can come pick you up. Please come, Amelia. It’ll be just like when we were younger! I’ll even dance!” Amelia would always try to get me to dance with her, but I would hang back and let her dance with my cousins instead.
“You will?”
“I mean…I’ll consider it,” I say, backtracking.
“Well, then, I guess I’ll just consider going.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll do it. I’ll dance!”
“Yes! Then I’m in!”
On Saturday, Mom and I swing by Amelia’s house to pick her up and head to Titi’s. We don’t bring gifts, because in a few weeks there will be a formal baby shower where we can buy and give the appropriately gendered toys (insert eyeroll here). But we do wear pink or blue, which we’ve been asked to do to show whether we’re #TeamGirl or #TeamBoy. I wear a pink cardigan, but Mom and Amelia both go with blue—Mom because she’s convinced Lina will have a boy, and Amelia just because she has a new blue dress she really wanted to wear.
When we get to Titi’s, we’re greeted by pink and blue balloons on either side of the front door, and when we step through into the Cape Cod–style house, it’s like a party store (albeit a classy one) has thrown up all over their home. The sleek and modern furniture has been covered in pink and blue: streamers, paper lanterns, garland, artfully placed confetti.
We’re barely into the living room when one of my cousins, Ana, exclaims, “Well, well, well, look who’s here!” She gives me and Mom and Amelia a kiss on each cheek—a tradition for us when entering or leaving a party—and then yells for Titi, who appears in the room looking tiny as ever, short, slim, her pregnancy nearly imperceptible except for a sweet little bump.
“Oh my goodness, hi! How are you?” Titi asks, rushing to plant kisses on my cheeks. Even pregnant, Titi is so beautiful—petite, with the cutest round belly; soft brown skin, shiny with that pregnant-lady glow; long, wavy, black-brown hair, thick and textured (note to self: ask what products she uses!); and long black eyelashes I wish I’d managed to inherit, too.
“Good, how are you?” I ask. “You look great!”
Titi rubs her belly and laughs. “I feel huge,” she says, her adorable accent coming out on the word huge. She turns to Amelia and gives her two kisses as well. “Good to see you!”
“You too, Lina. Thanks for having me,” Amelia says with a smile.
Titi waves her hand. “You’re always welcome! You dance with us. We like that,” she says, laughing. Then she gets to Mom and doesn’t just give her two kisses but wraps her in a big, long hug as they rock back and forth.
“It’s been too long,” Mom says.
“Yes, it has!” Titi says, pulling back. “Look at you! So small now!”
I can tell my mom is pleased with the compliment by the big smile that spreads across her face. “Oh, no, not really,” she says.
“Yes, really. Beautiful,” Titi says. “But you need to get your asses over here more. All of you. Or else!”
We laugh, and Mom motions toward Titi’s belly. “Can you believe it?”
Titi grabs my mom’s hand and places it over her stomach. “No, but José and I are so excited. And with you three to celebrate! Come, come.” She leads us beyond the foyer and farther into her home, which is packed with people.
The music is already bumping, and I glance around to see that no detail has been overlooked: in the adjacent dining room, the table has been pushed all the way to the side and is covered in pink and blue cups and utensils and treats (like glass bowls filled with colored candy and a massive pink and blue cupcake tower). There’s also a white backdrop hanging from one of the walls, adorned with twinkling lights and pink and blue balloons that spell out OH, BABY (obvi the dedicated selfie spot). And I can smell the delicious Puerto Rican food, undoubtedly brimming in all-too-familiar aluminum trays, from here.
“Want a drink, Titi Jeanne?” Ana asks.
Mom nods. “I’ll take a Corona,” she says, which I haven’t seen her drink since the last party here. I kind of wish I could have a drink, too, because I’m full of nerves being back around family I haven’t seen in ages.
Instead, Amelia and I find some more of my cousins—Marisol, Carmen, Mateo, Junior, and Maritza—all crowded in the kitchen at the island, hovering over their phones. We start talking about a new song Mateo is obsessed with, which he’s currently playing on his phone over the other music that’s already blasting.
“I wish they’d let me DJ,” Mateo says. “This is music.”
Carmen, Mateo’s sister, rolls her eyes. “You’re so dumb sometimes.”
“Don’t call me dumb, stupid,” Mateo says.
“Well, don’t be dumb, stupid,” Carmen shoots back.
“Guys, enough,” Ana says, shaking her head.
“I live for the new Cardi B song,” Amelia says, returning us to the topic of music.
Maritza perks up at the mention of Cardi. “Oh my God, same. Put it on!” she says, and just like that, Mateo switches the song. Maritza immediately jumps off her stool and starts to dance to the opening notes.
Marisol and Carmen join in, and so does Amelia, and I find myself envying the way she so easily makes herself part of the conversation and the action. Meanwhile, I’m standing near them, sort of but not really bobbing along to the music and singing along to only the parts I know (the chorus mostly).
But the dancing is contagious, and a few of the adults start to dance, too, to the mix of songs playing. Even as the music shifts, people keep dancing and laughing, and Titi Lina and Mom start to dance, too.
I smile at everyone but use this as an opportunity to slip away to get something to drink. I’ve fulfilled my promise to Amelia: I danced, sort of, and all within the first twenty minutes after arrival. So I slink off to the corner of the kitchen, where I don’t have to watch as Mom and Amelia dance together, looking more like mother and daughter than Mom and I ever have. I go on my phone for a bit instead. (Mom is letting me have it ‘for the night’—very generous.)
Awhile later, Titi Lina spots me as she prepares a plate of food for herself. “What are you doing in here all alone, mi’ja?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Just taking a little break.”
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“No, I’m good. But thank you.”
She piles some rice onto her plate as well as a few tostones and I expect her to return to the living room,
but instead she joins me at the counter where I’ve been standing.
“You know, I sometimes get overwhelmed at these things, too.”
I’m surprised. “You do?”
Titi Lina nods, then points at her belly. “These days especially. I get tired so quickly. I can’t get down like your tío can.”
“Who could?” I ask, and we both laugh.
“Sometimes you remind me so much of your papi. Both so quick,” Titi says, and there’s a tug at my heart. “It’s hard to believe Héctor won’t burst through the door and tell us some out-of-control story of his.”
“He did always have the best stories,” I agree. “They came with their fair share of embellishments, maybe, but that’s what made them so good.”
“Of course. We didn’t even care if they were true half the time because they were just so fun to listen to. I miss him.”
“I miss him, too,” I say, giving her a soft smile.
Titi reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You know, we love having you and your mom here. You know you can come by anytime. We’re still family.”
“Thanks, Titi.”
She smiles at me. “I’m going to get back out there before your tío comes looking.”
I wish I could say this is the part where I find a way to break out of my shell, say screw it, and go over and start dancing with everyone—or start having an enthralling conversation with one of my cousins, or even start telling some funny stories that make other people laugh, but none of that’s true. It means a lot that Titi Lina has extended an invitation to me to visit more, but it’s still a little painful to be in these surroundings without my dad, and to feel so woefully out of place in my own family while my best friend fits in like magic. So as those around me have fun dancing, drinking, playing party games, and eating, I find myself sneaking away to corners where I can mostly be alone.
Even when Titi Lina and Tío José finally pop a giant balloon and blue confetti flies everywhere, I can’t really enjoy it because Tío makes the sign of the cross on his head and chest and starts telling everyone how thank God he’s having a boy and not a girl, and that’s so rude to me.
Fat Chance, Charlie Vega Page 12