Chapter 1 #2
Choking back my own words, I make my way to the garden.
I actually like the mazelike distribution of the house.
I like the stone floor and the tall trees with fairy lights hanging from the branches.
Surrounded by Alejandro’s friends and family, I can’t help but think of the future.
Again. My friends and family aren’t many.
A future event here would mean adding maybe thirty extra guests, paying a little more for food, and of course, creating a classier ambience than a graduation party needs.
There was one particular spot that made me fall in love with the venue.
The gazebo. As I make my way toward it, my heart mimics the boom, boom, boom coming from the speakers.
Purple strobe lights reflect across the grass; I watch squealing children chase the little dancing dots in overflowing delight.
The black dome of the gazebo rests on six Ionian pillars adorned with delicate carvings at the top.
I’m captivated by the way their intricate flower design resembles lace.
I run a hand over the white iron railing as I walk up the concrete steps, and cold seeps through my skin.
Moving to stand at the center, I imagine myself as a bride.
I imagine my mother wiping her tears with a dramatic flourish of a vintage handkerchief.
My current stepfather will probably give me away, since there is nobody else, while the setting sun hits the golden details on the ceiling at exactly the right angle.
It’ll look like gold is raining on us. Then, Ale and I will share our first kiss as husband and wife.
I imagine my mother clapping. I imagine his mother forgetting she hates me for all of one minute.
Sure, timing your wedding to the last second is not something many people do, but this is us we’re talking about. Ale and I time everything to the last second. Why should our wedding be any different?
Not that he’s asked me to marry him. Not yet, at least. But how could I not indulge, being here? Alejandro said the building feels like a maze, but maybe if he stood here with me, allowed me to guide him through my vision, he would change his mind about the venue.
My phone vibrates in my purse, an imperceptible sound to anyone else, but I’m so in tune with it, it’s like I can sense it on a molecular level.
I sit with my back to the party. Please, God, don’t let my dress rip open. Or let Ale find me on my phone.
It’s just a text from my mother. A photo of a bright orange suitcase on a bed. Her not-so-subtle way of reminding me she’s arriving in a couple of days.
Yo: all set?
Mamá: Sí. Are you still picking me up from the airport?
I roll my eyes at that. Like I have an option.
She would never let me live it down if I, her only daughter, didn’t bother to pick her up at the airport.
This is the same thought process that made me offer her my guest room for twelve weeks while she’s in the city hosting a children’s singing competition.
Considering she’s a national treasure (Miss Venezuela, then Miss Universe, model, actress, daytime TV host, radio host, author, and I think she even tried to become a singer at one point) and has a dazzling career stretching longer than three decades, I think she could be working at an international network if she wanted, but no.
Instead, she’s coming back to Venezuela to host this talent show—supposedly the saving grace of a local network that’s bound to die anyway.
But I work as a fabricated online persona for a living, so who am I to judge?
Yo: of course I’ll pick you up
Mamá: thank you, mamita
I sigh, dropping my phone back into my purse, and stand.
I turn and push forward over the gazebo railing, scanning the sea of faces for the one most familiar to me.
People stand in tight circles across the garden.
Some are laughing while others dance to the quick rhythm of tamboras and trumpets as the DJ plays a merengue mix.
I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke as a group of guests walks by.
Waiters dressed in white are spread out, all of them carrying trays of either alcohol or far-too-fancy hors d’oeuvres.
Finally, I spot Alejandro talking to his mother under a large mango tree illuminated by delicate torches and fairy lights.
Ale’s mother tells him something that makes him throw his head back and laugh, drawing a smile out of me.
He blooms when he laughs, like a flower growing out of a crack on the sidewalk.
It’s a glimpse of his true self breaking out of his signature stony exterior.
A wave of affection for him hits me square in the chest. After four years, the butterflies are quieter than they used to be, replaced by a lazy house cat that lounges in the living room day upon day.
Sure, it doesn’t move a lot, but you know it’s there—breathing, eating, messing up your rugs.
You can count on it. And then, once in a while, something takes the little monster by surprise and it startles. Like right now.
My smile freezes when Ale’s mother pulls a little box out of her purse and hands it to him.
Velvet? Leather? I can’t tell from this far, but when Ale sees the box, his expression shifts to something between a frown and a smile.
He opens the box. His eyes snap up to meet his mother’s so fast it makes me let out a silent gasp.
He’s speaking, but I can’t read his lips.
His mother shrugs. It takes him a full two seconds, but he grins, wrapping her in the biggest hug I’ve ever seen him give anyone. Including me.
I watch the entire exchange, which can’t have taken more than three minutes, in shock, which slowly evolves into fear and then excitement.
The box is exactly the right size for a ring.
And the moment is exactly the right moment to give a ring to your adult son to give to his girlfriend of four years.
But it might not be a ring. It might be a… really small watch. Right?
Alejandro and his mother break apart, and in that brief second when they’re still kind of holding each other, his eyes find me.
I look away, pretending I was stargazing the whole time. The movement is so fast my elbow knocks over a discarded champagne glass someone left on the railing. It shatters on the tile floor, splashing my shoes.
Great. Now my toes are wet and my shoes are slippery.
“There you are.”
The lazy house cat jumps again at Ale’s voice behind me.
“Hi!” I turn to him, grinning. I can’t help but stare into the green eyes I know so well, get lost in them like I did when I was twenty-three and couldn’t think about him without giggling. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Don’t mention the box, don’t mention the box, don’t mention the box.
“I’d be enjoying myself more if you weren’t hiding in the gazebo.” He looks up at me from the other side of the railing. Then he offers me his hand. “Come on. Dance with me?”
I grin. I love dancing, but Ale hates it. He’s not great at it, so he avoids it as much as possible. But not tonight. Tonight is different.
This right here is the vision, the dream: him, asking me to go with him. Go dance, go eat, go back to bed. Go to a fancy party at his parents’ place or to McDonald’s after a long day. It doesn’t matter. The answer will always be the same.
“Yes.”