CHAPTER 15

“Sorry, we’re late,” my cousin, Raphaela, apologizes as she totters into the room on a cheap-looking pair of leopard-print stilettos, “but my last client was a talker. Yap, yap, yap, yap the whole time I was doing her hair. And she changed her mind about what color she wanted halfway through the process, so I had to start all over with the Black Cherry instead of the Red Mahogany. After all that, she only tipped me five dollars. Can you believe that? Those viejitas are always such penny-pinchers!”

She gives Brigida (her mother), the other two aunts, and my parents hugs, then has to hike up the front of her strapless dress, which is really nothing more than a glorified tube top, because leaning forward made the fabric slide down and her boobs are on the verge of popping out—not that she would mind if they did. Raphaela has always been an exhibitionist. Ana thinks I dress slutty? I look like a nun compared to my cousin.

“I brought an avocado salad, tía.” Sancha, Raphaela’s younger sister and the one who got cheated on by Diego, offers a Saran Wrap-covered dish to my mother.

Mamá grimaces, and I can see why (all of the avocados are brown, which means Sancha forgot to add the citrus), but she accepts the dish with a few gracious words about how delicious it looks. “I’ll just take this to the kitchen.” She gestures for Ana and Solana to follow her.

“So, this is your new man, prima?” Raphaela looks Eduardo up and down, undressing him with her eyes. When she has him stripped naked in her mind, she smiles appreciatively.

“Yes.” I introduce him to Raphaela and Sancha, who’s lurking behind her.

“Where did you meet this fine specimen, Iz? I need to check out whatever club or dating app that was.”

“We met at a party at his parents’ house . . . out on Star Island.” I drop that last juicy tidbit just to let her know that Eduardo’s not only handsome, he’s filthy rich, too.

“I don’t suppose you have any single brothers who are as gorgeous as you are?” she asks hopefully.

“No, just me.”

“Well, then . . .” Slinking up next to him, she wraps her hands around his bicep and pulls it close so that his arm is sandwiched between her big tetas. “Izzy and I will just have to share you.” She cackles then as if what she said was funny, but I’m not amused and I’m about to tell her to step off before she gets her skank cooties all over my boyfriend when Eduardo’s phone dings, alerting him to a text message.

“Sorry, I thought I turned that off.”

“It’s okay. Let me get that for you.” I snake my hand inside his suit jacket, ostensibly to retrieve the phone, but my fingers make a detour, sliding around his waist and down to his butt, where I give one of the firm cheeks a little squeeze to remind him that he’s all mine.

He smirks, letting me know my message was received, and I hand him the phone. “It’s Gillian,” he says after checking the incoming text.

“Exactly how many women are you juggling?” Raphaela queries flirtatiously.

“Gillian is his colleague at work.” I promptly shoot down Raphaela’s theory that my boyfriend has a harem.

“And she needs my input on this contract she’s drafting. I should probably call her back.”

“Go ahead.” I wave him in the direction of the foyer where he’ll have some privacy and quiet for his call.

“That’s suspicious,” Raphaela murmurs as we both watch Eduardo leave the room with the phone to his ear. “You don’t really think that this Gillian is contacting him about business at 7:30 in the evening, do you?”

“I do, actually. She’s very dedicated to her job, as is Eduardo, and they work long hours because they’re running a company that has offices all over the world.”

By the by, Gillian is Strawberry Shortcake from the Sandovals’ party. She and Eduardo go way back, like to their childhoods, because Gillian’s dad is chief counsel at Sandoval Spirits and good friends with Sandoval Senior. Gillian is now a lawyer, too, and she’s being groomed to take over her father’s position one day, just as Eduardo will succeed his dad. Eduardo is always saying how smart she is and how much he’s relied on her since becoming COO.

“And you’re not worried about him working all those long hours with another woman? She must be fat, or have a face like the back end of a bus.”

“Nita was fat, but that didn’t stop Diego from sleeping with her,” Sancha mutters bitterly.

I shrug. “Gillian’s attractive, I suppose, but she’s not a threat. Eduardo knows he’s got a good thing going with me; he has no desire to look elsewhere.”

“So, you think you’ve got him locked down after what, a month?” Raphaela scoffs, flipping a clump of over-processed hair over her shoulder. “Just because your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard doesn’t mean it can keep them there indefinitely.”

“Time will tell, won’t it? P.S.,” I lean forward to whisper, “I’m going to remember this conversation when I throw the bouquet at my wedding and I’ll be sure it doesn’t land anywhere near you.”

She glowers at me, and I notice that the furrows between her brows are starting to look like trenches—that’s what too much sun and a lifetime of being an uber-bitch will do for you. I’m about to recommend Botox to her when my mother sails back into the living room to announce, “Dinner’s ready! Everyone, please take a seat on the terrace.”

I ditch my cousins and find Pilar who’s been chatting with Drina and Brigida. Placing my hand on her swollen belly, I bend down and query, “Are you sure you want to be born into this loud, nutty, always-fighting-about-something family, mi niña?”

Pilar chuckles. “For better or worse, she’s pretty much stuck with us now.”

“Where is her father anyway?” I ask as we walk toward the sliding glass doors that lead out to the terrace.

