A Formal Affair

by Veronica Chambers

  Domingo was another matter entirely. She had no idea why he was calling. And the not knowing made her nervous. Carmen decided to call her amigas first. She dialed Jamie’s number, and her friend picked up on the first ring.

  “Carmencita! You okay, girl?” Jamie asked, her voice heavy with concern.

  “Besides the fact that my two best friends lied to me in the same night? I’m cool,” Carmen replied. Just because she’d woken up on the forgiving side of the bed didn’t mean that her amigas shouldn’t work for it, just a little. Some groveling was in order.

  She could hear Jamie’s voice sink. “About that—I’m sorry.”

  Carmen smiled slightly and said, “Sorry enough to help me find some fab Lucite bracelets on eBay to ensure your forgiveness?”

  “Whatever it takes,” Jamie said, laughing in relief.

  “Gracias, chiquita,” Carmen said. She spent a few more minutes filling Jamie in on what had happened at the movies—and how crazy everyone in the theater must have thought she was—before saying good-bye and hanging up; everything was now back to normal.

  Next she dialed Alicia. Leaning on the balcony railing, she watched a father with three little kids sail a yellow rowboat down the canal. The kids were screaming in delight, as if they were on the funniest roller coaster in the world. It reminded Carmen of when she, Una, and Tino were little and Christian had used to row them around. It wasn’t so long ago that the Littles—Carmen’s pet name for her three younger stepsisters—thought the rowboat was as big as the mammoth cruise ships that were docked all around Miami.

  “Hola,” Carmen said, when Alicia finally picked up the phone.

  Alicia launched into a terribly sweet monologue about how terrible she felt about hiding the double date. She didn’t know whether Carmen would’ve felt better coming along without a boyfriend or whether, in the wake of Domingo, she preferred to see her amigas when they were sans their dudes.

  Carmen shrugged. “It probably just depends on the day. But ask me next time. By lying to me, you didn’t even give me a chance to choose.”

  Alicia’s voice was thick with regret. “I know. I feel terrible. I’m sorry.”

  As she had done with Jamie, Carmen didn’t immediately let her off the hook. “Sorry enough to ask Gaz if he would drive all the way to Pembroke Pines to pick up a special silver carpet runner that we’re renting for the winter formal?”

  “Of course,” Alicia answered right away. “He’s got the van, and I’ll go with him. By the way, good job making me really work for this apology.”

  “It’s how I roll,” Carmen said playfully.

  Alicia paused. “Seriously, though. How are you? I talked with Jamie briefly, and she said something about Domingo being there with another girl?”

  Carmen sighed. “I was bad yesterday, but today, I’m pretty good.”

  “I’m glad, C.,” Alicia said. “And while last night wasn’t a great example, you know that the boys will come and go, but amigas are forever, right?”

  “Gracias, A.” They talked for a few more minutes, with Carmen giving directions to the store, and then hung up.

  Those two calls had been easier than anticipated. As Alicia had said, Carmen knew her amigas were always there for her.

  But the next call wasn’t going to be so easy.

  She hadn’t spoken to Domingo in over two months, but she still knew the number by heart. Unfortunately, her fingers were shaking so hard that she dialed two wrong numbers before getting it right.

  “Hello Domingo, it’s Carmen,” she said when she heard his voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hey, what’s the qué pasa?” he asked, casually and cheerfully, as if they were just two old friends catching up.

  Carmen was confused. He had been so weird last night. And didn’t he realize that this wasn’t easy for her. What game was he playing? All she did know was that she didn’t know what to think. Then she heard her mom’s voice in her head. Whenever there was drama in their household—and with a Chicana mom, a British stepdad, and six kids under one roof, there was bound to be drama—her mother always said, “Why don’t you try being honest? Honest works.”

  So, she took a deep breath and said, “Honestly, I’m just returning your call. And…”

  Carmen was surprised by the little catch in her voice and the way the emotions were still swirling around unsettled inside her.

