I ditch my cousins and find Pilar who’s been chatting with Drina and Brigida. Placing my hand on her swollen belly, I bend down and query, “Are you sure you want to be born into this loud, nutty, always-fighting-about-something family, mi niña?”
Pilar chuckles. “For better or worse, she’s pretty much stuck with us now.”
“Where is her father anyway?” I ask as we walk toward the sliding glass doors that lead out to the terrace.
“We couldn’t find a babysitter and Ford knew how much I wanted to meet Eduardo, so he volunteered to stay home with the kids, which was probably for the best seeing as how you have designs on him,” she says, giving me a playful wink-wink. I shouldn’t have said her husband is do-able. She’s never going to let me live it down!
“Ha ha,” I retort in a flat voice. “I am sorry Ford couldn’t be here so that Eduardo could see that a man can marry into this family and still keep his sanity. And we really need some testosterone to balance out all this estrogen. I don’t know if Raymond and Papá have any left since they’ve basically been neutered.”
“There’s always Rique.” She sweeps a hand to the other side of the table out on the terrace where Drina’s son is sitting all alone, with his face buried in a magazine entitled Ferret Fun.
Oh, geez. I didn’t even know he was here. Rique is the family introvert who’s more comfortable with animals than people, which is why he works at a pet store and lives with a couple dozen ferrets (maybe more since they’re constantly reproducing). He’s harmless, but not exactly a shining example of an alpha male in our clan. I would have rather his brother, José, had crashed the party. At least José has his own landscaping business and can carry on a conversation while making eye contact and without mumbling.
“Hey, Rique!” I greet him as I lower myself into a chair at the table, and he grunts an acknowledgement without looking up from his magazine. That article on “How to Make a Ferret Playground in Your House” must be really riveting!
“Oooo, this centerpiece is espléndido, Luisa!” Brigida coos, and the other aunts nod in agreement. The tropical arrangement, which runs half the length of the table, really is stunning, with exotic flowers in vibrant shades of red, orange, and yellow, along with lush greenery.
Mamá looks very pleased with herself as she sets down a platter piled high with vaca frita, which is shredded flank steak fried with olive oil, onion, garlic, and lime. “I know! It took my breath away when it was delivered this morning. ”
“Delivered? Do you have a secret admirer, Mamá?” Pilar teases her.
“No, but I have a very well-mannered guest who knows how to pay proper tribute to his hostess.” She gestures at Eduardo who’s just stepped out onto the terrace.
He’s flummoxed when he’s met with a round of applause.
“Everyone likes the flowers, babe,” I explain, taking his hand and pulling him down into the chair next to me.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Eduardo says as he puts his napkin in his lap. “My mother always says that a table’s not complete without fresh flowers, so I thought Mrs. Alva—Luisa,” he corrects himself with a quirk of his lips, “might feel the same.”
“A man who listens to his mamá! You just get more perfect by the moment, Eduardo.” Mamá chucks his chin with an affectionate smile, then turns on a dime and screeches, “Solana!” just as my aunt is about to plant her sizable rear-end in a chair. “Where are the maduros? You were supposed to bring them out.”
“I brought out the beans and rice and Sancha’s salad. I thought Ana had the maduros.”
“No, I carried the second platter of vaca frita, which took two hands. Boys! Stop hitting each other, or I’m going to separate you,” Ana threatens David and Theo.
“I’ll just have to get the maduros myself,” Mamá says in a beleaguered tone. “You . . .” She pulls David out of his chair, interrupting the slap fight he and his brother were engaged in. “Go and sit next to your cousin Rique.” She points at the empty seat on the other side of the table.
“I don’t wanna,” David whines. “He smells funny.”
The kid speaks the truth. Rique chronically reeks of pet store.
“The two of you have something in common then. Go!” She shoves him in that direction.
