I think of ignoring the question, but feeling a little reckless, I decide to have a little fun instead. “Nah, it’s for my wife.”
Daisy sounds like she’s choking on air while the woman before me looks like I’ve slapped her.
“W-wife? But you’re not wearing a ring.” She sounds indignant.
“Oh my God,” Daisy all but yelps.
“Yeah.” I look down at my bare ring finger. “We’re not really ring people. We have an appointment to get tattoos instead. Cool, right?”
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“Anyway, have a nice day. Enjoy your raisin and nut medley… rabbit food.”
I leave her slack-jawed as I maneuver through the aisles.
“Hey, Daze?”
“Uh, um, yeah?”
“Turn up the radio. They’re playing your favorite song.”
twelve
I’ve spent most ofthe day cooking up a feast.
I told Luke it was a thank-you for letting me crash at his place, but in reality, I needed something to keep me occupied.
Because something is shifting between us.
He’s still being the same kind and courteous man I know him to be, but when I walked out of the bathroom in the band T-shirt and cutoff shorts he bought me, I swear the look he gave me could light my new clothes on fire.
And if I’m being completely honest, I liked the thought far too much.
I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it as I finish chopping the veggies and toss them into the sancocho I settled on for tonight. Ever since I started hanging out with Luisa and Isabella’s families, I’ve become obsessed with our shared Dominican culture.
My mother was unable to teach me about my lineage, so I feel immensely grateful to my new friends and sister-in-law for letting me tag along and helping me embrace being a proud Latina. I have no living family members on my mother’s side, therefore there was never anyone out there I could reach out to in an attempt to help me feel closer to my Mami or my culture.
And it kills me.
Because it makes me feel like I’m a fraud.
Like a fake Latina who’s trying too hard to assimilate to a culture she wasn’t raised in. Even after I’ve fielded questions about my “exotic” looks all my life. Like I’m a plant or an animal, especially since my last name is Stonehaven and my father lives in the UK.
It’s probably why I’ve always felt like I’m just something to look at—with thinly veiled confusion that brings up more questions than answers. Which is why I’ve always tried my best to beat people to the punch before they have a chance to get curious. It’s part of why I’m usually offering myself up for odd jobs and going the extra mile for strangers and friends and why I always have a solution handy.
If I can be useful, if I can make everyone around me happy, maybe they won’t look too closely and see the cracks under the surface. If I’m helpful, they won’t notice all the missing pieces I came without. Or how I hope I’m fooling them all by playing out a role. The ones I’ve come to emulate from books and movies, hoping no one catches on that there is nothing original or special about me.
Maybe I can sell them on the fact that I’m naturally this way. That I know how to be cheerful twenty-four seven so that they won’t see my sadness or my fear of never being enough.
And maybe, just maybe, if I keep fussing and fluttering around the ones I care for, eventually something will stick. I’ll figure outwho it is that I’m meant to be, and no one will ever have to know that I was faking it the whole time.
Nick tries his best to remind me of the bits and pieces that he remembers of his childhood with our mom, and I take every morsel of information and weave it into my being.
And I desperately try to keep a positive outlook. Knowing that I lucked out with an amazing brother and an extended family in his in-laws now that he had the good sense to lock down Luisa.
But if I’m honest with myself, it’s still not enough.
I put the lid on the sancocho as I lower the volume on the music on my phone. Maybe listening to my mom’s favorite artist, Juan Luisa Guerra, the day after I ran away from my wedding wasn’t the best idea after all.