  She continued, “And I’m a little nervous, because last night was really awkward.”

  Carmen could hear Domingo exhaling on the other end of the line. He seemed relieved that she’d broached the topic. “That’s why I called, C. It was awkward for me, too. I was hoping we could talk. Could I come over?”

  Part of her really wanted to see him. Another part of her couldn’t get the image of his hand, entwined with his new girlfriend’s, out of her head. That was still fresh and painful, almost overpowering everything else. But talking to her girls had helped. Maybe it would help to talk to him, too. And if he came over to her house, she’d have home-court advantage. If she started to fall apart, she could retreat to her room. No worrying about walking through a movie-theater lobby and running into people. She told him to come over.

  By the time Domingo rang the doorbell, two hours later, Carmen had changed out of her outfit five times and restyled her hair twice as many times as that. She was in the process of putting her long hair up in a ponytail for the umpteenth time when she heard Christian call out, “Carmen, you’ve got company!”

  She walked down the stairs and stopped for a nanosecond to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was wearing a long, tie-dyed yellow and white patio dress that she’d made herself, inspired by an old photo she’d seen of her mother in Mexico. She wore her favorite pair of sparkly flip-flops, and the ponytail, she hoped, conveyed a casual, not-trying-too-hard vibe.

  Domingo stood in the kitchen sipping a glass of water. He looked more handsome than any ex-boyfriend had a right to be, and his outfit was one she’d never seen before: a brown and white checkered shirt, paint-splattered khakis, and brown, round-toed, leather work boots. He looked downtown and cool, like an artist in the Deco district.

  Carmen pointed to his pants. “So, you paint now? Or did you buy them that way?”

  Domingo looked down and laughed. “I paint now. First rule of art school: get off the computer and into the studio. Canvases before screens.”

  Carmen was intrigued. When she and Domingo dated, she had come to believe that he was actually surgically attached to his laptop. It was hard to imagine him as a junior Jackson Pollock when Carmen had always seen him as a Latino Bill Gates. “Wow. That’s different.” Carmen smiled, hoping that her voice didn’t sound as sarcastic as she felt. “So, are you any good?”

  Domingo shook his head. “Not even close. But as my teacher, Ms. Bevill, says, I’m bad in interesting ways.”

  Carmen laughed and took a seat at the kitchen counter, next to Domingo. Despite the butterflies in her belly, she was surprisingly calm now that he was there in her kitchen. It felt like old times. Almost.

  “So, about last night…” Domingo began. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you to let you know that I was back in town.”

  Carmen played nervously with the fringes of the napkin in front of her. “Ashley seems nice.”

  “She’s great,” Domingo said.

  Carmen tried to keep herself from wincing.

  “But Carmen,” Domingo continued, “we’ve only been going out for a few weeks. And I guess what I wanted to say, why I came over, is that seeing you last night was confusing. If you think we should give this another chance…”

  It was not what she had been expecting to hear. And she tried to figure out whether it was what she’d been hoping for. She and Domingo hadn’t exchanged so much as an e-mail since he had left for college. They had both agreed that the best way not to hurt each other was by not being in touch. E-mails, they both felt, would end up becoming mysterious, postbreakup messages that would be hard to
decode. But now Domingo had given her a signal that was not in the least bit mysterious. He wanted to try again…if she did.

  Domingo got up and came over to stand behind her; he put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage them. He used to say that when she was tense, her shoulders touched her ears, that’s how high and tight they’d get.

  Now he was touching her in that way that made her feel good. Carmen relaxed; actually, she more than relaxed—she grew excited. She was ready for what came next. He kissed her—softly at first, then with more urgency. Even though they were standing in her family’s kitchen, she felt completely swept away, as if she and Domingo were a movie-star couple kissing on the big screen. The dorky side of her—the sometimes shy, sometimes clumsy part—was sitting in the audience watching.

  When they finally came up for air, Domingo looked at her hopefully. “Tell me that means yes.”

