So yeah, my smile doesn’t reach my eyes because damn, I thought Carter would be different. When I told him the crap Erika used to tell me back in the day, he’d play it down.Oh, she didn’t really mean it, or,she’s extra stressed today. Come on, let’s play.But right now, we’re not little kids. We’readultsand I’m hiswife.
And the fact that he doesn’t notice how pissed off I am just makes me angrier.
“I can’t eat this,” Erika finally says over the noise. “This food is so unhealthy and fattening, and it has no flavor.” She glares at me. “Do wives nowadays no longer cook?”
“I asked her to get this food, Wela,” Carter pipes up.
“And she didn’t realize that what you really wanted was something homecooked? To make a good impression on your family?”
“It’s not what I wanted.” Carter’s tone is sharp enough to make Erika purse her lips and glare at me. I know exactly what she’s thinking, that I somehow coached him into this “disrespect.” If I were to crack open her mind and see her thoughts, my guess is that there is a very vivid image of me wearing a witch’s hat, stirring a potion that turns well-behaved men into insolent ones.
I give him a smile of gratitude and he puts a hand on my knee. I almost lean into him but I don’t want to provoke Erika any more than I already have.
“You know, when I was first married, I didn’t know how to make toast. But I learned quick.” Gloria grabs another biscuit. “Maybe I can come around and teach you some of Carter’s favorite dishes, huh?” She smiles at me so genuinely, it lessens my anger just a touch. Even though she’s joining the misogyny chorus, her heart is in the right place.
“I’d love that,” I say.
Erika snorts. “You can’t teach an old dog newtricks.” She saystricksas though it’s well known that I’m a prostitute who specializes in truly outrageous behavior, like sex with goats, or maybe skyscrapers.
When I glance at Carter for support, he’s got his head down and is going to town on his food. When our gazes meet again, he gives me a look of pride. Not, like, pride in me or this situation. He’s still riding the high of sticking up for me once—just once—so far.
This is what happens when a boy child is praised for doing the bare minimum his entire life. I’m not even sure if he heard his grandmother call me a dog, because he’s too busy waiting for me to coo and pat his head for two sentences.
The only person whoseesme the whole time is his sister Gabi. She winces with every passive and overly aggressive insult and suggestion. If I weren’t here, she’d be bearing the brunt of this garbage. I bet no one has ever stood up for her. Not in a real way.
Which means if I want Erika to respect me, I have to keep getting all Amá Sonya on her.
I only vaguely notice how the dark the sky has gotten when I return my attention to the crap she’s spewing now.
“There’s no reason any woman needs to have muscles,” shescoffs, looking pointedly at my arms but pretending she’s just offering a random opinion for no reason. “That’s what her man is for.”
I try my hardest to think of What Would Amá Sonya Do…hmm. Let’s try theI don’t know what you meanroute. “Our muscular structure is integral to human health. Without it we would literally die. There’s no reason all women need to die.” I paste a saccharin-sweet smile on my face as I flex my biceps while grabbing my water.
Erika glares at me. “Imeanworking out all the time, looking like a man. No woman should look like a man.”
I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. What would Sonya do, what would Sonya do…how about a nice, passive-aggressive compliment. “Erika, I meant to comment on your lovely hairstyle. It reminds me of a great big cone of delicious cotton candy!”
It’s weak, as far as insults go. But I had a feeling she would hate the comparison, and her following snarl confirms my suspicions. “Hey!” one of the children says with a giggle. “Abuela Erika’s hairdoeslook like cotton candy!” A big laugh goes around the table.
Before Erika can respond with something scathing, I laugh and throw my head back. “Beautiful cotton candy!” Sonya loves to smother insults under words likebeautiful,sweet, andbless your heart.
“Every woman needs a hairstyle. It’s how one staysrespectable.” She narrows her eyes at me and adds, “There’s nothing wrong with a boy sowing his oats. But after that, he needs to settle down with aniceandrespectablegirl,” she exclaims loudly. “Not someone who comes from a gutter family.” This last bit, she mumbles under her breath. I swear shejustholds back from spitting on me.
“Aww, that is such a sweet sentiment.” I put my hand on my heart. “And I totally agree. Nice and respectable girls turn into nice and respectable women. The kind of women who are loving and sweet. Not the kind of women who tell children that they would end up as loose as their mother. Right?”
Erika’s jaw is slightly dropped. And so are the men’s. The women, though. Their eyes gleam with something like glee. I glance at them all and say, “Some vieja actually told me that when I was little. Can you believe it?” I shake my head and sigh. “If it’s not something Jesus would do, then it’s not something a nice lady would do, am I right?” I raise my glass, because no one is going to argue with me once I bring Jesus into it. “And on that note, I’d like to make a toast.” I raise my glass. “To nice women. Who are always kind, whether to Chihuahuas”—because yes, I’ve seen Erika kick one of her granddaughter’s old Chihuahuas before—“to all children”—because although Erika was brutal to me, she didn’t like any kids, as far as I could tell—“and most of all, to their daughters and daughters-in-law.” I smile as everyone cheers and toasts, led by cousin Gordon, and then I add a little extra something in a low voice especially for her. “Because nice women want relationships with their future great-grandchildren. Right?”
Erika’s slams her gaping mouth shut, and then someone gets up to toast me and Carter and all the future Velasquez babies.
If she thought she was going to make me bawl like when I was a child, well. She can see now that she was wrong.
Carter walks everyone outside andI stay in, beginning cleanup. “Hey,” Gabi says as she joins me, helping to stack dishes and carry them to the sink. “That was something you did there.”She lowers her voice with a grin. “I’ve never seen her so speechless in my life.”
I smile but it doesn’t feel as victorious as I’d like. I’m realizing now that I got carried away. That I let the old, selfish Teal through too much. Not that I’ll admit that to anyone. I just don’t know what to do when I’m cornered like that, when someone is telling me to my face that I’m the one who’s ruined their grandson. How does someone get through that gracefully? I don’t know. Sage is the least selfish person I know, and I think even she would have conjured some thick vines to smother the vieja.
“We should go out sometime,” I tell Gabi as I walk her to the door.
“Yes, you have to show me where you get your purses. Mine is—” She lifts up a bag that, if I had to guess, is a knockoff from a knockoff dollar store. It’s so wrinkled, it looks like an old collection of sediment taken from an archaeological site. The deep brown pleather is peeling all over the strap and its bottom, revealing the yellowed lining within.