We all start serving ourselves, then say grace, which segues nicely into the first of many inappropriate questions my family peppers Eduardo with under the guise of “getting to know him better.” Does he go to Mass every Sunday? How did he vote in the last presidential election? Does his father still have all of his hair? Is he interested in having children—if so, how many? How big of a raise did he get when he was promoted to COO? Although each and every one of these questions makes me want to do a face plant into my vaca frita, Eduardo answers all of them honestly and without hesitation, which I give him props for.
“Sandoval Spirits is one of the top providers of jobs to Latin-Americans in Miami, and we have a tuition assistance program for those in entry-level positions who would not have the means to get a college degree otherwise.”
“That is very impressive and commendable,” Papá remarks approvingly, which is no surprise since he’s big on education.
“On the subject of careers, I’d like to make an announcement.”
Our heads collectively swivel toward Sancha. She swallows nervously and reaches for her sangria, taking a big gulp before continuing, “I, uh, gave my two weeks’ notice at the insurance company today.”
Raphaela’s face contorts with confusion. “Why would you do that? Your ten year anniversary is coming up, and you said you’d get a bonus and an extra week of vacation when that happened.”
“She must have had a better offer,” their mother states confidently.
“She was probably recruited by a bigger insurance company,” Drina chimes in.
“Yeah, I don’t think anyone recruits receptionists.” This comment earns me a dark look from both of my aunts.
“I’m getting out of the insurance business altogether. My new job is in the performing arts.”
Huh? As far as I know, Sancha doesn’t have a creative bone in her body.
“This makes no sense!” Brigida says what we’re all thinking. “You don’t act, sing, or dance.”
“Those aren’t requirements for being a magician’s assistant.”
“A what?” her mother shrieks.
“Buckle up,” I mumble as an aside to Eduardo, then raise my voice to proclaim, “I believe she said, ‘magician’s assistant,’ tía. You know, the woman who goes ‘Ta da!’ whenever a trick is successfully completed. Sometimes she gets sawed in half or disappears from a box. Can you do either of those things, Sancha?”
“That’s a bit advanced for me at this stage. Right now, The Remarkable Ricardo is just having me handle his props and do presentation.”
Raphaela snickers. “You’re handling more than his props, aren’t you? How else could you have gotten a job when you have no experience in the field?”
“Ew, why do you always have to go to a gross place? Ricardo’s like fifty, and our relationship is purely professional. He sees my potential and is willing to help me hone my craft.”
“This is absurdo!” Brigida exclaims. “You cannot make a living being the assistant of a man who pulls rabbits out of hats.”
“Maybe not at first, but Ricardo and I are going to work on the act for a few months, then audition for Carnival Cruise—”
Brigida’s jaw drops. “You want to live on a ship that will take you far away from your family?”
“And go to foreign countries where you’ll be exposed to strange diseases you can’t even pronounce?” Mamá makes a face as though the very thought of such a thing makes her want to douse herself in Purell.
“No daughter of mine is going to give up a perfectly good job to go into show business. I forbid it!” Brigida pounds her fist on the table.
“I’m a grown woman; I can do whatever I want!” is Sancha’s obstinate response.
&
nbsp; “Not as long as I’m alive! Is that what you want—for me to be dead? Here’s a knife.” She picks up the one sitting next to her dinner plate and points the blade at her heart. “Go ahead. Put me out of my misery.”
It should be noted that Brigida is holding a butter knife, which can’t even cut through a loaf of bread much less pierce a bodily organ. My own mother has pulled this same stunt on numerous occasions, and it’s always good for a laugh.
“Your misery is of your own making, Mamá, which means it’s not my problem. If you were a good mother who actually cared about my feelings, you’d support me!” Sancha asserts, with a quivering lip.
Calling Brigida’s maternal skills into question is a bridge too far. She gasps indignantly along with the other mothers at the table and drops the knife on the table. We all know what comes next. Sancha’s about to be disowned. It’s happened to me twice, no wait, three times. Of course, these things never stick (unless you really screw the pooch—or should I say rat?—like Nita did).
