The Authentics

by Abdi Nazemian

  “Lida djoon, you’re my sister and I love you, but aren’t you going to miss your flight?”

  Lida was going back to Iran that day, and she seemed very excited about it. She had told me that morning that as much as she loved seeing us, she didn’t like feeling like a tourist all the time, which made me wonder if Sheila and Baba still felt like tourists in America. Which made me wonder if that’s how Encarnación Vargas felt. Which made me think of Iglesias and that kiss on the Ferris wheel. Okay, let’s face it, everything in that moment made me think of the kiss on the Ferris wheel. I must have missed the next round of back-and-forth between Sheila and Auntie Lida, because the next thing I felt was Sheila’s hand on my shoulder, and her voice bellowing in my ear, “Daria, say good-bye to your auntie.”

  “Oh, you’re leaving now?” I asked.

  “Have you not been listening to a word we’ve been saying?” Sheila asked. “I don’t know what’s going on with you these days, Daria. You’re either angry or checked out. Is everything okay?”

  I could have said, Well, let’s see. I found out you adopted me, lied to me my whole life about it, and now I’m in love with my birth mother’s stepson. So excuse me for not caring about picking out an outfit for my one-week-old niece right now. But instead I just said, “I’ll miss you, Auntie Lida.” Which was true.

  Lida gave me a big hug and said we should try to see each other again next year. “And don’t let her take over your birthday,” she whispered in my ear. “Remember it’s your day.” That made me laugh, because it was so blatantly untrue.

  After Auntie Lida left, Sheila decided we would continue our mother-daughter bonding day by finding me the perfect white dress for my sweet sixteen. I don’t know why she was so fixated on my wearing white. It was like she thought I was a debutante, or a bride, or something associated with purity. I was too tired and distracted to fight with her. All I could think about was the fact that in just a few hours, I would be meeting Encarnación Vargas. Iglesias said she and his dad had returned from Mexico, and that they would be having a quiet family dinner. I was rehearsing what I would tell Encarnación when Sheila got my attention once again, this time holding a white dress. “This is the one,” she said. “This one is so you.”

  I wanted to tell her that she had no idea what was “so me” anymore, but all I said was, “Sure, I’ll try it on.”

  Later, as we walked through Beverly Hills, we passed the Chanel store and peeked in at the new bags. “You’ll have one of those when you graduate from college,” Sheila said.

  “I know,” I said. “When I’m officially a woman. Let’s just hope they’re still in style then.”

  “A Chanel bag never goes out of style,” Sheila said.

  Speaking of style, I spent a fair amount of time deciding what to wear to the Vargas family dinner that evening. I wasn’t one of those girls who tried on outfit after outfit every time she left the house, but I’d turned into one of those girls before this dinner. Luckily, Joy had agreed to come over and be my style consultant.

  At first, I put on a fancy floral cocktail dress that Sheila had bought me for my previous birthday.

  “I mean, it’s a pretty dress. I love the fabric,” Joy said.

  “But?” I asked.

  “But it makes you look like you just left the country club.”

  Trying to move as far away from that as possible, I tried on a pair of jeans and my favorite gray hoodie.

  “Now you look like you put no effort into your appearance,” she said.

  “I’m gonna see Iglesias,” I said. “So I want to look cute.”

  As Joy searched my closet for the perfect outfit, she said, “I love that you have a crush.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “No butterflies in your stomach when Lance Summers talks to you?”

  “Um, not at all,” Joy said. “Although I did get my parents to reconsider the internship if I get straight As this semester.”

  “Wow, you negotiated,” I said. “How Persian of you.”

  Joy pulled out my new bag of clothes from Local. She looked at the new jeans that were inside, and the green V-neck sweater. “Ooh, I love this green.”

  I threw on the jeans, one of the supersoft Local T-shirts, and the sweater. They all fit perfectly.

  “I think that’s the outfit,” Joy declared. “You look nice but not too nice.” It felt right. After all, that’s how I had found Encarnación. She used to work at Local. This would show her that I’d put real thought into this encounter.

