Athena: You’re sure he didn’t invite you to Friendsgiving? The guys do that sometimes. I mean, I dunno if they’re doing it this year or not, but it’s come up a few times.
Athena: I mean… I got off the phone with my mom, and she didn’t mention anyone was bringing a plus one.
My stomach tightens. I don’t want to be an imposition, or a spectacle for that matter either.
Eloise: LOL! He definitely said Thanksgiving, not Friendsgiving, with you guys. I figured it was an impulse invitation. I don’t have to go. I needed to know whether he’d cleared it with anyone first.
Athena: Oh, girl. Ares never clears shit with anyone. You absolutely DO have to come! It’s no big deal. I’ll talk to mamá and make sure she’s expecting you.
Eloise: Are you sure? I don’t want to be any trouble.
Athena: You’re literally the opposite of trouble,amiga. Unfortunately (for you) you’re one of us now. You’re always welcome.
Tears snake down my cheeks, dripping onto my clean shirt. I don’t know how to describe this feeling, this… acceptance? These people barely know me and already Athena’s going to bat for me, or whatever the hockey equivalent of going to bat is, for a holiday meal with her family.
Mom would like them, too. The de la Peñas, I mean. They’re fun, vibrant, and enthusiastic like she was. I bet she’d try to reform Ares of his playboy ways, but she always saw the good in people, their kindness, their spirit, and she never let something like an addiction or a rough upbringing cloud her judgment of someone’s soul.
I clutch a hand to my chest, the unexpected punch of grief hitting so hard my chest physically aches with her loss.
Would she really like Ares? Would she be proud of me? Would she like my pink hair?
She wouldn’t ever have gotten upset with me for it—she always encouraged my self-expression. We talked about me cutting my hair and both of us getting matching tattoos together in the car right before she died.
I doubt she’d have approved of my reasoning, though. She’d have told me to own my scars and not hide my light from the world. She always said that in a world as dark as this one, bright lights need to shine brighter, not dull their shine. But she’d have supported the shift to shorter, brighter hair more easily than Dad did. For. Sure.
Eloise: Can I bring anything?
Athena: I doubt it, Mamá always goes overboard for family dinners. But if there’s something you really like to have at Thanksgiving, you might want to bring it.
Eloise: My mom made a great potato salad.
Athena: I fucking L-O-V-E potatoes. They’re my favorite food group. Now if you don’t bring it, I might cry.
I can’t imagine Athena ever crying, but I’m totally here for her potato enthusiasm and now I’m resolved to make it next week to bring with me. I’ll make a double batch because I’ve seen those brothers “snacking” on second breakfast, and there’s no way they will be able to leave Mom’s potato salad alone.
Oh my God. What if they live in a mansion? What if they have a dress code for Thanksgiving dinner that amounts to more than “stretchy pants to enable adequate carb consumption”? What if they eat fancy food like snails and caviar for Thanksgiving dinner? Oh. No. Nope. This isn’t good. What if they have three forks and no manual on which to use?
Another embarrassing nightmare plays out inside my brain. My mind races. If I don’t stop it, I’m going to talk myself out of going before I’ve even fully talked myself into it.
Eloise: What do I wear?
Athena: Whatever the heck you want to wear.
Athena: Calm your tits, skippy. We’re people too. I get that it’s intimidating.
Athena: Okay, fine. I don’t get that it’s intimidating, but I’m guessing that’s why you’re asking. We live in a big house, with flashy cars, but underneath all the expensive, shiny crap, we’re human too.
Very, very, very, very rich humans, sure. What if I use the wrong freaking fork and they all laugh at me? Ohhhhh, boy. I need to get off this spiral before I crash into something.
Athena: This is a regular meet the parents kinda deal.
Athena: Except my dad can be an asshole to the boys sometimes. So, I should probably apologize before we even get started.
I open the fridge and pull out the pack of grapes. I’m tempted to shovel even more chocolate in my face, but grapes will have to do.
Athena: You’ve already met the majority of us. Abuelita is going to LOVE you. But I warn you, she’s going to threaten to hit at least one of us with her shoe a minimum of twice. And she will have your wedding to Ares planned before dessert.
I can’t help but laugh at that. She sounds like a hoot.
