Page 10 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

“Not surprising,” Cai responds. “They never did a reggaeton remix to play in the club.”

She is teasing Rey, but he just shrugs. “That’s fair. Doesn’t sound like the type of song you’d want to dance to. Why even bother?”

“Booty-shaking potential isn’t the only measure of a good song,” Cai says, rolling her eyes, then looks at me as if to say, “See what I have to deal with?”

I smile politely, but can’t relate. The teasing between them and the affability is delightful. Whether because of my sisters’ choice to alienate me when I was younger or my choice to stay isolated as I got older, the result was the same: my relationship with my family didn’t resemble this at all. The pang of jealousy at seeing Cai and her brother-in-law together is unexpected and surprisingly sharp.

I smile, thinking that somewhere between the humidity, the pastelitos, and a boy named Sue, I stopped thinking about going back to Arizona and started feeling like I was coming home.

Rule #5

DON’T GO LOOKING FOR ANSWERS YOU DON’T WANT

CAI

While I had warned Sonny about topics to avoid with several members of my family, I hadn’t specifically warned him not to mention anything building-related to Rey. Rey is a third-generation owner of a Miami construction company and would unleash a full lecture on government contracts, OSHA nightmares, and the eternal war against cutting corners at the drop of a hat.

I hadn’t realized this oversight until Sonny innocently asked, “Oh, what are they building over there?” He was pointing at a site off the highway; I knew we were in for it.

Sonny is a good sport and nods along as Rey launches into an epic tale about the shopping center that was once a Kmart and is now being leveled to make room for a parking garage.

I’m not plagued by the same need to pretend to care, so I take the opportunity to check my phone. There are a few texts in my family group chat, but nothing else; nothing from Trevor. I decide to check social media to see if there is maybe an update.

Trevor doesn’t use social media, but his friend Chris does, so I quickly navigate to his page to see if there are any updates. The latest post is from just an hour or two before, a picture of the group in Puerto Rico.

My thumb freezes on the screen. There he is, Trevor, with a million-dollar smile, and his arm wrapped around the waist of a woman I’ve never seen. Ashy blonde top bun, low-cut tank, tiny shorts, tiny body, completely at ease. The caption hits like a slap: “…Our Battle War Campaign team sniper showed us the best spots… and she didn’t miss in real life either! Thanks @Eagle3y3z99.”

I do what I can to keep my face neutral. I take deep breaths, blink back tears. My stomach twists like I’ve swallowed glass. Inside, I’m screaming. A girl? One of the players on his Battle War team was a girl this whole time? And she joined them on his boys’ trip?

Am I wrong? Did I only assume that “Eagle3y3z99” was a dude?

Trevor was adamant; his gaming time was his “me time.” I always respected that and didn’t ask questions. But he always referred to his friends as “the guys.” Always made a point about how this was what he and his “boys” did to blow off stress. No, this isn’t a case of wrong assumptions; he led me there.

I stare at the picture again. I zoom in on the arm around her waist; it’s definitely Trevor’s. She is so slender that his arm wraps around her, and his whole hand is flat against her stomach, fingers splayed possessively on her toned middle.

I feel sick to my stomach.

Trevor hates taking pictures. In fact, after dating for a year, there are barely any of us together. I pinch in to get a closer look at his face. He didn’t look like he was hating this picture; quite the opposite. Looks like he only hates posing in pictures with me.

I focus back in on the girl, wondering what she has that I don’t. My inner gremlin chimes in with her typical negative comments: “It’s probably what you have that she doesn’t.” Like a plump belly and thighs that could moonlight as tree trunks.

I push my inner gremlin and her negativity away, resist the urge to dive any deeper into this girl’s Facebook, and shove my phone back into my pocket. I was already struggling to keep it together, and I couldn’t fall apart in front of Rey without giving away the whole awful thing.

“Is that okay, Cai?” Rey’s voice pulls me out of my spiral.

Had he just asked if I was okay? Was my distress that obvious? “What?” is all I can get out.

“I was saying I’m going to park here and run to Tio’s house on the next block over to avoid the traffic on Calle Ocho. If you guys come with me, he’ll start chatting you guys up, and we’ll never get out of here. You’re ok to wait for me here?”

“Oh sure,” I say, glad that I won’t have to join him on his chicken mission, and I try my best to push the picture I just saw with Trevor out of my mind. Rey doesn’t seem to suspect anything from my shift in mood, but one glance at Sonny’s concerned face, and I know he has clocked my distress.

SONNY

I notice as soon as Cai pulls out her phone. I assume she’s checking for any messages from her guy. I don’t want to see her upset, of course, but I selfishly hope he hasn’t reached out. I don’t want to have to compete with her boyfriend for her attention.

I notice her tense up. Her jaw clenches, and her eyes register worry. Her chest starts to rise and fall quickly as her breathing picks up. She shows all the signs of someone suffering in silence. I want to reach out to see what’s happening, but there is no way I can do that with Rey here without bringing her troubles with her boyfriend to light. So instead, I listen politely as Rey discusses parking garage plans while I watch her quietly spiral.

The first opportunity to ask about it finally arises when we park on the street near Rey’s uncle’s house. Rey gives us a quick assurance that he’ll be right back, and shoots out of the car surprisingly fast for a big guy.