  When we opened the door to leave, Sheila peeked in and saw all the outfits I’d rejected strewn about my room. “I’ll clean up later,” I said.

  “You girls are going to a movie with Caroline and Kurt, right?” she asked.

  “Mmm-hmmm,” I mumbled.

  “What movie are you seeing?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “What are we seeing again, Joy?”

  Joy’s face flushed a little. “Whatever starts when we get there.”

  I groaned internally. Clearly, I’d chosen the wrong person to cover for me.

  “You put an awful lot of thought into your outfit choice for a night at the movies,” Sheila said with a knowing glare.

  I could feel my face warm up, so I rushed out of the house before I could incriminate myself further. “We’re gonna be late!” I said, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before running out. Sheila definitely knew something was up. Persians always kiss each other on both cheeks.

  My friends were so awesome that all three of them agreed to accompany me to Encarnación’s house. But our first stop, since my mother is a stealth web stalker, was at the movie theater. I took a picture of the movie options and tweeted, “What should we see tonight, people? #moviechoices.” Then we took an Authentics selfie in front of the theater, and I posted it to Instagram with the caption “Movie Night with My BFFs.” And finally, I “checked in” on Facebook.

  Having covered the required digital bases, we took a car toward Encarnación Vargas’s home. Kurt sat in the front passenger seat, and I was in the back, between Joy and Caroline. My hands were shaking. I was on the verge of full-blown panic.

  “You guys, I’m really scared,” I said. They all eyed each other, like they were trying to decide who would do the best job of giving me a pep talk. When none of them said anything, I kept going. “I’m kind of freaking out here. Like, maybe we should just turn back, guys.”

  “No way,” Caroline said. “I’m not letting you chicken out.”

  “We can go out to dinner instead, or play Apples to Apples, or—”

  “This is your moment, Daria,” Caroline said. “If you don’t do this, you’ll be so disappointed in yourself. And you won’t have any of the answers you need.”

  “I mean, what if she rejects me? What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if she tells me to leave her alone?”

  “Then I’ll kick her ass,” Caroline said.

  Our driver turned the music down. I think she could tell how intense this was for all of us. “Thanks, guys,” I said. “I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”

  Trying to lighten the mood, Kurt said, “I’d be happy to quickly do your birth mother’s chart for you.” We all groaned.

  “Seriously, Kurt,” Caroline said. “She’s never met the woman. How would she know her astrological sign?”

  “You can ask Iglesias,” Joy suggested.

  “Who?” Kurt asked. There was silence, which was probably the worst possible reaction. “You guys, who is Iglesias?” he asked again.

  More horrible silence. Finally, I said, “Iglesias is her stepson.”

  “Oh,” Kurt said. “Is there some reason everyone’s acting like they killed a puppy every time someone says his name?”

  “It’s just that . . .” I trailed off and then finally said, “It’s just that we went on a date. I wanted to find the right time to tell you, Kurt. I didn’t know how you’d react, and I wanted to be . . .”

  “Oh, that’s great,
” Kurt said. “That’s better than great, actually. That’s fantastic.”

  “It is?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked.

  “It’s just that moment on the ice rink . . .” I said.

  “What moment on the ice rink?” Caroline asked. “There was a moment on the ice rink?”

  Joy elbowed Caroline.

  “There was no moment on the ice rink,” Kurt said. “And even if I might like Daria, we can’t date because the Authentics come first, so I’m very happy for her. Can we move on, please?”

  We rode in silence the rest of the way. When the driver finally pulled up to the house, we all got out of the car, and I hugged all three of them. But Kurt’s hug felt limp. He got in the passenger seat of the car, and then Joy got in the back. Caroline gave me one last hug, and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry about Kurt’s feelings, okay? You are going to meet your birth mother right now. You just stay strong and carry on, or whatever. And seriously, if she’s mean to you in any way, then you text me, and I will come take her down.”

