Chapter 9
It was Ava’s thirty-third birthday. The magical night Ava had spent with Roman at the Dulce Flor a week ago seemed light years
away. She stood at the sink in her grandmother’s kitchen in the Bronx and tried not to scream.
Over the course of her life, she’d managed to accumulate a number of impressive skills. She could manage a classroom of twenty-five
sixth graders, navigate Manhattan traffic like a seasoned cabbie, and crochet with her eyes closed.
One thing she could not do?
Stop an eighty-one-year-old woman from harassing her about marriage.
“Abuela,” she said, smiling through clenched teeth. “It’s been nearly two years. Hector and I are over.”
Her grandmother, however, was not to be deterred, and she brandished a wooden spoon for emphasis. With her diminutive stature
and red lipstick, Esperanza Rodriguez looked like a Boricua fairy godmother, one who could turn overripe platanos into stretch
limos and chancletas into high heels—but instead of glass, the shoes were made of ceramic and had the date of someone’s cousin’s
Sweet Sixteen scrawled along the side in metallic gold marker.
“Yo sé,” Esperanza said, despite the fact that she clearly did not seem to know. “Pero I was visiting my sister and we saw Gloria sweeping outside, so we went over and she said—”
At the sound of her ex–mother-in-law’s name, Ava squeezed the sponge so hard every drop of soap exploded onto the dishes.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, her voice as tight as her grip. Considering she’d only run into Hector a week before,
she could well imagine what Gloria had said. After all, Gloria had said it to Ava herself a number of times.
Por favor, nena. Take him back. He doesn’t know what he’s doing .
Even now, anger seared through Ava’s veins. As if she had been the one to leave him instead of the other way around. As if Hector simply hadn’t realized he was throwing away a ten-year relationship, like he was a child who’d accidentally given away his favorite toy and needed
his mommy to retrieve it.
Esperanza scowled and banged the spoon against the side of the pot, startling Ava out of her memories. “Ay muchacha, no seas
difícil.”
Ava shut her eyes, remembering Roman’s words. Something tells me you’ve never been difficult a day in your life .
Not according to Esperanza Rodriguez.
“Déjalo, Espie,” Ava’s grandfather Willie said from his seat at the counter, where he flipped through the pages of El Diario newspaper. The expression on his lined brown face was mild as he raised his cafecito for a sip. “No habalamos de Hector, carino.”
Ava bit back another scream. Damn her cousin Sammy for singing the song from Encanto anytime someone brought up her ex. Now “We Don’t Talk About Hector” was going to be stuck in her head all freaking day.
Since she didn’t trust herself not to break something, Ava abandoned the dishes and opened the fridge to retrieve a head of lettuce. The door of the refrigerator was covered with photos of Esperanza and Willie’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Ava’s high school yearbook photo had once held the central place of honor under magnets shaped like vejigante masks, but it had been shifted over to make room for the Buzz Weekly magazine cover announcing Jasmine and Ashton’s engagement.
The oven door squeaked as Esperanza checked on the pernil. The aroma of slow-roasted pork filled the kitchen, comforting and
familiar. Alas, Esperanza’s criticism was also all too familiar.
“?Pero tú sabes qué?” her grandmother went on. “These days, you don’t need to be married to have children. ?Soy progresiva!”
Great. Esperanza was moving on to her other favorite topic: Ava’s childlessness. Instead of rolling her eyes, Ava slipped
on her Resting Pleasant Face.
“I’m fully aware of that,” she muttered, smiling as she tore lettuce leaves with more force than necessary.
“And then, when you have a baby, you can move back in here with us and we can take care of it!”
Ava nearly choked at her grandmother’s gleeful declaration. Across the room, her grandfather cast his gaze toward the ceiling
and sighed.
“That is... very sweet of you,” Ava began, even as she pictured her grandmother telling a newborn that crying would cause
wrinkles.
Setting aside the spoon on a glass dish shaped like a coquí, Esperanza reached up to cup Ava’s cheeks in her hands. “I just
don’t want you to be alone cuando eres una vieja, like me.”
“You’re not an old lady, Bwela,” Ava replied, even as she tried not to notice how frail her vibrant, larger-than-life grandmother’s wrists had become.
“Está bien, I know I’m old. ?Pero tú?” Esperanza tapped Ava’s chest. “You’re already thirty-three. You need to have babies
while you can. Then, after your husband dies, your children will take care of you.”
“Oye.” Willie looked up from the newspaper. “No me mates.”
His affronted Don’t kill me did the trick. When Esperanza scurried over to argue with him, Ava took the opportunity to duck out of the kitchen to collect
her thoughts.
In the living room, next to a glass-enclosed cabinet full of porcelain angels, Ava pressed her fingers to her temples, trying
to stave off the stress headache that was brewing.
She loved her grandmother. Truly, she did.
But sometimes? The old woman drove her fucking nuts.
Ava wished she could state in no uncertain terms that she was never getting back together with Hector and she didn’t want
to hear another word about it. She often lay awake at night imagining how that conversation would go, and how it would feel
to let loose all the things she wanted to say.
