Chapter Thirty-Four
I arrived at the SBA fundraiser fashionably late. Well, more like late late.
Every cell in my body didn’t mutiny at being tardy to my party. Nor did my stomach flutter at the size of the crowd. Which, from the looks of it, had grown from last year.
People packed every inch of the parking lot. James set up more line partitions, organizing the queue to the auditorium screening the latest Spider-Man movie. Wesley stood at the front of the doors, taking tickets. Callie directed the swarms of people from one art piece to the next.
The rest of the SBA didn’t miss a beat. Even without me directing—er, controlling—from the helm, everyone shined their own light. I had no desire to throw a damper on it.
Especially Po’s. She wasn’t even officially a member of the event committee, but she was definitely having her moment under the moonlight.
Her body swayed behind one of the grills. The silk duster billowed with the ocean breeze, smoke swirling around her like magic tendrils. She looked up. The only thing beaming brighter than her face was her orange-yellow lipstick.
I’d never seen her wear this shade before.
The vibrant colors instantly conjured golden yucca fries, warm sunshine, and spring crocuses.
She waved huge tongs, motioning me over.
Later, I mouthed. You’ve got this. I didn’t go and check on her grilling skills to make sure.
She flashed a huge smile, mouthing back, I do.
As the event wound down, Callie and I walked between the canvases. Loaded the ballot boxes in front of each art piece onto our rolling backpacks. Tons of pet photography. Lots of Matteo-Beach-pier-backlit-by-the-sunset paintings. A few abstract sculptures. None as interesting as the one Javi and I created in the Arctic Art Studio, though.
At the other end of the parking lot, a small crowd gathered in front of my portrait. Could it hold a candle to Phallus in Wonderland? I tugged at my blouse’s collar.
Unlike Cinderella’s coach, the portrait didn’t turn into a pumpkin the closer time ticked toward midnight. Quite the opposite. Under the glow of the spotlights and the gaze of admirers, the painting-collage of Po sparked with life. And not because of the obscene amount of glitter I’d used.
“You did good, Cas,” Callie said.
Yeah, I really did.
“Oh, before I forget, Po saved us food for while we’re tallying these up.” She patted a ballot box. At the stomp of combat boots behind us, we glanced over our shoulders. In the middle of the parking lot, Po and Marcus had broken out into an impromptu cha-cha. “Speak of the devi—”
“Angel,” I corrected her. Guess there was a little bit of Madame Iron Fist inside of me still.
Callie grinned. Leaning in, she whispered, “So… is everything ready for tomorrow night?”
“Glow sticks, check; Angie’s tiara, check. I’m also bringing portable chargers.” I suppose leftover fairy godmother swirled inside me, too.
Taking a page from Po, why throw all the bathwater out with the baby?
Parties brought joy to people. I wanted to keep ushering in that joy. Only, this time, I wanted to join in on the fun. I wanted to celebrate making new memories for myself, not simply plan them for others in an attempt to bury the ones I didn’t want to remember.
“Okay, what about desserts?” she asked.
I popped out my phone and showed her the concept photo for the cupcakes I’d ordered. A chocolate Darth Vader mask and red lightsaber topped a cracked red surface resembling lava.
“Oooh,” Callie said. “That looks so yummy.”
“One hundred percent.” When I’d googled best bakery in Orange County, Rubi’s Bakery topped the list. The shop was owned by a guy who was not only a Cuban immigrant, but the recently crowned winner of the second annual OC Bake-Off.
His daughter, Rubi, placed third last year.
She’d answered the phone when I called to place my order for a dozen vanilla and a dozen chocolate cupcakes. When she asked if these were for a special occasion, I said yes.
A quincea?era.
Drawing from Javi’s Latine-granny-style openness, I followed up by telling her whose. Casually threw in that I was also Cuban-American.
After a brief silence, she’d said, “In that case, I’m making you something extra special.”
And she did—at the family discount to boot.
