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“What do you mean your daughter?” Carla Machado darted toward Sylvie’s mother. “Ours is the one that’s trapped in there. What did you do to lure her there? It’s one thing to hurt me, Barbara, and quite another to mess with my—”
“Mom!” Lauren leaned out the window. “Please don’t accuse Ms. Campos! We’re both stuck up here, okay! Did you bring a ladder?”
Carla and Barbara turned toward the sound of Lauren’s voice. Horror painted on their faces like they were wearing bone-chilling Halloween masks.
Lauren staggered back as if their tandem glares had physically shoved her.
“Yup,” Sylvie muttered under her breath so only Lauren could hear. “I knew it was going to be bad.”
All at once, everyone on the street started shouting questions at them. In a tangle of English and Spanish, they demanded an explanation. Everyone except for Junior, who was resting against a parked BMW. His arms crossed over his chest. A shit-eating grin on his potato face.
Sylvie glanced at Lauren for courage. With a deep, cleansing breath, she reached out and took her hand. Together, they leaned over the window.
“We’re up here because Lauren and I,” she paused searching for the right way to explain their relationship. “She’s . . . I . . .”
Lauren leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Do you want me to say it?”
Sylvie squeezed Lauren’s hand and straightened. “Lauren is my girlfriend,” she announced to their families and a confused middle-aged man cruising by on a bicycle.
Lauren’s grandmother screamed and clutched her chest. From some unseen pocket, she retrieved a white rosary as if she were witnessing a demonic possession.
“Okay, maybe this is going to go worse than I expected,” Lauren conceded as everyone on the ground started shouting again. As they lost their collective shit, Lauren turned to Sylvie, a wide grin on her face. “Wait . . . Girlfriend?”
A heavy warmth trickled down Sylvie’s chest, sweet and syrupy. She loved everything reflected back at her in Lauren’s big, dark eyes. In that moment, she realized the destabilizing truth. Ready or not, she was falling in love.
Damn it.
“Yeah, girlfriend. I’m thirty-two years old, Lauren. What am I supposed to call you?”
Lauren’s dimples cut deep into her cheeks as her grin turned blinding. “God, you’re so romantic. I can’t wait to hear what you write for our vows,” she joked before leaning in and kissing her.
Sylvie’s heart combusted like a Lisa Frank piñata.
“Sylvia! Have you lost your mind!” Sylvie’s mother shrieked. “I don’t know what that girl convinced you to do but—”
“That girl? Why are you blaming my daughter? Your kid is the reason they were always getting in trouble at school. She was always playing la mosquita muerta. Harmless as a fly my ass!” Carla Machado, decked out in all of her campaign swag, stomped forward, stopping just short of chest bumping her nemesis.
“Mom!” Lauren snapped.
“Everyone stop!” Sylvie shouted, her lips still buzzing from Lauren’s kiss as they both leaned out of the opening. “First of all, we’re grown women! Stop talking about us like we’re children!”
“I agree, Sylvia.” Regina stepped out of the Campos crew. “They’re not children, and I, for one, think it’s wonderful that they’ve found each other. Lauren is a lovely person.” She shielded her eyes as she smiled up at the treehouse. “Let these young ladies make their own decisions.”
“Thanks, Regina! I think you’re pretty awesome too.” Lauren called back with a wave.
For a single, still moment, Sylvie thought things might turn out okay. That everyone would just take a breath and calm down. Realize that this wasn’t some horrible tragedy. It was just a little love. Could that really be so bad?
Sylvie’s father broke the stillness. With his hands on his square hips, he craned his head toward them. “Whatever games you two are playing, this isn’t funny. You’re upsetting your mother, Sylvia. Get down from there.”
Lauren’s father, his frame so tall and lean next to Sylvie’s dad that they looked like a lowercase l and o standing together, stepped toward the other man. “Hey dummy, look at the ladder. It’s broken. That’s why they called us. I know you’re not used to doing anything but working on your golf swing, but even you can see that, right?”
With a red face, Sylvie’s father cursed in his direction before turning back to the treehouse. “Well, what the hell were you two doing up there to begin with?”
“I know what they were doing,” Junior responded with a smirk. With everyone looking at him, he made a revolting scissoring gesture with his fingers.
“Muchacho, what the hell is wrong with you!” With nostrils flared, Regina bellowed. “Run home and get the ladder, coño!”
“And miss this lesbo telenovela? No way.”
