Page 18 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

“You don’t have to do that,” I reply.

He stops at the door and looks at me, eye contact unwavering. “I know.”

My chest does something stupid and tight. No one has ever said “I know” like that—like they see me and still want more.

Abuela swings the door open and, as a greeting, says, “¡Fiu, qué manera de echar Fabuloso!” (Phew! It reeks of Fabuloso!)

Tia Julia and Mama are inside, arms full of folded sheets and towels, bustling as if on a mission. They take the cleaner comment in stride, barely giving Abuela a second glance. The kitchen smells like garlic and coffee, mingling with the cleaner scent. The bottle of Fabuloso lists the scent as “lavender,” but I will only ever recognize it as the Fabuloso smell.

Abuela makes her way to the TV in the living room, which is on low volume and tuned to the Weather Channel.

Mama comes over to us, saying, “Al Fin! Sonny, mijo, drop Abuela’s bag by the couch. Then take these sheets—” she thrust a stack at him without missing a beat. “We need them in all the rooms.”

Sonny takes them quickly, giving her a small salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mama turns to me next, eyeing the pan and bread. “Of course, Cayetana with the food,” she says with no attempt to hide the shade.

I feel the familiar sting but bite my tongue and walk to the counter to set everything down.

Then she drops the bomb. “Can you take Sonny and drop sheets in all the rooms? I was thinking you two could take your old room?”

I spin toward her. “The same room?”

It feels weird, wrong, almost, to imagine staying with Sonny in the room where I wasn’t even allowed to have boys in with the door open in high school. Posters of Backstreet Boys and NSYNC are probably still on the walls. The twin beds, in case I ever had a friend sleep over, but were mostly for a visiting cousin, pressed against opposite walls as if they are avoiding each other.

Mama pinches the bridge of her nose as if this is the most exhausting conversation of the day. “You have two beds in there, and I assume we don’t need to have the birds-and-bees talk with you at twenty-nine?”

“Mama!” I say, going completely red. “I have a boyfriend whom I’m very committed to!”

I say it quite defensively, trying to hit the right level of outrage expected of someone in a serious relationship to keep up the act. I notice Sonny tense next to me as I say it, his arms squeezing tighter on the sheets he is holding.

The words taste sour, and I wish I could take them back as the photo of Trevor with his arm around someone else flashes in my mind.

“Good!” Mama says, as if making her point. “So we can move on to other accommodations like getting your grandmother, your sister’s family, your brother, Tia Julia, Elena, and your cousins all a place to spend the storm. You know that our house is the most secure, and we all have to make accommodations when there are hurricanes.”

“Yeah, of course. We’ll get the rooms ready,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed by my reaction.

But Sonny looks thrilled. His eyes light up like I’ve just handed him the keys to a secret garden. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise,” he says.

We begin to make our way down the hall toward the rooms. “Cai, I need you to paint me a full picture of who you were as a teenager,” he says, in a tone that imitates someone undertaking some scientific inquiry. “Were you a Lolita goth girl? An artsy intellect? A collector of Lisa Frank Trapper Keepers and cute little erasers?”

I laugh, thinking the reality is almost just as embarrassing as what he’s suggesting. “Oh, don’t worry,” I say, trying to sound casual even though my heart is thudding. “The room will paint a pretty good picture. I hope you like pink.”

SONNY

This is a tense situation. I know it is. But I am loving every moment of the family drama and homey feel. I don’t love the little comments disparaging Cai, or her assertion that her relationship is still on and committed. So I do my best to push it out of my mind.

The insistent buzzing phone in my pocket is harder to ignore. Once word spread that I am not at the conference as expected but waiting out the storm in Miami, the messages have been nonstop. Some are about booking travel back to Arizona at the first available time after the storm. There are also requests to join video or conference calls to discuss next steps.

Except for the one call I took with a senior executive to give him an update, I have mostly ignored the rest. The company will be fine without me for twenty-four hours and probably even better for having to do a little problem-solving on their own.

I’m a workaholic. I never took breaks, especially not before a launch. I barely do vacations, and I am involved in projects at even the most basic levels. So the fact that I’m not trying to go back to work right now, the fact that I’m able to focus on what is happening here and zero in on what Cai is telling me, further signals to me that I am where I need to be. It feels good to step away and, for the first time ever, exercise my privilege as CEO.

Cai has a continuous stream of dialogue as we go from room to room. Each looks like its own world. Some have murals and multiple beds. Others are more like offices or dens, but with an old foldout couch. One is decorated like a tropical resort. And another, like a mountain cabin.

Cai tells me the story of each one. When the room was added or decorated. She explains to me which uncle, cousin, or family friend was practicing whatever trade had inspired the addition. Then she goes into who used it and what for. She is amazing in her effortless recounting of events, and with the right detail and pacing, stories come to life. I can see why she wants to be a writer with a natural talent like hers. I find myself getting excited every time we open a door.

Then she pauses at one and turns to me before opening. “I went through a real, trying-to-fit-in phase. I really wanted to be Elle Woods from Legally Blonde for a bit there. And ummm…” she looks around nervously. “Well, I never really updated it when I grew out of it. It didn’t seem important.”