But that would only lead to a fight, and nothing would change. It would only confirm that she was the problem. Besides, her grandparents had helped raise her and she simply didn’t have it in her to be rude to them.
A knock at the door echoed through her pounding temples.
“I’ll get it,” Ava called. She straightened her shoulders, gave her curls a shake, and strode to the door. When she opened
it, her face broke into a wide smile.
“Mommy,” she said with relief.
“Happy birthday, baby.” Patricia Griffith stepped over the threshold, bringing the January cold with her, and caught Ava in a tight, freesia-scented hug. She was a couple inches shorter than Ava, her skin a couple shades darker. Her hair was mostly gray now, and she kept her tight curls cropped short, but she made aging look stylish. Patricia kissed Ava’s cheek and whispered, “Is she going on about Hector again?”
“All the greatest hits,” Ava mumbled as she straightened.
Patricia shrugged out of her long down coat—even after living in New York for forty years, she still wasn’t fond of the winters—and
gave Ava a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll distract her.”
“?Quién es?” Esperanza yelled.
“It’s me, Espie,” Patricia called, strolling into the kitchen.
There were a lot of excited exclamations from Esperanza, and through the doorway Ava could see her grandmother embracing Patricia
warmly.
Esperanza and Willie were technically Ava’s father Miguel’s parents, but they loved Patricia as one of their own. Ava knew
it drove Olympia crazy, although her stepmother would never admit it. Patricia had been best friends with Michelle’s mom,
Valentina, since they’d met working at Macy’s when they were in college. During those years, Patricia had spent holidays with
the Rodriguez family, since her own still lived in Barbados. That was how Patricia had met Ava’s dad, the oldest of Esperanza
and Willie’s six kids. After a whirlwind romance, Patricia and Miguel got married, and along came Ava. While the marriage
didn’t last, Patricia stayed close with her former in-laws.
After Patricia and Miguel divorced, Ava had spent a few years living with Esperanza and Willie while Patricia finished nursing school. Ava had adored her grandparents, and in their house, she had her own room, something she hadn’t had in either of her parents’ apartments. But she’d never been able to shake the feeling that she was a guest, and her mom had reminded her constantly that she needed to be on her best behavior for her grandparents.
In the back of Ava’s mind, she’d worried that if she was bad, her grandparents would kick her out too. And then where would
she go?
But those days were over. She had her own place now. Sometimes she even left a dish in the sink overnight, just because she
could.
Logically—and thanks to Colleen, her former therapist—Ava understood that her parents hadn’t divorced because of her. She
knew that she’d been sent to live with Esperanza and Willie because her parents had been struggling financially and needed
help with childcare. Still, deeply rooted beliefs had a way of twining themselves into the foundation of a person’s psyche,
and no matter how diligently she tried to root them out, they managed to push through the cracks.
Behind her, someone else knocked on the door, and Ava opened it to see Jasmine’s smiling face. Jasmine was flanked by her
fiancé—the telenovela star Ashton Suárez—and Ashton’s ten-year-old son, Yadiel.
“Happy birthday!” Jasmine rushed in and kissed Ava on the cheek. “I’m so glad we’re in town to celebrate with you.”
“We brought you a present.” Yadiel held up a massive silver gift bag stuffed with light pink tissue paper.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Ava said in surprise, taking the bag from Yadi.
“Es tu cumple.” Ashton kissed Ava’s cheek as he passed by, and then Yadi popped up on his tiptoes—and Ava leaned down—so he
could do the same.
Ashton was tall, with dark curly hair and chiseled features that had made him a star in Spanish language television. The older Yadi got, the more he looked like his father. They had the same dark brown eyes and smile, although Yadi’s teeth would probably need braces in the next couple of years, and his hair was a lighter wheat blonde.
Everyone hung up their coats and trooped into the kitchen—the heart and soul of Casa Rodriguez. Esperanza hugged and kissed
everyone, and made a big deal over Jasmine’s engagement ring, even though she’d seen it before. Then she pulled Ashton, her
favorite telenovela star, off to the side to get his opinion on the pernil.
Ava and Jasmine sat at the kitchen table, where Yadi bounced on his toes until Ava opened her gift. Ava let out a gasp when
she saw the expensive hair dryer.
“It’s the kind my stylist uses. The diffuser is amazing for drying curly hair,” Jasmine said.
Yadi dug deeper into the bag. “There’s more.”
He filled Ava’s lap with office supplies—brightly colored sticky notes, gel pens, fancy highlighters, and more.
“I picked them out,” Yadi explained proudly, slinging his skinny arms around Jasmine’s neck and leaning his head on her shoulder.
“Because you’re a teacher, and Mami said you like this stuff.”
“I do.” Ava smiled through the pain of hearing him call Jasmine “Mami.”
Jasmine gave Yadi’s arms a squeeze and ruffled his hair fondly. “Go ask Abuelita for something to drink, okay? You said you
were thirsty in the car.”
When Yadiel bounded away, Jasmine turned her attention back to Ava. “How’s it going? You’ve been quiet in the group chat.”
