After the citizenship test, which was complicated but rote (Annette had studied the flash cards endlessly, her friends reading the questions aloud and quizzing her, laughing that they could scarcely answer a single one), Annette made her way down the hall to the Texas State auditorium. Some of her fellow new Americans carried tiny flags. Some cried. Many were stone-faced, conflicted, even at this final moment.
Louis and Robert and Annette’s parents waited for her in the auditorium. Annette sat in between her mother and father, who held her hands. She felt teary.
“What are youwearing?” asked Maya. Annette smoothed the skirt of the Valentino, which barely covered her underwear.
“It cost eight thousand,” she whispered to her mother and the two women began tittering.
“When you were a baby,” said Maya, trying to control her laughter, “I wrapped you in your great-aunt’s dish towel.”
“It had flowers on it,” said her father, leaning in with a smile.
“Tulips!” cried her mother, laughing hard now.
“We should have named youTulip,” said her father.
The three of them collapsed into giggles as a man took the podium, ready to address a room of new American citizens. “What’s so funny?” said Louis, leaning in, wanting to be inside the joke.
Annette didn’t answer. Louis would pity her if he knew that she’d once been a scrawny baby in a dish towel. But it wasn’t a sad story to Annette and her parents—it was about bravery and hard work and God. Robert looked at Annette, his eyebrow raised, shooting her a grin. Her son, who had never known hardship, never been wrapped in anything but the softest fabrics. Which side of the joke was he on?
When she’d been announced an official American citizen, Annette posed in front of the flags at the front of the room. She hugged her family, and everyone from Laredo headed back. They had declined to attend her “Annette is an American” party, to Louis’s dismay.
“We’ll have our own party, next time you come home,” said Annette’s father, embracing his daughter. He held her for a while, whispered, “You deserve all of this. You can have whatever you want, my love.”
“Thank you, Dad,” said Annette. “For everything.”
Annette stood before her parents for a moment, imagininghow scared they must have been, swimming against a current with a baby held aloft. “You’re so brave,” she said.
“So are you, Annette,” said Maya. “Come home soon.”
Annette had once been annoyed that her parents still called Laredo her home, but now the words rang true. When her family exited and Annette was left with her husband and son, she felt lonely.
“Come on, gorgeous!” said Louis. “The caterers are already at the house making American flag fruit cups and your signature cocktail!”
“Signature cocktail?” said Annette, suddenly exhausted. She could barely walk in her heels.
“Something with crème de cassis; I don’t know,” said Louis.
—
ANNETTE’S PHONE RANG ASshe was changing for the party—a blocked number. She let the call go to voicemail. She bound her hair in a pink scrunchie and began applying mineral makeup. Her complexion wasn’t as perfect as she’d like, so she’d worn “base” since high school, dusted with Revlon powder. Her mascara and eyeliner were Maybelline. Although Annette could afford expensive makeup now, she stuck to what worked, including platinum highlights from a hairstylist she’d visited in the Barton Creek Square for decades.
Outside her bathroom window, Annette could see three large tents. Her kitchen was filled with caterers making every possible iteration of red-white-and-blue foods: skewers of raspberries, blueberries, and light melon shaped like stars; blue crab cakes with multicolored dipping sauces; blue corn mini-empanadas.
The signature drink, the American Annette, was revealed to be a fruity concoction with a flag affixed to the glass. Louis had spared no expense: Dale Watson and his band, fireworks,the pool filled with inflatable Texas-shaped floats, spangled outfits for the catering staff. Even Hank Lefferts was coming to the party on his bike (he’d never gotten a driver’s license).
Annette told herself she could huddle with Hank and her friends, sneaking cigarettes, later downing a few “American Annette” cocktails and dancing barefoot to Dale Watson…all in her very own yard. God knows they all needed a break.
With the house abuzz, Annette tried to feel happy.
Instead, she stared at her phone, a premonition creeping slowly up her neck like a scorpion. Images flashed before her: she and her son, walking across the bridge between Laredo and Nuevo Laredo, a small apartment with a handheld shower, her mother visiting for fresh coffee.
Annette put her hand on the vanity to hold herself up. Her heart beat powerfully in her ears.
Louis appeared in the doorway. Annette looked at her husband. He grinned, then dropped his pants to show that he was wearing a Speedo bathing suit printed with American stars and stripes. He opened his arms.
“Louis…” said Annette.
“My love,” said Louis. “Are you ready to party?”
