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“No. It’s Maria. She says she wants to talk to you about Amalia’s bridal shower.”
That did not constitute an emergency, and we both knew it. She just didn’t want to tell Maria no. No one told Maria no. She had been our neighbor for longer than I’d lived on this earth, and the woman was a force of nature.
“I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
My mother glanced behind me to my double computer screens where my wool felting group was continuing on without me, and from the sounds of it, having a great time. I stood a little taller, trying to look dignified. We always got some felting done. It just happened alongside a good helping of gossip and off-color jokes. This was my Monday night stress-reliever. And sometimes Sunday night. And Friday night. Basically, any day of the week I could find someone in our group wanting to chat and felt. But Mondays were official.
“You can teach them bad words in Spanish later, Carmen.”
“We talk about all sorts of things, Má.”
Right then, Tawny, who may or may not have been drinking during the entire meeting, burst out into the “If You Like Piña Coladas” song. She and the felted hedgehog in her hands swayed back and forth to the beat of the music.
I sighed. “Okay, fine. Tell Maria I’ll be there in three minutes.”
“That’s my girl.” My mother smiled and waved to the group, not knowing my camera was off and they couldn’t see her. As soon as I had the door shut, I slid back to my desk and turned on my microphone and camera.
“I have to go. It’s Maria. The woman I told you about who cornered me on New Year’s Eve.”
“The one with the list of men she wants to set you up with?” Belinda asked, pushing up her reading glasses. She shushed Tawny until she stopped singing and put down her hedgehog.
“Yes. Except she wants to talk to me about her daughter’s wedding plans, so if I can keep her occupied with that, I’ll be fine. I’m going to be one of the bridesmaids.”
“How fun!” Jeanie thought everything was fun, but in this case, she was right. Amalia and I had grown up together. Because she was a few years older than me, she felt more like a cousin than anything else. Being one of her bridesmaids would be fun. I was looking forward to the ceremony and the reception and dancing. All of it, really.
“Show us your newest penguin before you go,” Belinda reminded me.
Some of the women sold their creations online. I made mine solely for my own amusement. My latest project was a series of penguins waddling in a line. The one I made tonight was jolly and round, and he was looking off to the side sort of dreamily. I already planned to make a grumpy, taller, impatient penguin to stand behind him.
After a chorus of oohs and awes for the little guy, I signed off and shut down my computer. My felting group had started as a way for me to share my hobby obsession with like-minded people, but over time, they had also become the ladies I confided in. They had years of life experience on me. Plus, I didn’t have to worry about them blabbing my secrets because they didn’t know anyone else in my life. Who would they tell?
A diary might work the same way for some people, but it had never been as satisfying for me. I had several discarded journaling attempts as evidence for that. A diary couldn’t talk back or laugh with me. It couldn’t give me advice or tell me everything was going to be okay after a bad break up.
A diary can’t betray you like people can, the grudge in my head whispered. I told it to shut up and went to slide my feet into my fuzzy Crocs before going outside. Fuzzy socks inside fuzzy Crocs was the epitome of comfort, and there was nothing I liked better than being cozy in every way possible.
I headed across the yard and into my parents’ house, crossing through the kitchen and ducking into the hallway to get the lay of the land before making my presence known. Country music blared from behind the door of my sister’s room at the end of the hall. In the living room, Maria was sharing about the wedding preparations while my mother made small sounds of encouragement in return.
Was she disappointed Maria got to plan a wedding before she did? Probably. I was twenty-six, and my brother Eddie twenty-eight. Neither of us were anywhere near giving my parents grandchildren. My seventeen-year-old baby sister would probably get there first. But I was in no hurry to tie myself to anyone, especially after finding out guys my age were only interested in the pursuit. If I had a type, it was tall, dark, and unwilling to commit.
For now, I was fine with having fun and making friends. I flirted. I went out. But more than anything else, I wanted to end every night out happy and comfortable in my own skin, and most importantly, with no regrets. I was done getting my heart broken.
I turned the corner and went to hug our neighbor while my mother eagerly snuck out of the room. “Did you pick a day for Amalia’s bridal shower?” I asked.
“Sí, el primero de marzo. That’s a Saturday. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Maria picked up her old embroidery bag from the couch and began digging through it. I knew from the determined look on her face when she pulled out her matchmaking notebook that I was not going to get out of this conversation unscathed.
“I found you a man. Great looking. Very nice. Business owner.”
He was probably sixty-five with hair sticking out of his ears. “Maria, I told you I’m too busy for blind dates.”
“It’s just a coffee date. Make time for this one. His name is Isaac Romano, and he’s a florist. Good, right? I show you a picture.” She was too busy scrolling through photos on her phone to notice the look of horror on my face.I take it back. Sixty-five with hairy ears sounds perfect.
“How did you find him?” I managed to squeak out.
“He’s doing the flowers for Amalia’s wedding. If he has time for you, you have time for him,preciosa.”
She turned the phone to show me. Some choice bad words crossed my mind as I stared at Isaac’s face. To his credit, his expression in the photo was incredibly reluctant and embarrassed, but he’d also let Maria take it.
“Give him to someone else.”
