“First of all, I don’t think Raf is going to let that happen.” I chuckle and he continues. “He’s made sure you’re set up with too many barriers in place for you to lose it all. And second, so what if you did? Then you’d be back to the grind like the rest of us. People who don’t have money can still feel like adults. They’re rich in other ways.”
“You think so?”
“Look at the way your mom talked about your family. All of you crammed in that tiny house and she adored her life. That’srich-rich if you ask me.”
My hands are on autopilot as I slice an avocado and think about what he means, about the words Mom gave me. I wish I could ask her when she knew she was an adult. Maybe she was like me, and never got to that moment. Or maybe she knew from a young age.
Dane is the first to arrive as we finish up the botana, allthe dishes now scattered over the kitchen island. Angie, Rafael, and their three dark-haired mini-mes arrive just as I’m stepping outside to light my brand new grill.
The ignite buttonclick-click-clicksand... nothing. My second and third attempt have the same result. Dane steps out. “Need some help?” he asks.
“I got it,” I say, a little too defensively.
My brother stands there with his hands in his black shorts, tattooed legs stemming from his Vans, and rocks on the balls of his feet. He says nothing as I click through a fourth, fifth, and sixth attempt.
“C’mon,” I huff. “I just bought this.” I fling the grill lid up and inspect it like it’s magically going to tell me what I’m doing wrong.
I hold out my hand. “Gimme your Zippo,” I tell Dane in a tone that’s reserved only for siblings. He gave up smoking a couple years ago but he always carries a lighter in his pocket. I guess smoking was an easier habit to give up than carrying a flame. I locate a twig on the ground and light the end of it.
“Did you see Green Day is coming to Philly in a few weeks?” he asks. Green Day was a huge influence on us as kids. A lot of bands shaped us, but it was that particular political punk rock band that had us believing our family band, Agony Nectar, could follow in their footsteps. Their lyrics are inked on my skin. And on his.
Most of my focus is on lighting the grill and not singeing my eyebrows, but I answer. “Yeah, but we have a game the next day in Baltimore.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
There’s a softwooshof the slider door. “Why is there no furniture in your house, Jonah?” Rafael asks. He stands next to Dane and has my youngest nephew, Mateo, strapped to his chest. If I weren’t so busy worrying about how I’m going to grill the giant flank steak, I’d be taking that curly-hairedbambino from his father. “What’s going on here?” he asks before I can even process his first question. “Did you—”
Dane cuts him off. “He said he didn’t want any help.”
Raf leans to the left to inspect my busted chrome monstrosity and points to something. “But—”
“I know,” Dane hums.
“I know how grills work,” I say through clenched teeth. The flame extinguishes on my twig and I light it again before shoving into the belly of the grill.
“Not to be that guy,” my brother says, “but you once asked me how wind works.”
I still don’t know the answer, but I ignore him to focus on my task.
Dane and Raf stand there chatting away while I try harder than an old prop on a breakaway. When I pull out my phone to search the internet for ahow to fix your grillvideo, Raf and Joaquín’s step-mom, Christina, joins us.
She studies me for a moment, her hands stuffed into her cargo shorts the same way Dane’s are. “You know, most gas grills need gas.”
Cold, bright relief flicks the bulb on in my brain, immediately followed by creepy-crawly embarrassment that starts in my belly and climbs up my torso until my cheeks are burning. My palms are on my face a split second later, muffling my groan.
“It’s okay,” Christina says, attempting to soothe my embarrassment. “Just tell me where the tank is and I’ll hook it up. Is it in your garage?” She’s already turning in that direction but I have to stop her.
“No,” I sigh. “I forgot to get a tank.”
Why am I the way that I am? I bought agasgrill. You literally only need two things for it to work: gas... and a grill.
“Mijo, where is your furniture?” Ana asks as she joins the crowd that’s formed to watch my downfall. She hugs me smelling like citrus and fresh laundry, and it’s a smallcomfort that transports me to my childhood.
“I’m still working on that,” I say with no small amount of defeat. “God, why did I think I could host? I don’t even have a place for everyone to sit. I’ve been here for months, I should have furniture by now! I should have a gas tank for my gas grill and I should take an extra moment to make sure I’m buying cilantro, not mint!”
“First of all,” Ana says, still holding me like a broken child and not a full-grown man who’s nearly a head taller than her, “don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”
I can’t help my tiny, hidden smile. Ana may be an out-and-proud lesbian, but she’s a Catholic above all else. Even though I’m not particularly religious, it’s a nice reminder that this world does not revolve around me.
