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“No baby, we’ve got plenty of time. But one day,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again, “One day I will.”
TWENTY-NINE
NOW, WINTER
“I’ll talk to her Mama, I promise,” I yell over the loud music playing. We’re having our annual parranda, a Spanish party basically with all of the family close by, plus the friends who have become family since we settled in the States all those years ago.
“Don’t make it obvious that I told you to talk to her, do it casually,” she keeps going. I roll my eyes which makes her say, “I’ll get my chancleta, don’t test me, Ana.”
I wave her off with a laugh, “Mama, I’m going now! I’ll be subtle. Please, calm down.” She mutters under her breath in Spanish as she turns around and walks away. I turn and look through the waves of people trying to spot my baby sister. Some people have turned the dining room into a dance floor and people are coupled up dancing salsa then bachata, then salsa again. I used to love dancing and am really good at being able to tell which steps are used in which rhythms. But I haven’t danced in a long time.
I finally spot Isa next to her current boyfriend, the reason for my mother’s imminent heart failure. He’s maybe an inch taller than her with dyed jet black hair, longer on top and shaved close on the sides. He has some kind of face tattoo that looks like a poorly done tribal mark curving around his eye, no doubt incredibly culturally offensive. He has flame tattoos on the sides of his head peeking through the short hair, and his arms and fingers are scattered with different kinds of words, symbols, and a few animals. None of them looking tasteful—or good—at all. The scariest thing of all though, is the way Isa is making moon eyes at this idiota.
My sister is a miniature version of me, but with lighter hazel eyes instead of my chocolate brown. She’s slightly shorter, with the same body type, hair color and curl. “Isa,” I call with a forced smile.
“Ana,” she says and runs over to me, unfortunately tugging Face Tattoo Guy along with her. “I want you to meet my boyfriend. This is Flame. Flame, this is my older sister Ana.”
“Flame,” I say, not even trying to hide the incredulity in my voice. “Let me guess, it’s because of the flame tattoos on the side of your head?”
“Yeah,” he says with a dazed smile. As he looks at me, I see that his eyes are bloodshot and glazed with an almost sleepy expression.
He’s high.
Don’t get me wrong, I will happily indulge in devil’s lettuce but not at a family party, especially of a family I’m meeting for the first time.
“Isa, I need you for a minute,” I say looking at her, and her eyes widen.
“Okay,” she says. “Baby, I’ll be right back. Just stay over there.” She leans in to kiss Flame and points him to the other side of the room where he trails off wordlessly. I throw up a little bit in my mouth but choke down the snide comments that came up with it.
We walk over near the front door where there are a lot less people gathered.
“What’s going on?” Isa looks at me with concern in her eyes.
“Isabel, what the hell are you doing?” So much for subtlety.
“What?” she asks, confused and slightly annoyed.
“Where did you meet this guy? In a dark alley at a concert for a bad Blink 182 cover band?” I hiss.
“Ana, that’s so rude! You don’t even know him,” Isa argues, hands going to her hips.
“I know, it’s incredibly rude and I’m judging,” I admit, “But come on, Isa. This is what number boyfriend you’ve had since the start of school?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“What does that have to do with anything?” she argues, her voice getting high in defensiveness.
I feel an arm drape around my shoulder and look up at my brother, José. “What’s going on? Why are you having a sibling conversation without me?”
“Ana, is being incredibly rude about my boyfriend,” Isa whines. I roll my eyes.
“Oh, Sparks?” Sé asks, and I hold back a laugh.
“It’s Flame, and you know it’s Flame,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.
“What do you know about this guy? Where did you even meet him?” José asks.
“At school,” Isa insists. We both look at her disbelievingly. “What? I did.”
“Was he driving a van passing out candy?” I ask and José pinches my arm lightly, a sign that he’s trying not to laugh.
