Chapter Five #2
“You’re all beautiful and amazing, and I won’t hear anything else,” I say, preaching what I’m working on practicing. “There’s no such thing as a beach body. All bodies are swimsuit bodies.”
While the Cronies are better at meditating, cheery sayings, and life in general, thanks to a self-love podcast I follow, I’m better at body positivity.
“Shopping’s more fun with friends, and an updated style can be life altering, as long as it’s not about others, but focused on how it makes you feel. ”
“Says the twenty-year-old,” Wanda says with a smack of her glossy pink lips, and did she seriously roll her eyes at me?
“Twenty-six, thank you. And I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”
“That’s because you have youth on your side.” Sophia delivers the news gravely, lips pressed into a tight line, and how is it I’m growing both more sober and more confused?
“Yes, and while I appreciate what my new hip can do for me”—Rita grips the armrests of her chair and gently lowers herself into her seat with a groan—“I’m too old to dance like I used to.
If I could go back, I’d confide in Rafael what he confided in me the night I ended our Latin ballroom partnership… ”
Wanda pats the chair between her and my grandma, and I plop right down, fully recognizing the hook beneath the bait and biting anyway. “What did he say?”
“That he was in love with me.”
I gasp, propping my elbows on the table and my chin on my fists as Rita’s expression turns bittersweet.
“When I searched within my own heart and felt the truth—that I’d accidentally fallen in love with him, too—I took that as proof Hector was right about my dancing career rather than realizing Hector was all wrong for me.
” Rita sways to a beat only she can hear.
“What I wouldn’t give to spend one last dance pressed up against Rafael, his hand splayed low on my bare back as he showcased my movements, never forcing them to align with his. ”
At the whimsy softening her features, I swoon a little on her behalf. Having a partner always there by your side, highlighting your accomplishments while providing support on the downlow isn’t the norm, though. That’s the dream; the fictional ideal.
“Learn from my mistakes, Mia.” She leans across Wanda and cups my face in her hands. “Follow the fire in your soul, not the path that’s only correct in your head.”
Somehow, she’s summed up a battle I’ve fought for as long as I can remember. Passions are unwieldy and require a person like me pulling strings behind the scenes.
“I should’ve gone on that trip to Tokyo,” Vonetta says, Rita’s hands sliding from my face as we all turn toward her.
“A company there offered to take my SoulEssence Elixir skincare line international, but I was too afraid to travel alone, especially to a country where I didn’t speak the language.
Not many female entrepreneurs were asked in those days, either. ”
“We should go.” Gertie rubs her back. “I’ll pack extra compression socks and a jumbo size bottle of ibuprofen in our mini suitcase of medicine.”
“And what if my leg swells and blows up on the flight anyway?”
“It’ll be a memorable adventure.” They share a smile that speaks to their past decade together.
Neither had married before relocating here, Vonetta because she was busy expanding her company and felt meh about men, and Gertie because she was a lesbian and denied the right for most of her life. Once they met, sparks flew.
“Oh, get a room, you two,” Grandma Helen teases.
“Big talk from the lady who hasn’t invited a man into her room for so long, she’ll have to Google how,” Rita jokes, and snorts ring the table.
“Whatever,” Grandma Helen retorts, “I had a man in there last week, I just didn’t go bragging about it.”
“He was fixing the fan,” Wanda tattles, going right from that to loudly lamenting she’s never flung herself out of a plane or off a bridge—which I think means we’ve circled back to regrets again?
“I want to experience that exhilarating freefall, but I’m afraid I waited too long and my body can’t handle the jolt. ”
“Or your ticker,” Grandma Helen helpfully provides. “That’d give me a heart attack for sure.”
“Well, come with me, and then we can go out together, just like we always promised.”
What the hell is happening? How did I land myself on an episode of Ridiculousness, Golden Edition?
“If we’re talking regrets…” Chair legs scrape cement as Arlene scoots into the outermost ring of porch light.
Wanda lunges across the table, dipping one braless boob in the puddle of salsa on my plate as she snags Arlene’s hand. “Don’t you dare say your divorce, babe—you did nothing wrong.”