  Carmen couldn’t believe how quickly her fortunes had shifted. Not even twenty-four hours before, she’d stood in that very same spot, crying her eyes out, her heart broken in a hundred pieces. It was as though the emotions had all been clouding her judgment, but now the sky had cleared. She was actually acutely aware of where she was, who she was, and what she wanted. She knew what she had to do.

  “I love you, Domingo,” she said. “I never loved anybody before you. You are my first love. But I think that your relationship with Ashley proves that our first love isn’t the only love either of us is going to feel. I want you to have new adventures, that’s what college is all about. It’s exciting to see you in your paint-splattered pants, looking like a skinny Diego Rivera. But let’s not be Frida and Diego. Let’s not hurt each other by holding on when everything we know says we should let go. Who knows, maybe in a few years, when you’re older and I’m wiser, we’ll find our way back to each other.”

  Domingo took a step back. “Wow. That was either really deep or the nicest rejection any guy has ever gotten.”

  Carmen shrugged and smiled. “Did you like the Frida and Diego reference?”

  Frida was Domingo’s favorite movie. He and Carmen had watched it so many times Carmen had begun to suspect that Domingo cared less about the artist than the R-rated shots of Salma Hayek, the actress who played the influential Mexican painter.

  “You’re right,” Domingo said. “I don’t want to hurt each other like Diego and Frida. But I also don’t think this is how our movie ends.”

  Carmen hugged him tight. “Well, then we’ll both have to keep on watching. I like sequels.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “I like sequels, too. And you know Empire Strikes Back is a much better movie than Star Wars.”

  “Meaning?” Carmen asked.

  “Sometimes the sequel is better than the original,” Domingo explained, looking handsome and earnest.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Carmen said, running her hand along the back of his neck.

  He turned to leave, and she walked him to the front door.

  “’Bye, Domingo,” she called out, as she watched him walk away. And for the first time, she was able to admit that she would miss him. She had missed him. But now she was just happy for him—and for herself.

  When she stepped back into the kitchen, she was surprised to see that while they had been alone a moment ago, the room was now full. Her mother was making huevos rancheros. Christian was making lemonade. Tino was pouring potato chips into a bowl, because he was a teenage boy who ate like a pig. Una was on the phone, and Lindsay and the twins were drinking yogurt smoothies in the breakfast nook. The sight of her entire family, appearing out of nowhere, was startling.

  “Carmen! Astronaut suits!” Lula called out.

  “Where did you all come from?” she asked.

  “Mom made us all go out to the garden so you and lover boy could have privacy,” Tino teased.

  “Yeah,” Una added, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. “Way to inconvenience the entire household.”

  Carmen walked over to her mother and gave her a big hug. “Gracias, Mamacita,” she said.

  “Good talk?” her mother asked as she cracked an egg.

  “Great talk,” Carmen answered. She pulled up a chair next to her mother and was just about to tell her all about it when the twins ran over with their completely naked Barbie dolls.

  “Car-men!” they cried out in unison. “Astronaut suits by dinner! You promised.”

  “I can do that,” Carmen replied, breaking into a wide grin. “If I put my mind to it, I can do just about anything.”

  CARMEN’S realization that she could do anything couldn’t have come at a better time, because there was still plenty left to do when it came to the double quinceañera. One afternoon, the week after the Domingo run-in, Jamie entered the school gym. A few leftover Halloween decorations still dotted the walls of the gym, where the girls’ basketball team was finishing up practice with an intersquad game. Taking a seat in the bleachers, she watched the action.

  Patricia wasn’t the tallest or the biggest girl on the team, but she was definitely the fastest. In the final minute of play, Patricia—her hair pulled back into a messy bun—stole the ball from a girl twice her size, dribbled quickly all the way down the court, and scored on a three-point jumper.

  Even Jamie, who knew little about sports, knew that she had just witnessed something extraordinary.

  She leapt to her feet and burst into applause. Patricia, hearing the sound, looked up into the bleachers and gave Jamie a thumbs-up.

