Page 12 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

Rule #6

DON’T EXPECT HOME TO BE WHERE YOUR HEART IS

CAI

As we drive up to my childhood home, the hulking, eccentric house overlooking the rest of the street, excitement and homesickness overcome me with such force that they catch me off guard. My heart swells.

“Wow,” Sonny says, turning his head to the side to try to take in the entire house as we roll slowly towards it. “You grew up here?”

I try to imagine how it would look from his unfamiliar point of view. The house must look like Frankenstein’s Monster, with multiple additions, varied paint colors, and half-hung shutters.

“Yup,” I say. “And I’m related to basically everyone on this street.”

I think that this might be weird or unsettling to an outsider, but Sonny doesn’t look unsettled. He looks delighted. “That must’ve been amazing.”

The street I grew up on is in a neighborhood, west of the city, called Kendall. When my grandparents came from Cuba, they bought the large house at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac. They raised my mother there, and every aunt, uncle, cousin, and in-law has lived in that house at one point or another. Parts of the house have been added over the years as one cousin or another learned how to lay brick or tile floors or hang windows, and they’ve come to try out their new trade on the house. So the house now has its own personality and stories told by its hodgepodge parts and unique choices.

The roof has varying heights, with different portions added on. No two wall colors match, and the size and number of windows also vary. The house looks as if it is still growing, as if it’s a living, breathing thing.

As family members began to settle and buy their own homes, many chose houses on the same street or in the same neighborhood. This house became a gift to my parents when they got married, and my grandparents moved into smaller in-law quarters behind it. This is where we grew up. In our own little world, on a tree-lined street surrounded by family.

I won’t pretend it was a hardship. I loved it: long summers running wild with my siblings and cousins; Noche Buena Lechón roasts that turned the street into a block party; and always having someone to talk to or ask for help.

But when I was teased, embarrassed, or ashamed? Nowhere to hide. No privacy from the free-flowing advice and opinions. Under the guise of “building thick skin,” tears were mocked, and weakness was taunted. It became the running joke that I am the sensitive one. It has always been, “Cai who can’t take a joke.” Or “Cai, who is too fragile to be any fun.” As the chubby middle child, I feel like the red-headed stepchild who always draws the short end of the stick.

I take a deep breath as Rey pulls up and drops us off. “Tell your mom we are coming by later tonight. Gotta go!” Rey pulls out and parks at their house three doors down.

I stand frozen to the spot. I’m not sure how to face my family yet. I don’t want to tell them the whole truth, but I am worried they’ll find out. Then they would add “Cai who gets dumped via text and then lies about it” to their list of descriptors they have for me.

“Hey,” Sonny says, calling into my thoughts. “Come on, Buttercup, it’s time to be the toughest fighter.”

His reference to the show makes me smile, and it does the trick. I am able to move again.

“If they ask you too many questions or if they insist you try something you don’t want to⁠—”

Sonny cuts me off with a small laugh, shaking his head. “Cai. Stop trying to sell me the exit sign.” He reaches over and lightly tugs one of my wild curls, letting it spring back. “I’ve already seen the fine print; loud family, invasive questions, probably more food than I can handle. I know what I’m getting into, and I’m here for it.”

Something soft and unfamiliar blooms in my chest. I don’t say anything. I just give him a small nod and move towards the door.

Before I can knock, the door flies open, and Tia Julia dramatically yells, “Cayeetttannnaaa! ¡Gracias a Dios!” She yanks me into a tight hug, rocking me side to side.

To Sonny’s credit, he doesn’t flinch. He just looks mildly confused.

“Tia,” I manage. She releases me, then turns to Sonny like he is already family and pulls him in too.

Sonny hugs her back, actually lifts her off the ground. Tia Julia squeals in delight.

My mother follows. She is her sister Julia’s equal in looks but the total opposite in demeanor, and gives me a quick hug and Sonny a curt nod, then ushers us inside while complaining about letting mosquitoes in.

My mother wastes no time in getting right to what I am trying to avoid. After explaining my dad and brother are out boarding up windows in the neighborhood with my Tios, and pouring us all some café, she looks across the breakfast bar and speaks very earnestly to Sonny. “Mi hijo, I’m very glad you’re here, and I promise we will not be so dramatic the whole time, but I can’t allow Cayetana to use you as a shield. So forgive me if this is uncomfortable.” Her eyes turn to me. “Cayetana, what’s going on? Why are you suddenly here without telling us?”

Here we go.

“Trevor had a work thing. I was going to meet him. I didn’t want you guys to be mad that I was flying to PR but not Miami, so I didn’t say anything.”

Mama crosses her arms, clearly not buying it. “Ay si? Then why have you been crying?”

Shit.