Apropos of nothing, Pilar blurts out, “Ford and I have decided to name the baby Placenta!”
I know my sister’s not serious and she just said the first thing that came to mind to try and distract everyone and defuse the situation, but still Placenta? I guffaw so hard I start to choke on the bite of beef I just took and Eduardo has to whack me on the back.
A chorus of “No!”s rings out around the table, with everyone rushing to tell Pilar how she’ll ruin her child’s life if she saddles her with a name like that and offering up other options, some of which are almost as bad. The name debate carries us through the rest of the meal, and we all pretend like the brouhaha over Sancha’s career change never happened. I notice that Eduardo cleans his plate and goes back for seconds on the vaca frita, so at least all of our family drama didn’t affect his appetite.
“I hope everyone saved room for dessert!” Mamá sings out while rising from the table.
We all groan and rub our stomachs because they’re so full from the starchy meal, but of course that won’t stop us from inhaling large slices of Solana’s tres leches cake. “Bring it,” I say.
“Girls,” she waves at Ana and Pilar, “clear the table, por favor.”
I can’t see Ana’s face, but I’m willing to bet there’s a scowl on it. “Why does Izzy get to sit on her butt all night?” she queries irritably.
“Because your sister has a guest, and it would be rude of her to abandon him. Besides, you need to work off that vase your roughhousing children broke earlier.”
Ana getting a verbal smackdown from Mamá is a rare and beautiful thing, so I savor the moment. When my sister stands and shoots daggers at me with her eyes, I can’t resist sticking my tongue out at her. There’s a new world order, Ana, so get used to being number three!
After Mamá and my sisters leave, there’s a brief lull in the conversation and Rique seizes the opportunity to ask Eduardo, “Do you have any pets?”
“My lifestyle isn’t really compatible—”
“You should get a ferret or two. They’d be the perfect pets for a busy executive like you—they’re small, and quiet, and easy to take care of.”
Raphaela rolls her heavily-lined eyes. “Let me guess. You have another litter of the little rodents you’re trying to unload.”
Rique’s jaw clenches. “I’ve told you a million times; ferrets are not rodents.”
“You could have fooled me. They have those pointy faces with beady eyes and twitchy noses. Kind of like your ex-husband.” She elbows her sister and chortles.
Now it’s Sancha’s turn to look pissed. “Diego did not look like a rat! I don’t know why everyone always says that.”
“He was fond of cheese,” I remind her.
“Cheese is bad for ferrets; they do best with an all-meat diet.” Rique pauses to reach under his chair and when he straightens back up, he has a furry, pink-nosed creature with a tail in his hand. Where did he have that thing stashed all this time? “Fernando has been eating the Carnivore Plus Diet since he was weaned from his mother a few weeks ago, and he loves it! Right, Fernando?” Holding the animal aloft, he exchanges Eskimo kisses with it while the rest of us cringe.
A shriek of horror pierces my eardrums when my mother walks back out onto the terrace and sees the ferret. (She is not a fan of animals, especially at the dinner table.) Chaos ensues as a startled Solana drops the cake, splattering several of us with cocoa powder-sprinkled frosting, and Fernando leaps out of Rique’s hands, landing right in the middle of Sancha’s barely touched salad. Rique makes a grab for the ferret, but Fernando easily eludes him and begins to run from one end of the table to the other in a blind panic, tracking tomato and squishy green avocado all over Mamá’s white lace tablecloth.
“That rodent is defiling the food!”
“Catch him!”
“Don’t let him get away!”
“Be careful with him!”
We’re all standing now, trying to corral the runaway ferret before he gets hurt or causes more damage.
“I’ve got him!” Eduardo crows when Fernando tries to vault off the table and my man catches him mid-air. Unfortunately, his triumph is short-lived. “Ow!” he yelps when Fernando chomps down on his hand. The pain makes him loosen his grip, and the ferret is able to slide to the ground, where he makes a mad dash through the demolished cake, leaving a trail of chocolate paw prints behind as he bolts through the sliding glass doors into the condo.