“It’s going to be chocolate lava cake on top,” I told Callie. “A chocolate-cherry mousse inside a pate à choux in the middle. With salted cajeta pudding on the bottom.” My mouth watered. Callie licked her lips. “Rubi said Star Wars fan or not, everyone at the party will think these cupcakes are the ‘Chosen Ones.’”
Callie cracked up. “If her desserts are as good as her puns, I believe it.” She cleared her throat, motioning to Po rushing over.
Po slung her arms over us and said, “This was way funner than the dogs-and-dogs event. Hey, do you guys have a catering chair on the committee?”
Callie shook her head.
“But we should,” I said. “I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.”
Po winked. “Looks like I’ll be adding an extracurricular to my resume, after all, eh?” Sarcasm didn’t tinge her voice. Only excitement. And a hint of gratitude. “Thanks for letting me do my thing, guys.”
“Our pleasure,” Callie said. “You’ll be an asset to the group.” I nodded in agreement. “I’m going to get started on counting these,” she said, jutting her chin to the ballot boxes.
“I’ll join you right after I show Po the finished portrait and collect the rest of the ballots,” I said.
Callie headed one way. Po and I another.
My loafers synced to the steps of her boots. We stopped at her portrait. The label next to it read,
Artist: Castillo Torres
Once upon a Quincea?era
Mixed media on paper.
Dozens of emotions beamed on her face as she took in the artwork. “Little Cuchara, it’s so much more beautiful in real life.” The pride in her voice lifted my shoulders.
It felt like the concrete under our feet had been replaced by Aladdin’s magic carpet. As I floated to a whole new world, a series of Pinterest boards I’d created flashed in my mind.
Those would-be moments didn’t come close to this one right here, right now. “I guess everything is more beautiful in real life,” I said.
Po grabbed my hand. I squeezed it. The spaces and jagged edges between us melted.
“I wish I would’ve bid on it,” she said. “It would’ve been so awesome to bring it home.”
“I’ll make you another one.” That made her start clapping. “Hey, since you’re in such a good mood, I have a proposal,” I said.
Po raised a brow.
“What about we hit up Disneyland tomorrow?”
“Disneyland?” Her darkening expression gave me pause.
Wiping my palms on the sides of my blouse, I kept going. “Tomorrow night. To celebrate this.” I motioned around us. “Both of us need new I’m Celebrating pins, and it’s been forever since we’ve watched a fireworks show.” My nose didn’t grow, because this was true.
Channeling some of Paulina’s cool, calm, and collected veneer, I added, “Oh, I checked the calendar, and guess what? It’s Princess Nite tomorrow.”
Throughout the year, the park held various themed after-hours events, one of them being a night when the park immersed guests in stories of Disney heroines—and tons of sparkly decor. Mom loved tasting all the special treats for the night. And it always gave Po an excuse to dress up.
“Well… whaddya say?” I asked.
She chewed her orange-yellow lips. I could almost hear the gears in her head turning.
Paulina never filmed at night. She needed the sun to light the food featured in her vlogs. If Paulina were to attend an after-hours event, it would be Star Wars Nite—not one where tiaras outnumbered lightsabers.
Slowly, a smile unfurled across Po’s face. When it reached Jack Skellington proportions, she said, “Count me in. But only if you dress up with me. Khaki shorts and a button-down aren’t befitting of royalty.”
“Can I keep my loafers on at least?” I asked, sparking her laughter.
Bingo. The second part of my plan had liftoff.
Inside room 237, Callie and I went through the bids for each piece. My heart doubled when I found out who won Once upon a Quincea?era.
Diego Torres.
I let tears flow unchecked. Dad must’ve come when Po was behind the grill and I was inside the auditorium introducing the movie.
Because of him, the portrait would be coming home. Exactly like Po wanted.
Like I wanted.
When I got home, I found Po in the kitchen with Dad. They were both laughing at something over the stove. The sweet-and-savory scents of Po’s now-famous PSTs curled around me for the second time today. Songs from Mom’s playlist shuffled in the background. They didn’t boom full blast like Po and I would’ve preferred, but they played nonetheless.
I threw my arms over Dad’s neck.
