Fifteen Candles

by Veronica Chambers

  Apologize to Daddy and ask him for a second chance with my internship.

  Work very hard at City Hall. Do not make quince calls or do quince business at the job.

  Apologize to Sarita.

  Stop micro-managing Carmen, Gaz, and Jamie.

  “This is a very good list,” Maribelle said.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Alicia asked.

  “When you follow your corazón,” Maribelle said, giving Alicia a besito on the forehead, “things always work out.”

  THAT NIGHT, ALICIA’S parents arrived home together—and in silence. Maribelle, aware that Alicia needed all the help she could get, had scrapped that evening’s dinner plan of arroz con pollo and had instead driven to Whole Foods to shop for a meal that would put Alicia’s dad—and mom—in the mood for forgiveness. The chicken dish she had been preparing would keep, but that night they would dine on saffron rice, tostones, ripe avocado sprinkled with Hawaiian pink sea salt, and plantain-encrusted snapper. Upon hearing her parents’ car in the driveway, Alicia reached into the freezer for two ice-cold glasses of Maribelle’s special mojitos.

  She waited and watched as her mother kicked off her eggplant purple Manolo mules and her father slung his suit jacket over the dining room chair. Following her parents into the family room, she handed them each a drink. They both said a quiet gracias, but Alicia could tell that their moods were as frosty as the mojitos.

  “Dad, I’m so sorry,” she began. “If you’ll just give me a chance—”

  Enrique Cruz looked at his wife. “Please tell her not to speak to me right now.”

  Alicia’s mother sighed deeply, took a sip of her mojito, and said, “Your father says…”

  Alicia couldn’t believe it. They were acting as immature as kids at her school. “I heard him,” she said, sulkily. She walked back into the kitchen, where Maribelle was slicing an avocado into mini works of art.

  “They’re never going to forgive me,” Alicia moaned. “No matter what I do, they’re going to be mad.”

  Maribelle put down the knife and considered Alicia, her dark curls, her sad brown eyes, her long lashes wet with tears. She had no children of her own, but she had Alicia and Alex. Loving them, raising them, had been the best part of her job.

  “You’re growing up, and you have to learn how to take responsibility for doing wrong,” Maribelle finally said. “‘Sorry’ is not always going to make things go away like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “But you said that all I had to do is follow my heart and make things right.” Alicia knew that she was whining. But she was starting to get frustrated.

  “I never said it would be easy,” Maribelle said.

  “So, what do I do?” Alicia asked, genuinely confused.

  “Stay humble, pay attention, apologize as soon as your papi gives you the chance,” Maribelle said.

  “And if that doesn’t work?” Alicia said.

  “It will work,” Maribelle assured her. “Ten confienza.”

  Maribelle had finished her handiwork on the avocado and, as they had done a hundred times before, she and Alicia began to set the table.

  “You know, I’m not entirely sure that it was a good idea for you to skip your quinceañera,” Maribelle said.

  “I didn’t skip it, I just chose to to take a cool trip instead of having a corny Cinderella theme party and a big poufy dress.”

  “But being a quince is more than the party and the big dress,” the older woman said. “Planning the party gives you time to consider the kind of woman you want to be and how you hope to present yourself to the world. I’m not sure you get the same experience from buying plane tickets online.”

  “I didn’t even buy the tickets. My mom did.”

  “My point, exactly,” Maribelle said. “When you’re standing at the altar in front of your family and friends, there’s no way to just read those vows without some of it sinking in.”

  Alicia put down the stack of plates she was holding. “Wait a second, Maribelle. Did you have a quinceañera?”

  Maribelle put a hand on her hip and gave Alicia a saucy look. “Of course I did,” she said. “You and your friends did not invent quinceañeras, you know.”

  Alicia was dumbfounded. “But you never told me that before.”

  “I’m a grown woman, and I’ve had a very full life,” Maribelle said. “There are many things I haven’t told you.”

  “Will you show me your quince pictures?” Alicia asked.

  “Maybe,” Maribelle said.

  “And who was your lead chambelane?”

  “The man who would become my first husband,” Maribelle said, with a wink.

