“Well, it’s a whole thing. The invitation is a bit vague, but it mentions a bridal brunch, the rehearsal dinner, a bridal shower—you know, wedding stuff.” I shrug, placing the plate in the sink.
“Well, who will watch the restaurant, then?”
How could she not even consider herself as an option to run it?
“Faye will,” I suddenly decide.
My skin tingles at the sirens blaring outside the window briefly. Probably the ambulance coming to take me to the morgue when my mother quickly realizes I’m lying to her about this whole idea.
“I can’t trust that jovencita to runmyrestaurant alone. So I’ll have to do it. Well, I’ll help them. I’ll supervise.”
Suddenly, I feel panic wash over me. It didn’t even occur until she offered to watch the place. Giving up control of the restaurant for an entire week is not ideal in any situation for me, but especially in one where my mother may discover that the business is doing poorly, and I have been keeping it from her for an entire year. I feel regretful about even bringing up this conversation. I should have nipped it when Maria suggested it and forgotten about the wedding. But I’m too deep in it now. There’s only one way to go. Sofia knows I’m supposed to show up. Her fiancé is expecting to be wowed. And then there’s the book…
I haven’t even seen it yet—hell, it’s still locked—but I can’t help hoping that by the time the wedding rolls around, I’ll have it in my hands. If I can just get it open, I could finally discover recipes I’ve never seen before. It could be exactly what the restaurant needs. Not to mention, Gabriel is waiting for the money. I need this. I’m counting on it, even if I’m not entirely sure how it’ll all come together.
“No, Mami. Faye will run it. I’ll have them call me every day and leave her detailed to-do lists and procedures. You can stop by like usual, but she can handle it. So you don’t need to…do anything. Besides, you already do so much.” I can only hope I don’t sound suspicious in any way.
“Esta bien, mija. Fine. Go to the wedding and impress the hell out of them. Then take a photo of Rosita’s face when she finally realizes we’ve done it. We don’t need her. Then I’ll frame it and put it on my wall.”
“Great! So it’s settled then,” I say happily.
The letter throbs against my skin, reminding me of my second task.
After dinner, I help her clean up and put away the leftover food. As she’s getting everything set up for me to take home, I excuse myself to the bathroom. Walking toward the bathroom at the end of the hallway, as I do every time I visit my mother, I look at each family photo she has hung on the walls, trying to resurface memories of my father. I stare at one of myself as a tiny baby being held by my mother and my father, who is hugging us both from behind. Another one is of my parents at their wedding; my mother has a huge belly. It reminds me of those typical shotgun weddings my Tía Maritza would gossip about. My mother assured me it wasn’t one, though. And I believed her—she’s not the type of person to plan something so scandalous and potentially damaging to her image.
I keep strolling down the aisle, gazing at every photo until I see the one I wish she’d just take down and burn.
“Mami, why do you keep this freaking photo up?” I grab it off the wall and show it to her. She squints her eyes, unbothered to come any closer.
“What do you mean, mija? It’s your quinceañera. Why wouldn’t I have it up?”
“Okay, but did you have to choose this photo?” I point to the image of me in an obnoxiously poofy blue dress with a huge rip down the front, layers of tulle spilling out and my big calves showing underneath. My face is red and tear-streaked from crying, and I look as if I’ve just run a marathon. How could she even think this was worth displaying? Next to me are two other teenage girls. One is Sofia in her beautiful pink dress, looking absolutely ethereal. Even her crown sparkles through the photograph. On my other side is the culprit who mutilated my gaudy dress: Valentina Garcia. Her eyes pierce through me still, sending a shock down my spine.
She shrugs, a smile creeping onto her face. “Because it’s real. You’re my daughter. Not everything has to be perfect.”
“Mami, I look ridiculous.”
“You look cute! And it was the only photo I was able to get before—”
“What? Before you and Rosita had this random fight in silence and I never saw them again? I still don’t know why you can’t just tell me the big secret. Your only daughter,” I reply coldly.
She doesn’t reply, but I didn’t expect her to.
As I approach the bathroom door, I hesitate for a moment. I look to my right and see my mother’s bedroom door slightly ajar. I look toward the kitchen, but she’s busy washing the dishes, her back completely turned away. This is my only chance. The last thing I need for the trip.
I slither into her bedroom, barely moving the door, and tiptoe toward her nightstand. I quietly open each drawer and shuffle through—just a few painkillers and magazines. I reach my hands in between the mattress and box spring and slide them to the end, then repeat on the other side. Nothing. I head toward her dresser and begin rummaging through each drawer, making sure not to make it look like anything was moved. I silently open her closet and start rifling through the boxes on the floor. At the far back is a box labeled “Roberto’s.”Bingo.I reach inside, shuffling through knickknacks, a pair of binoculars, and a few mystery books until I feel a leather-bound journal in my hand. I pull it out.
There it is. The book. The sacred book that houses all of my father’s secrets and recipes I can only vaguely remember the taste of. I reach into my pocket to pull out the letter.
You’ll find what you’re looking for in my journal. You have the key.
So this is it. I’m officially going to Sofia’s wedding. I’m not sure if I will be able to pull this off, but there are a few things I need to do. One, ensure my mother doesn’t discover the restaurant troubles or the missing book while I’m gone. Two, I need to impress everyone, secure that investment, and save the restaurant. And three, I must figure out what my father wants me to find in this book.
Chapter Four
“Everything is going to be fine. Right?”
I’m clutching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles have turned white. I keep my eyes fixed on the open highway ahead, preparing for the exit that’s quickly approaching. The wedding week has officially started, and I spent two hours this morning extensively training Faye on all of the procedures, from opening the restaurant to closing it. They probably didn’t need all the training, but I just want to ensure everything runs perfectly while I’m gone. This is all happening so quickly. The buzzing in my head is almost distracting.