“Hey, what’s that for, kiddo?”
For the painting, I wanted to say. For letting Mom’s music come back to her happiest place after Disneyland. Only that wouldn’t encompass the full truth. “For everything,” I said, my eyes flitting to Po. He brought a finger to his lips.
I nodded. The portrait was a secret worth keeping.
I inhaled more scents of Cuban food, listened to more nostalgic melodies. “Since we’re still up, what about a movie to pair with this late dinner?”
“Do you have any cinematic suggestions?” Po asked, looking up from stirring the browning meat.
“I do,” I said.
The three of us sniffled back tears. Not because we were still uncomfortable or unpracticed in sharing our emotions with one another. But because we didn’t want to add more salt to Po’s PSTs.
She’d perfected the seasoning mix already.
Between mouthfuls of Po’s twist on the Cuban dishes, we debated Cast Away. “Chuck needed to let go of Wilson to survive,” Dad said.
Po hurled a raisin at him. He shielded himself with a throw pillow, peeking over the edge. “Why do you think the movie title is spelled with two words, not one, Po?”
She flung another raisin. Dad caught it, peppering it over his last PST. “Chuck is a castaway,” he said. “But the only reason he survives is because he literally ‘cast’ his baggage ‘away.’”
Po and I swung our heads toward each other. Twin oooohs flew from our lips. Some of my heart’s jagged edges eroded.
Po elbowed me in the ribs. “Looks like we have to up our brainpower to get into Alma, eh?”
I was so thrilled she’d found the path back to her old college dream. Happier still that she’d rediscovered her joy on the way there, without additional prodding from me.
I uncrossed my legs. A few heartbeats ticked by before I heard myself say, “Um, I’ve been thinking about checking out other schools besides Alma or UCI. Ones with bigger art departments.”
A week ago, I’d nearly fainted at Javi’s college plans not being laid in stone. Now?
Now the possibility of going to different schools, of adding new colleges to my Excel spreadsheet, didn’t feel like a betrayal of my previously planned path. I needed to trust that my journey would eventually lead me to my destination. And if there were roadblocks, or pit stops, or detours along the way, I’d still get where I needed to be.
“What do you both think?” I asked.
Po gave me a high five. Dad’s face flashed with pride.
Feeling floaty from all of it, I said, “Did anyone pick up on the angel-wing motif through the movie?”
Po immediately launched into wanting wing tattoos for her next birthday. Dad swiveled on his gaming chair. Apparently, the thing had more uses than supporting his gaming habit. Nudging the conversation from tattoos to the movie’s ending, he said, “I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be happy or sad. Thoughts?”
“Happy,” Po said. “I mean, what’s better than closure with one great love of your life, only to immediately meet the next one? You know what they say. ‘As one chapter closes, another begins.’” She wiggled her brows. The hitch in her voice, coupled with the fact that she got the quote “right,” gave her false bravado away.
“Can’t the ending be both?” I blurted. “It’s sad that Chuck and Kelly don’t stay together forever, but it’s also happy that Chuck made it back… and that there’s more love waiting for him.” My eyes darted between them. “If he wants it.”
A big tear rolled down my cheek. Bigger than the one about to fall over Dad’s. Po rose from the couch and pressed her cheek to his. “Little Cucharas grow up so fast,” she said, sniffling.
“So do Big Spoons,” he said.
Po’s eyes glistened. After a few moments of wiping our faces, the conversation veered off to the importance of dental hygiene.
As Po and Dad’s conversation grew more animated, I slipped off the sofa and headed into the hallway. Leaning against the wall, I texted Javi.
I watched Cast Away. So many thoughts. I can share some with you tomorrow night if you’re interested. I’m sure Paulina invited you to the special event already, but I’m extending the invitation personally to you as well.
I turned off the phone, raised it in a toast, and let my eyes drift over every photo of Mom.
“I love you. I miss you,” I whispered. “Here’s to being one of the great loves in my life. To being a part of so many happily ever nows.”
I walked back into the living room, ready to make a few more.