  “First husband!” Alicia squealed. “I didn’t know you had more than one!”

  “As I said, there’s a lot you don’t know, preciosa,” Maribelle said.

  Alicia hugged her, grateful to have Maribelle as her substitute abuela, thankful that for at least a few minutes, she had managed to forget exactly how much trouble she was in and how scared she was that she might not get out of it.

  Luckily, the forgiveness dinner seemed to have the desired effect. Her father spoke only to her mother and Alex through most of the meal. But Alicia could see that his shoulders were not as hunched, and the furrow in his brow was softening. Finally, when Maribelle emerged from the kitchen with dessert, lavender crème brûlée, Alicia summoned enough confidence to take her chance.

  “Dad, can I say something?” she asked.

  Her father’s expression was stony, but he nodded. “Fine, say something.”

  “I messed up big-time,” Alicia said. “You gave me a really great opportunity, and I took it for granted. I became completely obsessed with Sarita’s quince and the business, and the way that I behaved at the office didn’t show how proud I am of you and being your daughter.”

  Both of Alicia’s parents looked at her with more than a little surprise. Her mother spoke first.

  “Well, Alicia,” she said, “while I don’t condone your behavior, I have to say, I’m very impressed with the way you are taking responsibility for your actions.”

  “Yeah, who’s your speechwriter, Squeak?” Alex asked, using the old nickname from the time when Alicia was a baby and her first attempts at talking came out as a series of high-pitched squeaks. Hardly anyone ever called her that anymore, except for members of her extended family who hadn’t seen her in years—and Alex, when he wanted to give her a hard time.

  Alicia ignored her brother and tried to focus on what Maribelle had said about becoming a young woman and how you wanted to present yourself to the world. Maybe she had missed out on more than she’d realized by not having a quince. But she was going to be fifteen for five more months; nothing was stopping her from making every last moment of that year count.

  “Dad,” she said. “Is there any way you can get me another shot at that internship? If not this summer, then maybe for the fall?”

  Her father paused. “Actually,” he finally said, “I did not get a chance to speak to Lori today, so they haven’t made your quitting official yet.”

  “Dad, I didn’t quit,” she said softly. “Lori fired me. And you let her.”

  Her father showed a hint of a smile for the first time all evening. “That’s because you had it coming! Making calls about quince shoes in my office! Dance lessons in City Hall!”

  Alicia could feel her heart beating faster. Maybe Maribelle was right—maybe she could fix the situation.

  “Actually, I was—” Alicia started to explain, but Maribelle was standing behind her parents, motioning for her to zip it.

  “So, Dad, will you rehire me?”

  “Well…okay. One more chance,” he said. “We’ll consider it a trial period.”

  “That’s all I need,” Alicia said.

  The next morning, Alicia set her alarm clock for five a.m. She’d laid out her clothes the night before—a crisp white button-down shirt with three-quarter-inch sleeves and a red and white toile skirt that Jamie had
scored for her on eBay. She didn’t know how Jamie had found the vintage items, but it had been a gift. Anytime Alicia went to the Salvation Army or on eBay, all she ever found was junk. She got dressed quickly and didn’t bother to blow-dry her hair. She couldn’t risk waking her parents up with the noise. Then she grabbed a can of mango juice and a banana and dashed off to make the bus.

  By the time her father arrived at the office, she’d done a week’s worth of filing, restocked all of his dwindling office supplies, read through ten proposals for video shoots, and signed his name on 150 form letters to constituents. She’d even had time to pick him up a doppio espresso at Starbucks.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked.

  “I got in early,” she said proudly.

  “Well, you’ve certainly gotten a lot done,” he said. “But Lici, let me tell you right now. If tomorrow you’re back to your same old ways, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

  Alicia took a deep breath. “The last thing in the world I want to do is disappoint you, Dad.” And although she knew it wasn’t standard internship behavior, she gave her father a hug.

  Later that afternoon, her internship duties completed, Alicia made her way to the bus stop. She had her phone in her hand and was about to call Carmen to begin her apologies. Suddenly it rang. Looking down at the screen, she smiled. It was Carmen.

