Chapter 2
Jason
Fact: I would take a bullet for my siblings if I had to.
Fact: If anyone ever hurt them, I’d track down the asshole and make him pay.
Fact: If my youngest sister begged me to take her place this very second, there isn’t enough money in the world to convince me to say yes.
Right now, Camila Lorena Torres—or Cami as we call her—is slumped in a dining chair, her vacant gaze fixed on an old Easter family portrait hanging on the wall behind our mother.
We’re all wearing white in the photo. A cringe moment if ever there were one.
To her credit, Cami’s making a valiant effort to hold it together, but her usual tactic of mentally transporting herself to a different location doesn’t appear to be working.
A part of me feels sorry for her; the older brother in me thinks this shit is hilarious.
“Are you listening to me, Camila Lorena?”
Ooh, my mother invoked Cami’s middle name; she’s not playing around.
Cami shakes her head as if to clear it and rejoins the conversation. “Yeah, I’m listening, Mami.”
“What’s going on with your headpiece? The wedding is just weeks away, mija. It should have been here months ago.”
“Oh, right. I think it came in, actually. A few boxes arrived yesterday, but I haven’t had a chance to check. I’ve been busy with other…stuff.”
That pretty much sums up Cami’s interest in wedding planning. She loves her fiancé, but she’s not in love with anything about the run-up to saying I do.
Hearing Cami’s dull response, my mother’s lips flatten into a thin line. “Camila, I’m not going to plan this wedding by myself. It’s bad enough that we had to do all this rush, rush, rush. You need to participate too.”
Cami and her fiancé, both teachers, are moving to Chile as part of a two-year program to teach English abroad. Their marriage will guarantee they’re placed in the same school district.
“I know, Mami. Perdón. I’ll check tonight and let you know.”
My mother’s lips relax. Seconds later, though, her eyes widen in concern. “What about the ribbon and bells for the capias? Did you order them yet?”
Ah, the capias. A shudder runs through me when I remember my introduction to them as a kid.
They were everywhere. Birthdays, graduation parties, and, yes, weddings.
Somehow, Latinx people took the equivalent of a festive button covered in tulle and plastic charms and made it a thing.
As a thank-you to their guests, supposedly.
The plastic naked baby they put on the capia for baby showers was the worst. It was hot pink, had no eyes, and gave me nightmares for days.
To top all that off, the hosts would pin it to your clothes but it never stayed in place, so whenever you touched your chest, it stabbed you.
“Umm, about that,” Cami says. “I don’t want to worry about poking people with those pins. Plus, the capia eventually falls apart anyway. And no one saves them anymore. So, yeah, Bryan and I don’t think they’re necessary.”
No one stirs, not even a mouse, as we wait for my mother’s reaction. I chance a glance at her face. Mom’s eyes are as round in surprise as they were the day my other sister, Denise, told us she’s a lesbian. Honestly, I bet in my mother’s mind, this announcement is equally momentous.
Cami rushes on. “We were thinking about chocolate coins or dragées instead?”
My mother raises an eyebrow. “?Qué, qué? What’s a dragée?”
“A French drag queen,” I say.
Cami laughs, then affectionately drops her forehead on my shoulder. After she regains her composure, we share a conspiratorial smile.
My mother’s husband, Nelson, peeks his head around the Sunday paper he’s reading and grins. “Good one,” he says.
“Good one,” my mother echoes, her mouth twisted in distaste. “Is this a joke to everyone? Is no one else seeing the problem? Aside from a few salsa and merengue songs, where will the cultura be in this wedding?”
Cami expels an exasperated breath and slaps a hand on her chest. “Me. I’m the cultura. I’m literally Latina. You. You’re literally Latina too. Nelson, Denise, Jason. Well, how about that? They’re also Latine. What more do you want, Mami?”
“Ca-pi-as,” my mother says, exaggerating every syllable.
“Will that make you happy?” Cami says, her mouth twitching as she tries to hold back a smile.
“It will.”
“Let’s compromise, then. We’ll order capias for the couples shower. How’s that?”
My mother pouts, then asks, “Speaking of, are you sure Bryan and his family need to be there? Can’t we throw a party just for you?”
“No, Mami. We want to celebrate our new life together. It’s not just about me.”
My mother sighs. “Okay, then capias at the couples shower would be nice.”
“Great. It’s settled.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
My mother always gets her way, but she does it with love. Or so she claims.
Denise, who’s studying her phone with the focus of a brain surgeon in the operating room, raises her head and sweeps her disinterested gaze around the room.
Satisfied she isn’t missing anything, she returns her attention to the screen.
Honestly, I suspect she uses that device for only two things: TikTok and sexting.
She’s licking her lips, so I’m guessing she’s engaged in the latter.
Then again, some of the shit that pops up on that app has made me want to bleach my eyes, so who knows.
Why didn’t I think to bring something to distract me from this conversation?
“Listen up, everyone,” my mother says.
Oh yes. That’s why.
My mother’s voice is loud and firm, alerting us that she’s not pleased.
Nelson drops the paper, and Denise whips her head in our mother’s direction.
