Now Carter’s turning away from me, grabbing glasses from the counter. “Right. The money.”
“As soon as she gets it to you, I need to get my cut, Carter. I’ve emptied my bank account on a down payment for that PI.”
“Got it,” he responds. “I’ll get you the money ASAP.”
I don’t have any time to try and decipher why his tone’s gotten so weird and dry, because that’s when the doorbell rings.
Carter’s family is massive. Evenwhen his mami lived in the three-story Victorian down the street from Nadia’s, it felt like there was never enough room. Not everyone could come today, but even with a third of his people elsewhere, his house instantly feels like it was made for Polly Pocket and not actual-sized humans.
Gloria is the first through the door, with a stream of people following behind. “Teal,” she says, running to me, wearing a cute, red rose–patterned white sundress. “Oh, I have another daughter!” She then turns to Carter, who opens his arms wide, presumably for a hug. But she instead pulls her shiny black Coach bucket bag off her shoulder and smacks him on the side of the head with it.
“Hey!” Carter yelps as he covers his face. She gets his shoulder next. “Why are you attacking me, Mom?” He looks so aghast, I can’t hide my smile. This must be the first time he’s been reprimanded by his mom—or any elder woman in his family—in his entire life.
“This is for you not telling us you were getting married—” She smacks his stomach. “And for not inviting us to the wedding.” Next is his hip. “And for me to find out from my neighbor? That my own son is now a husband? Do you know how humiliated I felt?”
“Okay, Mom. I think he gets your point,” Gabi says, grabbing Gloria’s purse-wielding arm to stop her next strike.
Gloria halts and shrugs off Gabi’s hand. Next thing I know, she’s cupping Carter’s face. “My baby boy is married! He has a wife!” And then she kisses both his cheeks and hugs him to her chest, even though he’s a good foot and a half taller than her. I’m almost unable to stop myself from rolling my eyes. This is just how it is with the Velasquez family. The mistakes of men are forgettable, to the point where, just a few weeks from now, Gloria, if pressed, would act like she didn’t remember any of it—how he’d hidden his wedding, his wife. How she had to hear about it from a neighbor.
And if it had been Gabi, or any of Carter’s other sisters? The incident would be brought up at every single gathering, every conversation, even, for the next lifetime or two.
Gabi sees my face and gestures toward her mom and brother with a sarcastic smile. “The baby boy can do no wrong,” she says in a low voice as she hugs me and kisses my cheek. “How are you doing, Teal? Or should I say, hermana?” She steps back with a huge smile. “It’s been too long.”
“Oh, yes, it has. Where’s Cristina and Paloma?” I ask, referring to Carter’s other sisters.
“Oh, you know. Traveling for this, for that. Work trips, school stuff.” She adds under her breath, “Trying to stay away from the madness.”
Some of Carter’s cousins, aunts, and uncles greet me next. I’m chatting with his tío Rodrigo about my looking for a job when I can feel a shift in the vibes. How the room goes from neutral small talk and lots of familial affection to an awkward accommodation of a thick, underlying tension. People’s smiles turn strained. Their eyes widen as they glance to me, then back again.
I glance toward the door, andshit. It looks like Abuela Erika has finally joined the party.
19
Abuela Erika kind of remindsme of Amá Sonya, only if Sonya decided she wasn’t too good for clothes from JCPenney and she was a hell of a lot meaner. I mean, yeah, my grandmother is a bitch. We all know and accept it. But she was worse when we were teens. I think us being the same age as my mom—her daughter—when she moved out did something to Sonya emotionally. But now we get along better. Sure, Sonya mocks my clothing, and she hates my musical taste, and she acts like she’d rather be doing anything else than talk to me when we’re together. But she also once offered to buy me a Birkin the same color as my name. I’m pretty sure Erika would rather propel herself through a third-floor glass window than offer to buy me a one-dollar pizza slice from the corner store if I were starving to death.
That said, I wonder how things would have been different if Sonya or Mama had had a son. Based on how my second cousins are treated, the boys versus the girls? The dynamic is very similar to the Velasquez family. Ever since Sky got back from the “dead,”she’s been trying to research our own lineage and she keeps talking about things likeintergenerational traumaandcolonial inheritance. I wonder if that is where so much of Latine sexism comes from. On second thought, maybe Erika and Sonya are more alike than I know. Sage, Sky, and I were just lucky enough to be all sisters.
Erika walks past the entryway, her nose in the air, adding half an inch to her five-foot-two frame. She’s a small woman, but she seems real sturdy somehow. Some elders, their demeanors give away a type of frailty—the way they slow to go up the steps or brace themselves before they get up from sitting. Not Erika. She reminds me of a bull, shoving one of Carter’s little cousins out of the way so she can make her entrance properly.
Erika’s hair is short and white, styled to have kind of a poofy volume. Her makeup is understated except for a coral lip. She’s got on a peach dress, A-line with a long skirt, the neck conservative and square. Pearls adorn her neck and ears. Her shoes are white slippers, like the kind you see on retail workers, or other people who are on their feet all day. She’s carrying a Michael Kors handbag, which is basically a rip-off of a gray Saffiano Prada tote. I don’t particularly care about brand knockoffs. Like I said before, I’ll wear a no-name bag one day and a Louis the next. But the fact that Erika carries something that Sonya would consider not just disrespectful, butdistasteful, which is worse to her, makes me feel a little bloom of petty happiness.
Stop being selfish, I remind myself. I don’t even know if she’s the same old asshole as she was back in the day. I mean, sure, her whole family is terrified of her. One cousin has run into the bathroom to hide, and another is trying to stay unseen behind her mother. But I’m Carter’s wife now. That’s gotta mean something to her, right?
“Hola, Abuela Erika,” I say, taking a step toward her. “It’s so nice—”
She holds a hand up, her palm open, stopping me in my tracks. “No, no. I’m not interested in greeting you like you didn’t ruin my grandson and then trap him into holy matrimony.” She looks around and points at Gloria. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you when Carter was ten years old that that girl would be the end of him. She would steal him right out from under you. Didn’t I say that?”
Everyone’s holding their breath. Carter’s frozen and I feel a small—okay, a large twinge of disappointment when he doesn’t correct her. Which means, like usual, I have to fend for myself.
I inhale deeply. I need to stop being selfish, which means this family get-together can’t just be about my feelings, right? Carter wants to fulfill Abuelo Gene’s wish, which is peace. So I’m going to try my freaking hardest to be damn peaceful, even if I have no idea how.
“Actually, Erika, you told me that yourself when we first met. Remember? I was eleven, it was Gloria’s birthday party. So I can confirm it with my own vivid memory.” I smile very sweetly. “And look at us now. You’ve spoken it all into existence. So powerful.” Okay, yes, I am getting sarcastic now, but I swear my tone and face are as sweet as can be. I can tell that no one aside from Carter understands that what I am doing is intentional.Yes, you called an eleven-year-old child a whore to her face. That’s the kind of person you are. Sopowerful.
Amá Sonya is going to be so proud when she hears about this. I’m channeling her, after all.
I clap my hands together before she can open her mouth with something stupid and nasty in response. “The food’s getting cold. Let’s eat.”
Luckily the family begins talking at once, racing toward thebowls and containers of food lined up on the counter, and just a smidge of that tension eases. People joke and laugh, and eventually I join Carter at the table. He smiles up at me, and I can’t bring myself to genuinely smile in response. I mean, I make an attempt. Erika’s watching me so closely, I’d ask her to take a picture (it would last longer! Haha!) if I didn’t think it would mess up his chance to get his money.