  “C., I’m so sorry I went all quince-crazy,” Alicia said before her friend could even say hello.

  “No worries,” Carmen said. “I’ve already forgiven you. I figured it was just temporary insanity.”

  “Something like that,” Alicia said, smiling.

  “Guess where I am?” Carmen asked.

  “No idea,” Alicia said.

  “Outside the DiaNoches boutique,” Carmen said. At least once a month, Carmen visited all the high-end boutiques in town and took notes about the latest trends in designer clothing. “And Sarita’s inside. It looks like she’s being brainwashed by some fembot salesgirl.”

  “Don’t move,” Alicia said. “I’m on my way.”

  Half an hour later, Alicia and Carmen walked into DiaNoches. Alicia was glad that she had on her internship clothes; they made her feel—and, she hoped, look—more businesslike.

  Sarita was standing on the runway, where the owners sometimes staged fashion shows. She was wearing a truly hideous poufy teal green dress that made her look like a mermaid. She was also wearing a blond wig. The end result? She looked busted.

  “Why is Sarita wearing a wig?” Carmen whispered.

  “Long story,” Alicia whispered back.

  Just then, Sarita turned. Seeing Alicia, her face filled with fury. “What are you doing here?” she screamed. “Did you come to cut off the rest of my hair?”

  “You cut her hair?” Carmen asked. She wasn’t whispering this time.

  “Yes, she scalped me!” Sarita said, ripping off the wig. “She made me bald for my quinceañera. Esta tipa es loca. ¡Nunca en mi vida he encontrado una chica tan exigente y mandona!”

  Carmen was still dumbfounded. “You cut her hair?” she repeated.

  “I can explain that,” Alicia muttered, mortified anew by her own quince-zilla behavior.

  “What were you thinking?” Carmen gasped.

  Of all the things that had gone wrong in the past forty-eight hours, more than anything, Alicia wished she could have made that particular incident go away.

  “I was going for Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta,” she whispered to Carmen.

  The salesgirls were all cracking up. “You cut this poor chica’s hair,” one of them, named Karina, cackled.

  Alicia thought she was going to cry. Nobody seemed to understand—she had just been trying to help Sarita! “I didn’t shave her head,” she mumbled. “I just snipped it with the scissors.”

  “‘Snipped it’!” Sarita said, pointing to the bald spot. “Fíjase. Mira lo que tú has hecho. ¡Espero todo mi vida por esta día, mi quince, y tú me cortas el pelo!”

  Suddenly something inside Alicia clicked, and she found her confienza. She needed to stand up for what she knew was right.

  “Sarita, look in the mirror,” Alicia said. “Is that the supersmart, supercute chicana who wants to pilot spaceships one day? This mermaid thing isn’t you. I know I went off the deep end for a minute. But I promise you that if you give Amigas Inc. another chance, if you give me another chance, I will listen more than I talk. And we—me, Jamie, Carmen, and Gaz—will work night and day to give you the quince of your dreams.”

  Sarita turned to look at herself in the mirror.

  Alicia walked up to the runway. “The quince of your dreams,” she repeated. “Not my dreams.”

  Sarita did not look at Alicia. Instead, she stepped down from the raised stage and walked up to Karina.

  “Thanks for everything,” she said. “But she’s right, this isn’t me.”

  “Let’s try another dress,” Karina suggested.

  “It’s not the dress.”

  “You don’t like the Little Mermaid theme,” Karina said. “I’m cool with that. We can do something different. ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ or ‘Aladdin.’”

  Ignoring Karina, Sarita finally turned to Alicia. “Can we talk for a minute, alone?” she asked.

  Alicia nodded, and they walked to the side of the store.

  “I’m only going to have one quince, and you nearly ruined it,” Sarita said. “How can I trust you again?”

  A pained expression came over Alicia’s face. “I know, I know, it was bad. I’m sorry.”

  Sarita’s eyes flashed. “Sorry didn’t do it, you did.”

