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I bat my eyelashes playfully. “It’s always been my dream to find a man who loves old stuff!”
We both laugh and take our water into the living room and sit on the couch side by side. Rosa breaks the silence with a grimace on her face. “Speaking of your future husband…”
“Oh jeez, what now?”
“Mama invited a man to come into the restaurant tomorrow night. They think if they give you his table you two will fall in love and not know they had anything to do with it.” She wrinkles her nose and looks away from me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My temper will not help the situation. “Their meddling is out of control. I’m twenty-eight and they act like I’m a spinster!”
“Well, you do live alone with your cat,” she teases.
I shove her, but can’t hide my smirk at her comment. “Shut up… you’re next, you know.”
“Psh, they have to marry you off first since you’re the oldest.”
I release a heavy sigh. “There’s so much to do and explore before I settle down. I don’t know why they’re in such a hurry.”
“Sorry, Sis.” Rosa glances at the laptop I set on the sofa earlier and then looks at me with a sympathetic gaze. “Have you talked to Mama and Papa anymore about cutting back your hours at the restaurant?”
I slump back into the couch cushions. “Not since that failure of a conversation a few weeks back.” I rest a hand on the laptop sitting next to me. It’s the life source of all my dreams. “They think my website is some silly little blog.”
“That sucks. I know you’ve worked really hard on it.” She sighs. “But you know them… the family legacy…”
“I know.” I rest my head on the couch and look up at the ceiling. “They want to give me roots, when all my heart longs for is wings.”
Rosa rests her head on my shoulder. “Sorry to cut our conversation short, but I have to get to the restaurant. I’m closing tonight.”
“That’s alright. Don’t let our parents marry you off during your shift.”
We laugh and say our goodbyes. She gives me a hug and Mo a pat on the head on her way out.
Once she’s gone and I’m left alone in my quiet house with only my thoughts, I decide not to let my parent's expectations get me down. I’m leaving for Peru in two weeks, crossing another place off of my travel list.
I glance around my small but open living space, seeing my Eiffel Tower figurine from Paris, and the framed photo I took of the Empire State Building in New York. These are just a few of the reminders I need that I don’t need a lot of money, fancy things, luxurious leather couches… or a husband. If I just keep working on my website, I can continue earning enough to cover my travel expenses and this little house. Just me and Mo against the world—er, my parents.
The following evening, I walk into the large breakroom at Abuela’s, my parent’s restaurant. I’m wearing my least flattering black pants and an ill-fitting white button-up. Basically, you can barely even tell I’m a woman. I also made sure not to put any makeup on and braided my hair into pigtails.
What can I say? I ugly up pretty well.
I lock my purse and belongings into my locker and then sign-in on the iPad system we installed five years ago when my Abuela passed and Mama and Papa took over the restaurant. When I turn to leave, I almost run right into my mother.
She takes me in with a look of horror on her face. “Isabella! No, no, no. Porque te pones asi?”
Ugh, this isn’t good. She only speaks in Spanish when she’s mad. I decide to play dumb. “What’s the matter? Black pants, white shirt. True to our required uniform.”
“My sweet Bella, you always look so lovely, even for work. But this?” She puts one hand on her curvy hip and flails her other around in mid-air like she can’t decide what to gesture at first.
She doesn’t know that Rosa told me about the guy coming in tonight, so I continue with this little charade she thinks she’s pulling off. “I’m sorry it’s not my nicest outfit, but it’s my night to work in the kitchen, so I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
I hold her gaze, the same big brown eyes as my own, waiting to see if she caves. Instead, she stands up a little straighter and grabs my wrist, yanking me from the office and then down the hallway and into the large kitchen. This is my favorite space in the restaurant; it’s all stainless steel and organized, but grab some spices and veggies and the possibilities are endless. I love how creative you can be while cooking. Our chef, Marco, waves at me and I wave back with my free hand.
My mother lets go of me and grabs a black apron from the hook on the wall. She throws it over my neck and then ties the strings around my waist so tight I can barely breathe.
“We’re short-staffed tonight, Bella. You’ll have to wait tables instead of working in the kitchen.” She pauses to look me over. “Did you bring any makeup?”
“Um, no. I wasn’t supposed to be waitressing tonight.”
She mutters something under her breath in Spanish. “Well, nothing more can be done. Start with the back corner tables.” She exits the double doors with a heavy sigh.