  As I approached the house, the first thing I noticed was that the Christmas decorations were gone. I kind of missed the wreath on the door. It reminded me of the first time I met Iglesias. I stood outside the door for a brief moment, breathing in and out as calmly as I could, and then when I felt ready, I knocked on the door. I sighed with relief when Iglesias answered. “Hey,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  And then I noticed that he was wearing a tuxedo.

  “I totally forgot,” he said. “I’m not the best planner.”

  A woman in a peach dress came bolting through the house, her dark hair swept into a bun atop her head. I immediately recognized her as an older version of Encarnación Vargas. I also immediately recognized her as my biological mother. “Where are my keys, Enrique?” she asked in Spanish. “We’re going to be late.”

  “I didn’t touch your keys,” Iglesias bellowed.

  “I’ve got them,” a man said as he entered the room, also wearing a tuxedo. He was an uncanny older replica of Iglesias. Same face, just more wrinkles and thinning hair.

  “Okay, then let’s go,” Encarnación said. “I am not going to have your aunt blaming me for starting late.”

  “Um, Mom,” Iglesias said. “This is my friend Daria.”

  Encarnación looked up and finally noticed me. “Nice to meet you, Daria,” she said. I was hoping she would take one look at me and immediately recognize me as her child, but that didn’t happen. “We’re late for my niece’s quinceañera, so if you don’t mind . . .”

  “I had told Daria she could have dinner with us tonight,” Iglesias mumbled under his breath.

  Encarnación’s eyes opened wide, and she looked to her husband knowingly. “Oh, I see. You wanted her to meet your folks, huh?”

  “Well, yeah,” Iglesias said.

  “I’m Enrique’s dad,” the man said as he approached me. “Are you in school?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Are you going to go to college?”

  “Um, definitely,” I said.

  “You can call me Fabio,” he said, and then he gave me a big hug.

  “Hi, Fabio,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, and Mrs. Vargas, I . . .”

  “I’m Mrs. Lunes now,” she said. And then, “You knew my maiden name. Wow, you and Enrique must be very close.”

  “Enrique has never brought a girl to dinner before. There was, of course, the girl we found him in his room with . . .”

  “Dad!” Iglesias’s eyes begged his father to stop.

  The situation was spinning way out of my control. Encarnación and Fabio thought I was Iglesias’s new girlfriend, which wasn’t entirely wrong. But, of course, it also wasn’t why I was here. Before I could attempt to get back on track, Encarnación took my hand and said, “I have a great idea. Come with us.”

  “Oh, I can’t,” I said. “I just really wanted to meet you over dinner and . . .”

  “You look like you’re exactly the same size as me,” she said. And then she took my hand in hers and led me into the house, yelling back, “Fabio, call my sister and tell her we’re going to be late.”

  Encarnación took me to her bedroom. It was so different from Sheila and Baba’s bedroom. The bed was smaller, and there was no flat-screen television. Encarnación found a lilac dress and tossed it my way. “Try this on. I wore it when I was a bridesmaid for my sister’s wedding.”

  “Mrs. Vargas,” I said.

  “Mrs. Lunes,” she corrected me. “And you can call me Encarnación.”

  “Encarnación,” I said. “I really wanted to meet you.”

  “Aren’t you sweet? I’m glad to meet you as well. You seem so much nicer than Enrique’s last girlfriend.”

  “What was she like?” I asked.

  “There’s plenty of time for girl talk another night,” she said. “But we’re going to be late, so see if this dress fits.”

  I took off my sweater and laid it on the bed. I could see Encarnación stare at the Local label as I tried on the dress. “Local?” she asked. “You like that store?”

  “I love it,” I said. “They make great clothes.”

  She stared at the sweater for a long time, then touched it tenderly, like it was taking her back in time. “I used to work there,” she said. And then, composing herself, she added, “I’m happy they’re still using quality fabrics.”

  I pulled the dress down over my knees, and before I could answer, she said, “It fits! I knew it would. Let’s go.”

  “I don’t know how late I can stay at the party,” I said, grabbing my sweater and jeans. “I should take my clothes with me.”