  Alicia grimaced. The past few days had taught her at least one thing—making amends was hard. She took a deep breath and said, “It’s because I want you to have the best quince ever that I went so crazy,” she began. “Honestly, I never knew how many decisions went into every single little bit of it, from the dress to the food to the choreography to the location. Somehow, in trying to keep all the details straight, I lost sight of the most important thing. It’s your decision. It’s your quince. At the end of the day, I work for you. And I really, really would love to work for you.”

  Sarita didn’t say anything for what felt like forever. Then she extended her hand for Alicia to shake.

  “One more chance,” Sarita said.

  Alicia thought she might cry. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She reached out to give Sarita a hug, but the girl pulled back.

  “No hugging until you figure out what to do about my hair.”

  “We’ll call Jamie,” Alicia said. “Jamie will know exactly what to do.”

  THE GIRLS—Alicia, Sarita, Jamie, and Carmen—were walking down Collins Avenue to a salon so exclusive that it didn’t even have a sign, just a jet black door with a shiny silver handle in the center of it. Gaz had bowed out of the mission, once again reminding them, “I’m a guy.” It didn’t matter. For this, they didn’t need him.

  Reaching to open the door, Jamie paused and turned to Alicia. “You are so lucky I accepted your apology,” she said. “This is going to blow your mind.”

  The new, humble Alicia took this in stride. “I can’t really defend myself, but before you say anything else, just think of all the junk I’ve taken from you and how I’ve gotten past it!” Smiling, she pushed past Jamie, and they entered the salon.

  The reception area was covered with silver wallpaper, and the chairs were silver, too, with purple velvet cushions. Behind a high desk, a tall, skinny girl with Tyra bangs and bottle green eyes looked them up and down.

  “And you are here to see…?” she asked. Alicia couldn’t help noticing how a British accent could make you seem snotty, even if you weren’t.

  “El Vez,” Jamie replied.

  “Third floor,” the girl said, looking impressed in spite of herself.

  They piled into the elevator, trying to play it cool. But the minute the elevator doors closed, they all burst out giggling.

  “Does he really do Ch
ristina Aguilera’s hair?” Sarita asked when they’d stopped laughing.

  “Yes, he does,” Jamie said.

  “And he’s going to do my hair for free?”

  “Yep,” Jamie said. “El Vez and my cousin Anton used to be roommates on the Lower East Side. Back when he was just starting out, my cousin—he’s a manager at this store called Jeffrey now—got El Vez his first gig doing Chloë Sevigny’s hair for a movie premiere. He comes to South Beach for one week every month. He’s always offering to hook me up, as a favor to my cousin. But as you can see, there’s nothing a professional can do for me that I can’t do for myself.”

  Jamie was completely right—if not modest.

  “I’m a little nervous,” Sarita said, as the elevator doors opened and they walked into the sunny loft space.

  “Don’t be,” Alicia said. “We’ve got our inspiration photo, and this time we’re all on the same page.”

  “What’s that actress’s name again?” Carmen asked, looking at the picture.

  “Catherine Deneuve,” said Sarita. “From Umbrellas of Cherbourg. It’s one of my mom’s and my favorite movies.”

  “But it’s not going to be blond, right?” Alicia said.

  Just then, El Vez walked up to them. “Blond, no. Not on a beautiful morena like you,” he said, kissing Sarita’s hand. “You must be Sarita. Jamie e-mailed me a picture of you. But it doesn’t do you justice. Has anyone ever told you that you look like a young Salma Hayek?”

  Sarita turned bright red. “Get out!” she squealed.

  El Vez just laughed. He was tall and thin with a mop of hair that looked like Shaggy’s from Scooby-Doo, if Shaggy had had his hair precision-cut and rocked a very neat goatee, that is.

  “Jamie, my love,” he said, giving his old friend a kiss on both cheeks.

  “Be careful with him,” Jamie warned the group. “He’s a massive flirt.”

  “I don’t mind!” Sarita said.

  “But I bet Diego, your chambelane, would,” Alicia said. “Does he still hate me? Have I traumatized him for life about your dance number?”

  “Nah,” Sarita said. “He doesn’t scare that easy.”