“He never deserved you,” Rita chimes in, and I nod my head, because solidarity.
“This fuss is why I”—Sophia lifts her head high and sweeps a stray curl out of her eye—“don’t believe in regrets.”
Sputtered raspberries, guffaws, and an out-of-character “Don’t make me go there, because I will,” from Vonetta echo through the humid air and, since my grandma hasn’t finished her margarita, I reach over, lift the glass to my lips, and help her out.
The other women shout out several examples, the majority of which are just names.
“Allen.”
“Fernando.”
“Edmund.”
I barely resist hollering Antonio’s name, because I’m still kind of curious about how he went from pet project to geriatric fuckboy. Also, whether he returned to going by Tony, or if he’s sticking with Antonio?
“Fine, on this point, I’ll concede,” Sophia says with a toss of her head, and my ears ring from all the overlapping conversations. “I regret a few marriages, but I never regret a divorce.”
Our boisterous laughter drowns out everything else.
But one by one, their gazes return to me, and foreboding prickles my skin.
“Mia could do it.” Sophia’s lenses reflect my shell-shocked expression, yet my mouth remains hanging open. “You should, too. Do it all while you’ve got youth on your side.”
Do what? I don’t dare ask for clarification because I’m afraid of the answer. With the last few swigs of that margarita catching up with me, I’m also not connecting thoughts as quickly or correctly.
Sophia’s smile widens, the bronzer on her cheeks luminescent. “Rita could teach you one of those sensual dance routines—”
“I know!” Rita taps her lip, really selling the act that this is coming to them on the spot. “And we can get Dr. Vasquez to perform it with her.”
“That might be a lot to ask up front,” Grandma Helen says from my other side, slightly exaggerated and stilted, like she’s reading from cue cards. “Perhaps we have her go flirt with the doctor and see where that leads.”
“Yeah, and she can go bungee jumping for me by proxy!” Wanda slams an open palm on the table, making the items atop it rattle and several of us startle, leading me to believe she’s veering off book. “Record it on one of those fancy body cams and describe it to me in excruciating detail.”
“Brilliant idea.” Grandma Helen meets my eyes, and frankly, I’d rather be in trouble than tussle with the mischievous gleam within the green and amber brown. “We’re all pushing eighty or have toppled on over, and Mia’s too afraid to put herself out there.”
Ouch, although not exactly untrue.
“You have no sense of work/life balance, hon. You work or think about working all day every day, no time for rest or romance or fun.” Wanda scoots closer, halfway onto the seat of my chair with me, her heavily mascaraed lashes snagging in her bangs as she grimaces and adds, “We have a more active social life at our age than you do at twenty-two.”
Since I’m too stubborn to admit they might have a point, I cross my arms tightly and say, “Twenty-six.”
Vonetta harrumphs. “Basically fetal.”
“…fresh from the womb,” Gertie finishes a similar sentiment.
“What we’re thinking is,” Wanda says, glancing at Grandma Helen—the duo’s been in my life since forever, platonic soulmates who navigate the world like an old married couple. “We’ll take over your social calendar.”
“And set you up on dates.” Rita’s rapid clapping sounds next to my ear. “There are so many eligible grandsons and nephews to pull from.”
Wait. What’s happening?
Or more accurately, what am I slamming the brakes on? It’d be super great to know that much at least.
The grannies are pinning their hopes and dreams on me, I can at least see that in the misguided lightbulbs blinking above their heads.
Which means it’s time to bring out Mia the Buzzkill, bearer of hard truths and destroyer of moods. No little girl dreams of becoming anal retentive when she grows up, but here I am anyway.
In my experience, people didn’t shoot the messenger, they resented her.
“Yeah, none of that’s happening. While it’s lovely to see everyone and catch up,” I say, adopting a more serious tone, “this whole life intervention is getting pointed right back at you. After all, I’m not the one going around, not wearing protection and spreading venereal diseases.”
Well, now I finally have their attention…
And their collective ire.