Elba Graciela Guzmán Colón might look like the quintessential suburban housewife, but I’m almost certain she has a shank in that humongous bag she’s always carrying, and if you gave her a couple of cocktails, my mother could be the central figure on The Real Housewives of Spanish Harlem. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
“No one should be reading at the table,” she says. “This is family time. All I ask is that we have one Sunday a month to catch up. Can we do that, please?” She spares me the evil eye.
“Sorry, cielito,” Nelson says. “You’re absolutely right.
” Hearing the appeasing tone of his voice, I can’t help but grin.
Nelson’s a tall, imposing figure, with a head full of salt-and-pepper curls and smooth, dark skin; he’s not the kind of man to back down from anyone.
But my mother’s not just anyone, and he chooses his battles wisely.
In an effort to deflect any punishment for his minor infraction, Nelson turns to Denise. “Mija, put that phone away.”
Denise smirks at him. “Sure, Papi.” Then she turns to me. “So, bro, are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
I should have known this would come up. My mother’s single-minded focus on the wedding supplies Denise with more than enough material to torment me.
Being the oldest child and only son in a Puerto Rican family comes with many privileges—it also comes with several burdens.
I’m twenty-nine, single, and uninterested in dating anyone seriously.
In other words, my very existence is breaking my mother’s heart.
“What single man in his right mind brings a woman to a wedding? I intend to show up unattached and ready to calm the fears of the unmarried ladies in distress.”
“What exactly will they be distressed about?” Denise asks.
“Their unmarried status, of course. Everyone knows single women fall apart when their girlfriends get married. I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
Truth: I don’t believe this at all. But someone has to annoy Denise, and I consider it my side hustle.
“You do realize you’re almost thirty, right? Isn’t it time for you to finally grow up?”
“You’re pot, I’m kettle. We’ve already met.
” Denise flings a piece of bread at me, and I swat it away like a martial arts expert.
I own a business. Denise is a second-year law student at NYU.
We’re adults with respectable prospects.
But when we’re together, we each chisel away at the other’s maturity until we both resemble teenagers.
“Para con eso,” my mother says. “In what world is it okay to throw food at the dining table? Not in this world, that’s for sure.”
“Sorry,” I say.
My mom points a fork in my direction. “Now, I’m only going to say this once. There will be no hookups at the wedding. Jason, find a date. A suitable date.”
“What about Denise?” I counter.
“Too busy with school,” my lying sister says with a wink.
“Well, how am I supposed to find a date on such short notice?”
My mother’s unmoved. “Use your resources…wisely. And don’t bring a woman who thinks one of those spandex tube dresses is an appropriate outfit for a wedding.”
“Now you’re just expecting the impossible,” Denise says.
Gesturing with her fingers, my mother tells Denise to zip it.
Then she juts her ear out toward me, as if she’s daring me to say anything.
“In fact,” she continues, “try something new: Bring someone you could see yourself dating seriously. Maybe even marrying. Isn’t it about time you start thinking about a wife and kids? ”
Shit, she’s going for the jugular today. I thought about a wife and kids a few years ago, but as my mother damn well knows, it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to.
“What about Lisa?” Denise asks me. “You already know her, and she’s a do-gooder. The kind of person I could see you tolerating enough to settle down with one day.”
“Ooh, yes,” my mother says, detecting none of Denise’s sarcasm. “She’s a wonderful girl. Helps kids for a living. Good head on her shoulders. Respectful. Sweet. Doesn’t try to be the center of attention all the time.”
“All true, but I’m not dating my younger sister’s best friend. Ever.”
“Why not?” Denise asks. “She may not be my type, but even I can admit she’s hot as hell.”
Seriously, if Neanderthal were a language, Denise would be its most fluent speaker. To them, I say, “Because dating someone close to the family is a recipe for arroz y being all up in my business. Change of subject, please.”
Besides, I’d prefer not to date, period.
It’s all bullshit anyway. People put on their best selves when they’re dating, and then when things get serious, they drop the mask like it’s the day after Halloween.
Just ask my birth father. So no, thank you.
I’ve learned my lessons, and I’m not interested in repeating them.
My mother peers at me; the gears in her head spinning, I’m sure. “Well, if you’re not interested in bringing a date, you won’t mind if I tell a few of my friends that you’re available, right? Let’s see if you enjoy having a bunch of women and their mothers trying to get your attention.”
Denise chuckles. “What is this? Regency England? Planning to present Jason to the Latinx ton? Is he this season’s diamond of the last water?”
I don’t even know what that means, but I think there’s an insult in there somewhere, so I pointedly stare at Denise as I scratch my nose with my middle finger. Childish, yes. Typical? Also yes.
“Well, if he wants to be single for the rest of his life, he shouldn’t have a problem being the most eligible bachelor in the room.”
“Sounds like a threat,” I say.
“Sounds like you’re scared,” my mother replies.
The gleam in her eyes is a little frightening, but I school my expression. “Hardly. Give it your best shot.”
“Oh, I will. Don’t you worry about that.”
I may not be interested in dating, but I’ll never say no to a little fun, and if I’m understanding my mother correctly, she’s planning to throw a bunch of women my way. Sounds like heaven.