  After Patricia took what she assured Jamie was a much-needed shower, the two girls headed downtown to Joy Cards, the amigas’ favorite stationery shop. It had been decided that various tasks would be handled by each quince separately, so that more could get done in a shorter amount of time. They just had to make sure that whatever they chose—whether stationery or dishes—would go with the theme and be appealing to both girls.

  From the moment they arrived at Joy Cards and pushed the doors open to the tiny art studio, they felt as if they had been transported from their modern tropical city to an elegant little studio in London or Paris.

  Joy Chen, who owned the shop, was a beautiful Cuban Chinese woman, who regularly topped the amigas’ list of Who I Want to Be When I Grow Up. Today she was dressed in a crisp white shirt, a vintage silk silver mini, and bright red heels. She looked stunning.

  “Hola, Jamie, ¿qué tal?” she said, kissing her favorite client on both cheeks.

  Jamie introduced Patricia to Joy. Then the two girls followed Joy back through the rows of cards, candles, and other girlie gift items to an antique wooden table in the back room bedecked with a bowl of hot pink peonies. Joy offered each of the girls a cup of green tea, and as they held the delicate blue porcelain cups in their hands, Patricia giggled nervously. “This is so not me. I feel like a bull in a china shop. But I love it! Please don’t make me leave.”

  Jamie smiled. “That’s what we say every time we come here.”

  It was time to get down to work. Joy lay out binders of her custom-made card designs, all of which were unique and beautiful. But three cups of green tea later, while Patricia had seen lots of things she liked, there was nothing that she loved or that she thought Carolina would be okay with, too. Jamie was beginning to worry; everybody usually loved Joy’s work.

  But Joy wasn’t fazed.

  “I think the problem is that with a double quince, it’s really hard to assert your individuality,” Joy explained. “You need every element of this celebration to be specific to you, not generic. But you also want it to speak to your cousin’s sensibilities as well. That is a lot to take on. But I think we can fix it. I’ll be right back.”

  Joy returned with a portfolio of vintage magazine covers. “I use these for inspiration,” she said, flipping the pages quickly, “and ever since you walked in, you have reminded me of one picture in particular.”

  She stopped on a page with a photo of Selena Gomez in the middle. The young actress’s long dark hair was teased into a high pony
tail and her eyes were fringed with fake lashes that were so thick they looked like birds’ feathers, but other than the dramatic eyes, her makeup was soft, with just the sheerest hint of pink on her lips.

  “Oh, my goodness, she’s beautiful,” Patricia said. “But I’m not sure I see the connection to my invitations.”

  “My thought is that we turn your invitation into a little pullout magazine, with covers of you and your cousin, the event details as the table of contents, and maybe some fun trivia pages about your lives written like magazine articles,” Joy suggested.

  Patricia grinned. “It’s genius.”

  Joy took a seat beside the quince at the long wooden table. “Well, it wouldn’t be cheap. We can do the photo shoot here at the studio. I have a friend who is a photographer. And I know Carmen and Jamie can handle the wardrobe and accessories. But we definitely need professional hair and makeup, because if the look isn’t done exactly right, it’ll be clownish. Plus, the interiors will have to be in color to make the minimagazine, and if you want two hundred invites, it’ll be expensive. I’ll have to send you an estimate, Jamie, when I really price things out.”

  Jamie nodded, then turned to Patricia. “I have an idea. Since this will run on the high end, why don’t we make the invitation into your main party favor—a preparty favor sort of. We can do something really inexpensive for the real favor, maybe skipping bags altogether and juggling the budget in other little ways. But you should talk to Carolina to make sure she is cool with it, and then both of you should talk to your parents.”

  As the girls talked, Joy picked up the samples and stepped into the back room. She returned a few minutes later. “I made color copies for you and your cousin and for the Amigas team,” she said, handing both Jamie and Patricia a small stack of papers. “Hopefully, it will help when you are filling your cousin and family in.”