My palms feel sweaty. Learning more about me? What if he learns too much?
“Sofia, could you come over here?” asks one of the employees, completely wrapped up in string lights.
“I’ll be right there.” Sofia sighs. “I can’t catch a break. Anyways, Isa, again, I’m seriously so happy you came. I have so much to say. For now, though, you should definitely settle in. Your cabin is all ready to go. Also, please do not forget to say hi to Rosita and Abuelita before you go to your cabin, or I will not hear the end of it.”
“You got it,” I reach for the cabin keys from her as she scurries away to help untangle the helpless staff from the lights. Cabin 101.
Maria grabs the key to inspect it.
“Oh, damn. I recognize this cabin number! It’s one of the renovated cabins—the nicer ones, single occupancy. What the hell? Clearly, she has a favorite cousin.” Maria scoffs. “I’m taking back my birthday gift from last year that I forgot to actually give to her.”
I squint at her, confused. “How do you even know that?”
“I used to stay here all the time when I was younger. My family came up to the camp a few times every summer. Guess that’s what happens when you’re family friends with the owners.”
Her words hit me like a reminder of everything I’m not. This was my family too, but I never had a summer at the camp. While Maria and Valentina spent their summers in fancy cabins, I was back home helping my parents run the restaurant, making sure the bills were paid. The contrast between us feels sharper in moments like this.
“Why would she give me an entire cabin? Weird…”
We head toward the cabins, hoping to catch Rosita or my grandmother so we can end this introduction portion of the week early.
“Maybe it’s an olive branch? She could be reaching out and trying to make amends.” Maria shrugs.
“Maybe…”
We pass a couple more stand-alone open bars, and Maria grabs another mimosa for the road.
Maria stops at one of the cabins. “Oh, this is mine. I’ll see you at dinner, Isa. I am so tired,” she says, fake yawning.
“Excuse me? Why do I have to face family by myself?”
“Ugh, just…so tired.” She scoots toward her cabin door. “Gotta go!” She rushes inside.
“You traitor! I hope your cabin is haunted! I hope the killer is in there!” I shout.
“Is that my little Isabellita I hear screaming?” a shaky voice squeaks from one of the Adirondack chairs in front of the next cabin.
I walk over to see my adorable grandmother enjoying the sun’s rays while simultaneously protecting her skin under a light orange shawl. Her eyes are squinting, but they always look like that. Almost as if they’re permanently closed. Her grey hair hangs down the sides of her face in waves.
“Abuelita!” I squeal and rush over to her.
I want to hug her tight, but I’m afraid she may break in half. I kiss her a few times on the forehead and sit beside her.
“Como estas, mijita?” she says slowly and softly.
A wave of guilt hits me, sharp and sudden. Abuelita was my father’s mother. But after Rosita and Mariposa’s falling out, she started to create some distance between us. When my father died, Rosita took her in like her own mother and took care of her. If you ask anyone in our family, she’s everyone’s Abuelita. I haven’t seen her since my father’s funeral—three years ago. Not because I didn’t want to, but because Mami has made it clear she doesn’t get along with this side of the family. Visits were few and far between, and then nonexistent after Papi died. But seeing Abuelita now, so much older in just a few years, so much frailer, it feels as if I’ve missed too much. She moves slowly, more methodically, as if she’s taking her time as time slowly takes her. Tears well up in my eyes.
“I’m great, Abuelita. How are you? Eating well? Sleeping well? I missed you so much,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Oh, mijita. Don’t worry about me. I’m still kicking, verdad? I’m only eighty-four.” She lifts her arms to show off her nonexistent biceps. “I even go to the gym.”
“Oh, dang. I see.” I pinch her biceps and nod approvingly, which clearly pleases her.
“I’m so happy you’re here, mijita. We weren’t sure if you were going to make it. Y Mariposa?”
I sit quietly for a moment, staring at the workers in the distance, finally setting up the curtain lights they untangled.
“She won’t be coming, Abuelita. You know how it is.”