“Just busy with school,” Ava said lightly. She couldn’t admit that the constant wedding chatter was wearing on her. Or that when she saw Jasmine with Ashton and Yadiel, she couldn’t stop the jealousy burning in her gut, the intense feeling of I want that too . God, she was a terrible person. Jasmine had gone through hell before meeting Ashton, even having her last breakup splashed
across magazine covers. But it didn’t matter how much Ava chastised herself for envying her cousin—the feeling was there,
and it wasn’t going away.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text, and Ava was grateful for the distraction.
“Is it Michelle?” Jasmine asked.
Ava shook her head as she typed back a quick reply to her sister. “It’s Willow. Dad and Olympia are running late with the
portokalopita.”
“Mmm. Olympia’s orange cake.” Jasmine’s expression turned wistful. “You know, I don’t miss the chaos of this place when I’m
in Los Angeles, but I do miss the food.”
Ava had to agree. While the central point of her family experience revolved around her Puerto Rican grandparents’ house, her
extended family was a case study in multicultural diversity. Jasmine’s mother was half-Filipina, Michelle’s father was Italian,
Ava’s mother was Bajan and her stepmom was Greek, and Ronnie and Sammy’s dad was Jamaican. The mix of cultures, customs, and
foods present at every birthday party and holiday celebration had imbued the Rodriguez family with flavor and depth.
And a huge gossip network.
Michelle showed up next, with her boyfriend Gabriel Aguilar in tow. Gabe, a physical therapist and personal trainer, carried a large white bakery box in his heavily muscled arms. Michelle often referred to him as her “Latino Superman,” and the moniker fit.
“We come bearing cannoli,” Michelle announced to the room at large. “And no, that’s not a euphemism.”
Yadiel scrunched up his face. “What’s a—”
“It’s a joke,” Ashton said quickly. “It means she’s not kidding.”
“Like when people say ‘literally’ but they mean ‘figuratively’?” the boy asked.
Ashton blinked. “Claro. Just like that.”
Shooting Michelle a flinty-eyed look, Ashton ushered Yadiel into the living room. “Time for television.”
Michelle grinned. “He’s gonna learn what innuendo is at some point.”
“In the window?” Yadiel repeated on the way out.
While Abuela fawned over Gabe—and the box full of Italian desserts from Arthur Avenue—Michelle joined Ava and Jasmine at the
table.
“Happy birthday, A.” Michelle passed Ava a card. “Your gift is in the mail. Didn’t think you’d want to open it here.”
“Did you send her another vibrator?” Jasmine hissed under her breath.
“I sure did. Which is why I’m her prima favorita.”
“Look, I can’t argue that it’s not a good gift, but wait until you see this blow dryer—”
Ava tuned them out.
January used to feel like a double fresh start—the beginning of a new year, followed closely by her birthday. But with the
divorce finalized and the last of her boxes unpacked in her new apartment, she was at a loss for what to do next. Her usual
January tradition of making vision boards and journaling about her life goals seemed pointless.
No, not pointless. Scary .
She was thirty-three years old, and she had no idea what she wanted from the rest of her life.
The question Roman had asked her that first night still lingered in her mind.
What would you do if you didn’t have to be perfect?
She still didn’t know the answer. All she’d ever wanted was a big romantic love story. A happily-ever-after. A husband and
kids. A steady job. A good life.
She’d given it her all.
And she’d failed.
Her family wanted her to try again. But she couldn’t stand the thought of opening her heart, giving herself to another person,
only to have them throw her away.
As the conversation flowed around her in a mix of English and Spanish, Ava tried to imagine bringing Roman to one of these
gatherings.
Her brain immediately rejected it. They were from different worlds, and his role in her life was specific and defined. Besides,
there was no way Roman, in his three-thousand-dollar suits, would fit in here in her grandmother’s kitchen.
Although he’d seemed at home behind the bar...
It didn’t matter. There was a reason she hadn’t told him her birthday was coming up. He might have wanted to do something—get
her a gift, probably—and she didn’t want to invite that level of closeness. Boundaries made her time with him easier to compartmentalize.
Physical intimacy was one thing. Everything else? Been there, done that. No gracias.
She understood, on an intellectual level, that other people managed to fall in love again after heartbreak. But in her soul, Ava knew the truth: that big, romantic, forever kind of love just wasn’t for her.
No strings.
No feelings.
No falling in love , she told herself sternly.
She looked at Jasmine and Michelle, talking and laughing with their men. They’d both hidden their relationships at first.
And while everything had worked out for them, Ava had no such delusions about her fling with Roman turning into anything more
serious. Eventually, he’d realize he was too busy, or that she was too boring, and he’d stop entertaining her whims. He would
likely end up with some socialite who knew how to be a CEO’s wife. Which was fine, because she didn’t want to be anyone’s
wife.
Still, she didn’t want to face the embarrassment of telling her cousins when it ended—because it would end—so it was better not to say anything at all.
Maybe she didn’t know what the rest of her life would look like just yet. But New Ava was in charge now, and at the very least,
what was coming had to be better than what had come before.
That was what Ava wished for later that night as she blew out the candles on the cake her father and stepmother had finally
showed up with.
Please, let it be better .