“I’m nervous,” Dolly admits.
“You have nothing to be nervous about. Isa and I will be there guiding you all.”
I look out to find Isabel seated at a table in front of the dance floor. She’s wearing a long, sparkly, emerald green evening dress. Her hair is curled in large waves, and her makeup is bolder than usual. She looks absolutely stunning.
I flinch when I hear ‘El Vals de las Mariposas.’ It was all a bunch of Post Traumatic Quince-caca that had been fucking with my brain all day. Hopefully, this would be the last time I felt triggered by the song. I push each couple out the door when I hear the DJ call their names. I watch and make sure they don’t mess up their steps. Isa had spent too much timewith this choreography for one of them to fail her. I was hanging on by a thin line of patience with these kids, and Dolly acting out like a QuinceZilla.
When it’s finally Dolly’s turn to go, I quickly kiss her on the cheek. The crowd cheers as the DJ introduces her.
“Y la Quinceañera Dolores Marisol Chavez”
I let out a sigh of relief. It was almost over. Isa stands up and claps, cheering them all on as they begin their performance, her smile radiating from across the room. Somehow, she’s more beautiful now to me than she has ever been.
There’s this pressure in my chest building at the sight of her. She felt like a butterfly who’d fallen into my open hand. I knew if I squeezed my hand too tightly, I’d smother her to death, but there was also this fear that if I kept my palm wide open that she would fly away from me. It would destroy me to lose her again.
The hour drags on as we go through the two vals, Dolly’s surprise dance, the traditional rituals of changing her shoes, and gifting her last doll. When it’s time for the father-daughter dance, Greñas walks my mother over to the dance floor.
This was one of those moments that my father’s death had robbed him of. From us. From her. Dolly was four years old when he died. I stand there, watching my mother dancing with her in his place. The sadness dissipates when I feel a soft hand in mine. Turning, I meet Isa’s big brown eyes. She understands grief. What it was like to miss someone so much.
There’s this part of me that wants to push her away. To protect her and me from the speculation about our relationship, but in this moment, I don’t care. I need her comfort.
“You okay?” she asks when the song is over.
“I am now,” I reply.
I look around for Junior, but he’s busy with his cousin Darius and the other kids from his school. Socorro is too busy staring at what Junior is doing to pay attention to us, Lourdes is yelling at her husband Tom, Desmond is laughing at theirthree-year-old flipping him off, and anyone else’s opinion doesn’t matter. I squeeze Isa’s hand tighter, and she follows my eyesight toward the toddler with a whole strip of hair missing from his head, both middle fingers raised to Desmond.
“That’s my nephew, Dakota James.” She laughs.
The moment the dance floor is free, I whisk her away in my arms. Let the chisme begin because I wasn’t letting this woman out of my sight.
I’ve refused to let Isabel sit down, taking hold of her infectious laughter as I spin her around on the dance floor. I hold her close, letting the stress that has been building up to this day dissipate. Everyone is laughing and celebrating around us, as it should be. As the night drags on, more people begin to funnel in through the front door, many of whom were unable to attend the church celebration but wouldn’t miss the opportunity for free food and entertainment.
I don’t notice anyone else, though. I’m too indulged in the moment. Isa looks up at me, her brown eyes beaming up at me.
“You look so handsome,” she says, caressing my cheek.
I grab her hand and hold it there, nuzzling my cheek into the softness of her hand. I bring my lips to her hand, kissing it gently before bringing our hands together to rest on my chest, where my heart is beating loudly inside, longing for this night to never end. Life can rob you of many things, but it can also bless you with the rarest gifts, ones you question if you’re worthy of, like this second chance I’m getting with Isabel.
Just as I lean in to say the three words I have been waiting to tell her for a lifetime, the atmosphere around us shifts. I see a figure standing at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes locked intensely on me.
Juan Carlos.
All the blood has drained from his face. He stares at me and shakes his head before taking a drink from the bottle of beer in his hand. Instinctively, I break free from Isabel the moment he steps towards us. When she sees him, she freezes behind me.
“Felicidades,” he says, clapping in front of himself.
His voice cuts through the air like a knife, and many of the people dancing around us now stop to stare.
“How long have you two been sneaking around behind my back?” he asks, his eyes peering over my shoulder at Isabel.
“Juan Carlos, you’re drunk,” she says, moving to my side and shaking her head.
She’s pleading with her eyes for him not to make a scene, but it’s too late. I can tell by the way he’s staring at her and the way his jaw is clenched as he looks at me. I don’t like it. I’m ready to confront him if he steps one step closer to Isa, but then I see Junior running up to him.
“Dad. What are you doing here? What’s going on?” Junior says, looking between us and his father.
“I came to see you, mijo. Didn’t expect to see this, though.” Juan Carlos says, pulling his son into him for balance.