Mamá glares at Rique. “Tu estúpido hurón has probably given Eduardo rabies! Arturo, call an ambulance before he starts foaming at the mouth.”
CHAPTER 16
We did not call 911. Rique assured us that Fernando was recently inoculated for rabies, so Eduardo was in no danger. Still, Mamá fussed over him like he’d barely survived being mauled by a grizzly. She cleaned the wound with some Bactine and even though it was just two tiny puncture marks that produced only a trace amount of blood, she wrapped his entire hand, right down to the fingertips, in a gauze bandage.
In case you’re wondering, Fernando is also fine despite my mother wanting to wring his furry, little neck after she discovered chocolate paw prints all over her white couch. Rique caught up with his ferret in the laundry room where the creature was hiding under a load of delicates. Mamá said she’d have to get the room fumigated and burn every article of clothing in it. When Rique protested that ferrets are very clean, she ordered him to take his wayward pet and vacate the premises immediately. This offended Rique’s mother, Drina, who stormed out behind her son. (Truth be told, I think she left because there was no longer any dessert for her to stuff her face with.)
My mother spent the next twenty minutes sobbing about how her wonderful dinner had been ruined. This was just enough time for the rest of us to clean up the mess on the terrace and wash the dishes. Funny how that worked out!
“How can we be out of sangria? How many ways can I be tortured this evening?” I hear Mamá wail as Pilar and I return to the living room where Eduardo is sitting stiff-backed on the loveseat, squished in between Sancha and Raphaela. Naturally, the latter has her sparkly, silver-clawed hand on his thigh.
I’m about to announce that Eduardo and I have to go as I think he’s endured enough for one night when my father asks if he’d care to join him on the terrace for cigars. Eduardo jumps to his feet, clearly very keen to get away from my handsy cousin, and says he’d be delighted. He kisses me on the cheek on his way to join Papá, and I watch with trepidation as the two of them head over to the sliding glass doors.
“You don’t think Papá’s going to get all fatherly and ask Eduardo what his intentions are, do you?” I murmur the question to Pilar so that our mother, who’s busy sampling the various contents of the liquor cabinet, won’t hear.
She shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Probably. He had a similar conversation with Ford after we’d been dating a few months.”
“And do you think that made Ford propose to you any sooner?” Maybe something good can come out
of this debacle of an evening after all!
“No, he didn’t pop the question until three months later.”
Crap! Three months! That’s an eternity. Of course, things seem to be moving a lot faster for Eduardo and me than they did for my sister and her husband. And Pilar just went with the flow in that relationship while I’ve been making things happen in mine right from the get-go.
“I have to lie down,” Mamá asserts as she sweeps past us with a bottle of red wine in hand.
“Whoa, wait a second.” Pilar scuttles after her into the corridor. “Have you forgotten you still have guests?”
“I don’t care!” my mother declares. “I tried to arrange a nice evening so that Eduardo could relax and enjoy spending time with our family, but noooooo,” she pauses to take a lengthy slug of wine, “you all had to ruin it. My vase, my dinner, my couch, my silk underpants!” She chokes on the last word with an emotional sob.
“Okay, I think someone’s had a little too much of this . . .” I try to take the wine bottle out of Mamá’s hand, but she refuses to give it up. So, we play tug-of-war for a few seconds.
“Just let her have it,” Pilar says wearily.
“Fine.” I let go of the bottle. “But prepare to hear her complaints about having a raging headache in the morning. You know she can’t handle more than two glasses of wine and there’s no telling how many glasses of sangria she knocked back earlier.”
Mamá frowns at me. “You’re starting to sound like Ana. What happened, mija? You used to be the fun one in this family.”
Fun? Over the years, my mother’s called me wild, rebellious, out of control, and a disgrace, but never fun. I guess she views me differently through wine goggles. That being the case, it would probably be in my best interest to keep her drunk permanently.
Izzy As Is Page 15