  “Go home whenever you need to. You can keep the dress. It doesn’t fit me anymore, anyway.”

  As she pulled me down, she whispered in my ear, “His last girlfriend had a fake tan, a septum piercing, and a misspelled tattoo on her shoulder. That’s all I’ll say.”

  “Can’t use spell-checker on a tattoo,” I said.

  And she laughed. “I like you already,” she said.

  I smiled big. She liked me.

  Iglesias and I sat in the backseat on our way to the quinceañera, him in his tux, and me in my lilac dress. We looked like we were on our way to the prom, or to a wedding, and it felt kind of nice. He took out his phone and started typing into it, and it wasn’t until I felt my own phone vibrate that I realized he was texting me.

  Iglesias: This is disaster. I sorry.

  Me: I’m kind of excited. I never been 2 quince.

  Iglesias: They R boring and my aunt sucks.

  Me: But your parents seem so cool.

  Iglesias: I guess. But they think we’re dating!

  I stopped cold. “They think we’re dating” meant, of course, that we were not dating. My face must have given away my emotion, because he typed feverishly and sent me one more text.

  Iglesias: Sorry. Didn’t wanna assume. Makes an ass outta U + me. Or just me.

  There was new and palpable tension between me and Iglesias as we entered an old church in La Mirada, which was one of those towns I had only ever heard about on the local news. Iglesias whispered to me, “I’m sorry. Are you still pissed?” I didn’t know what to say, so I just shook my head. But I was kind of pissed. How could he not assume we were dating after he’d kissed me on top of a Ferris wheel?

  A Mass was already under way when we entered the church. A woman in a tight sky-blue dress and with too much makeup on strode directly toward us and accosted Encarnación. It was obvious from their rapport that they were sisters. “We did not delay the Mass for you, Encarnación,” the woman whispered.

  “She looks beautiful, Magnolia,” Encarnación said, indicating the fifteen-year-old girl in the white Cinderella dress with rhinestone overlays who was in the process of being blessed by a priest.

  “You just had to show up late, didn’t you?” Magnolia asked. “You would just love to ruin the most imp
ortant day of my daughter’s life.”

  “Ruin her day?” Encarnación whispered. “I sewed her dress!”

  “You don’t understand,” Magnolia said. “Nothing can go wrong today. Nothing.” With that, Magnolia sat back down. Encarnación, clearly perturbed after her tiff with her sister, found an open pew and took a seat. We all followed her.

  I watched silently as a priest blessed a teenage girl. I had never been to church before. Lala had always wanted to take me, but Sheila and Baba had strictly forbidden her. Sheila once said that she would rather I become a drug addict than a religious fanatic. But the thing was that Lala was nothing like a religious fanatic. She was just a woman who went to church on Sundays and read her Bible quietly to herself at night. But in my parents’ eyes, that was one step away from joining some kind of dangerous Jesus cult. I guess because of the Iranian Revolution, my parents thought any form of worship was a gateway drug that inevitably led to killing your people, hiding your women under heavy fabrics, and overthrowing your government, or something like that.

  My wandering thoughts were cut short when Iglesias took my hand in his and squeezed it. I squeezed back. Then he whispered, “That’s my cousin Virginia. She’s dedicating her life to God right now. She’s vowing to maintain spiritual devotion and remain a virgin until she gets married.” He paused and then added, “Which would all be really moving if she hadn’t lost her virginity five times already.”

  After the Mass, everyone moved to a nearby salon where a party was already under way. The place was decorated with balloons, and a band was playing Latin music for the crowds. And when I say crowds, I mean it. Not only was everyone from the church there, but hordes of other people were arriving as well. Magnolia was the center of attention, trotting her daughter Virginia around from person to person, proudly greeting them. Finally, they reached us. “Enrique,” Magnolia said with a snarky smile. “Do introduce us to your new friend.”

  “This is Daria,” he said. “She’s, um . . . We’re, um . . . dating.”

  “Are you wearing the dress my sister wore at my wedding?” Magnolia asked.

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” I said.