Chapter Eighteen #2
“So you need to clean your face, because you look ridiculous right now, and go patch things up with Luc. He loves you, Sof. I can see it. The rings? They don’t matter. Your relationship does.”
Sofia sits quietly on the bed, smiling softly at my words. There’s a moment of silence between us.
“I always wanted you to come here with me, ya know? I begged my mom every year. Valentina refused to come.”
“Really? I always wanted to come. I would cry to my parents every year to let me come.” I sigh, sitting beside her on the bed.
“I think I wanted you here because I knew how much it meant to you,” she says, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “I just wanted us to have that experience together, like we dreamed about when we’d watch The Parent Trap.”
“You remember?” I laugh. “It’s practically all I’ve been thinking about since I arrived. I can’t believe I’m finally reliving my childhood dreams of being here and pretending I’m in that movie. I mean, sans the on-site manicurists and massage therapists, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, I know I went a little crazy with the wedding.” She laughs. “But it’s supposed to be my only one. So I wanted it to be memorable, with everyone I cared about here with me.”
Sofia lies on the bed, her head propped against her hand as she looks at me.
“So,” she says, stroking the bed softly. “Have you and Valentina done the nasty here yet?”
“Sofia!” I shout, my face flushed with embarrassment.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a prude.”
“No, we have not done ‘the nasty’ there,” I groan.
“What? Why not?”
“Because we’re at a wedding full of family, for one. And two…” I hesitate. “We broke up, or whatever it would be called when you just start seeing someone after a day.”
Sofia sits up quickly and gasps. “Why? You just started dating, right? I saw you two getting all cozy at the campfire.”
“Yeah, well. It’s just not going to work out. We’re too different.”
“How so?”
I can’t reveal the reason we ended it without revealing the secrets I’ve been hiding from everyone for years. I can’t.
“It’s just personal. Let’s talk about something else.”
Sofia hesitates but quickly shrugs. “Okay, how about this? I have an idea. It just occurred to me.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I say halfheartedly, still thinking about Valentina.
Should I have even said anything? It’s not as if we were dating or anyone knew it was something official.
I shouldn’t have even said we broke up. I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach.
The one I usually get when I regret saying something and so badly wish I would have said something else, but it’s too late.
Maybe I just don’t want to think of it as a breakup.
“We should recreate the most iconic scene in our favorite movie.”
“Do you mean the—”
“You know I do!” She screams and laughs, standing up on the bed and jumping up and down.
I stand up and join her, and suddenly we’re twelve again, having a sleepover and eating junk food without a care in the world. No responsibilities. No restaurant to save. No rings to cry about. Just two kids.
“Okay, you wait here. I’m going to go get them.” Sofia runs off the bed, slips slightly when she lands and rushes out the door.
I plop down on the bed, the springs bouncing back with me.
I can hear small birds chirping outside, embracing the new morning.
I slide off the bed and walk around, looking to see if Valentina left any sign of her behind—even just a crumpled-up receipt.
I walk toward her nightstand and open the drawers.
Empty. I stroll towards the closet, but only my clothes are left, looking lonely.
My eyes were so swollen last night to not have noticed that she had taken everything with her.
I remember just crawling into bed and crying myself to sleep.
I walk over to the dresser. I don’t think she ever emptied her luggage to even fill these with anything.
I open each one, only to find my own clothes inside.
Sitting on top of the dresser is my father’s journal.
I reach for the journal, feeling a fresh wave of sadness wash over me.
The letter he wrote for me still echoes in my head.
I close my eyes and whisper again, barely audible, “What if I’m not strong enough? ”
* * *
I grab the journal and sit back down on the bed.
With or without Valentina, I still need to figure out what my father is trying to tell me.
I need to find another clue. Something to distract me from the pain I feel inside.
I begin flipping the pages slowly, passing ones with clues I’ve already discovered with Val.
I reach a page I haven’t seen yet with a photograph from the quinceanera.
Sofia is dancing with Rosita, I’m dancing with my father, and Valentina is dancing with hers as well.
There’s a handwritten note taped to the page in my father’s handwriting.
“Para mi florecita, I’m sorry I couldn’t do it, but please know I wanted to.”
His little flower? Who could that be? He’s never called me that, so it can’t be me. It’s definitely not Valentina. So it has to be either Rosita or Sofia. Since he wasn’t secretly in love with Maritza, that I know of at this point, it’s got to be Rosita. Was Rosita his secret lover?
“I’m back! I had to run to the snack closet to grab the essentials.”
Sofia runs inside, kicks off her slippers, and jumps on the bed.
I quickly slam the book closed and stuff it into my bag.
My thoughts swirl with questions, but I hold back from asking Sofia about what Silvana said earlier—that Rosita isn’t really our aunt.
I’m not ready for that conversation, especially not here.
There’s too much I still don’t understand, and I need to piece things together first.
“What did you get?” I jump on the bed next to her.
“Only the best snack in existence, duh.”
Laid out in front of us are several packets of creamy peanut butter and a few packages of Oreos.
“Oh my God, we’re really doing this?” I shout gleefully, unable to contain my excitement.
“We can’t have a summer camp experience without it. I never actually got to do it with anyone else when I would come to camp, but now we get to do it together.”
I’ve always loved the classic chocolate cookie with its creamy white filling, but tonight I’m feeling a bit adventurous—and nostalgic.
I rip open one of the peanut butter packets and take a deep breath, the aroma of the rich, nutty, and creamy spread filling my nose.
Gently pulling an Oreo out of the package, I squeeze the packet of peanut butter and carefully spread it on top of the cookie.
I take a bite, then another, each one more delicious than the last. The creamy peanut butter adds a layer of richness and depth to the classic Oreo cookie. It’s a flavor combination that is both indulgent and satisfying.
Sofia sighs. “It’s truly the perfect combination of flavors, right?”
I nod slowly, close my eyes, and savor every last bite, feeling utterly content and happy. Even though I know it’s only temporary.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this. Together. You and I. Can you believe it?” I exclaim.
Sofia giggles. “I really can’t, but I’m so happy.”
“All that’s missing is for us to get our ears pierced. Should we go find a Claire’s?” I wink.
“Very funny. Never doing that again,” she says, laughing. “But I’m always up for an adventure with you.”
I can’t help but smile. It feels as if nothing has changed.
As if there hasn’t been ten years of silence between us.
I want to know everything about her. How her life went after we stopped seeing each other.
Her love life. Friends. College. Everything.
I feel like I missed out on so much, and I don’t want to waste another second not knowing everything about my cousin.
Suddenly, the mattress vibrates. I look around and spot Sofia’s phone lighting up. I grab it and see a text from her mother.
Mi Florecita! Where are you? We need to do a final dress try-on for the seamstress.
My heart beats so loudly I can barely hear Sofia speak. That name. Florecita. The one from my father’s journal.
“Who was it?” she asks nonchalantly.
“Your mother.” I clear my throat. “Dress fitting.”
“Oh crap. Right. I must get that done, but this was so much fun. Thanks for doing this with me, Isa.”
She pulls me in tightly for a warm embrace. At first, I resist, but then I melt into her arms.
“I love you, prima,” Sofia whispers.
“I love you too. See you at the rehearsal dinner.”
As she walks out of the cabin, I can’t help but wonder if Sofia is “the little flower” my father was talking about, or if the nickname was passed down to her from Rosita. Regardless of who it was, I need to find out what it was that he couldn’t do and why he couldn’t do it.