“We couldn’t find a babysitter and Ford knew how much I wanted to meet Eduardo, so he volunteered to stay home with the kids, which was probably for the best seeing as how you have designs on him,” she says, giving me a playful wink-wink. I shouldn’t have said her husband is do-able. She’s never going to let me live it down!

“Ha ha,” I retort in a flat voice. “I am sorry Ford couldn’t be here so that Eduardo could see that a man can marry into this family and still keep his sanity. And we really need some testosterone to balance out all this estrogen. I don’t know if Raymond and Papá have any left since they’ve basically been neutered.”

“There’s always Rique.” She sweeps a hand to the other side of the table out on the terrace where Drina’s son is sitting all alone, with his face buried in a magazine entitled Ferret Fun.

Oh, geez. I didn’t even know he was here. Rique is the family introvert who’s more comfortable with animals than people, which is why he works at a pet store and lives with a couple dozen ferrets (maybe more since they’re constantly reproducing). He’s harmless, but not exactly a shining example of an alpha male in our clan. I would have rather his brother, José, had crashed the party. At least José has his own landscaping business and can carry on a conversation while making eye contact and without mumbling.

“Hey, Rique!” I greet him as I lower myself into a chair at the table, and he grunts an acknowledgement without looking up from his magazine. That article on “How to Make a Ferret Playground in Your House” must be really riveting!

“Oooo, this centerpiece is espléndido, Luisa!” Brigida coos, and the other aunts nod in agreement. The tropical arrangement, which runs half the length of the table, really is stunning, with exotic flowers in vibrant shades of red, orange, and yellow, along with lush greenery.

Mamá looks very pleased with herself as she sets down a platter piled high with vaca frita, which is shredded flank steak fried with olive oil, onion, garlic, and lime. “I know! It took my breath away when it was delivered this morning. ”

“Delivered? Do you have a secret admirer, Mamá?” Pilar teases her.

“No, but I have a very well-mannered guest who knows how to pay proper tribute to his hostess.” She gestures at Eduardo who’s just stepped out onto the terrace.

He’s flummoxed when he’s met with a round of applause.

“Everyone likes the flowers, babe,” I explain, taking his hand and pulling him down into the chair next to me.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Eduardo says as he puts his napkin in his lap. “My mother always says that a table’s not complete without fresh flowers, so I thought Mrs. Alva—Luisa,” he corrects himself with a quirk of his lips, “might feel the same.”

“A man who listens to his mamá! You just get more perfect by the moment, Eduardo.” Mamá chucks his chin with an affectionate smile, then turns on a dime and screeches, “Solana!” just as my aunt is about to plant her sizable rear-end in a chair. “Where are the maduros? You were supposed to bring them out.”

“I brought out the beans and rice and Sancha’s salad. I thought Ana had the maduros.”

“No, I carried the second platter of vaca frita, which took two hands. Boys! Stop hitting each other, or I’m going to separate you,” Ana threatens David and Theo.

“I’ll just have to get the maduros myself,” Mamá says in a beleaguered tone. “You . . .” She pulls David out of his chair, interrupting the slap fight he and his brother were engaged in. “Go and sit next to your cousin Rique.” She points at the empty seat on the other side of the table.

“I don’t wanna,” David whines. “He smells funny.”

The kid speaks the truth. Rique chronically reeks of pet store.

“The two of you have something in common then. Go!” She shoves him in that direction.

We all start serving ourselves, then say grace, which segues nicely into the first of many inappropriate questions my family peppers Eduardo with under the guise of “getting to know him better.” Does he go to Mass every Sunday? How did he vote in the last presidential election? Does his father still have all of his hair? Is he interested in having children—if so, how many? How big of a raise did he get when he was promoted to COO? Although each and every one of these questions makes me want to do a face plant into my vaca frita, Eduardo answers all of them honestly and without hesitation, which I give him props for.

“Sandoval Spirits is one of the top providers of jobs to Latin-Americans in Miami, and we have a tuition assistance program for those in entry-level positions who would not have the means to get a college degree otherwise.”

“That is very impressive and commendable,” Papá remarks approvingly, which is no surprise since he’s big on education.

“On the subject of careers, I’d like to make an announcement.”

Our heads collectively swivel toward Sancha. She swallows nervously and reaches for her sangria, taking a big gulp before continuing, “I, uh, gave my two weeks’ notice at the insurance company today.”

Raphaela’s face contorts with confusion. “Why would you do that? Your ten year anniversary is coming up, and you said you’d get a bonus and an extra week of vacation when that happened.”

“She must have had a better offer,” their mother states confidently.

“She was probably recruited by a bigger insurance company,” Drina chimes in.

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone recruits receptionists.” This comment earns me a dark look from both of my aunts.

“I’m getting out of the insurance business altogether. My new job is in the performing arts.”

Huh? As far as I know, Sancha doesn’t have a creative bone in her body.

“This makes no sense!” Brigida says what we’re all thinking. “You don’t act, sing, or dance.”

“Those aren’t requirements for being a magician’s assistant.”

“A what?” her mother shrieks.

“Buckle up,” I mumble as an aside to Eduardo, then raise my voice to proclaim, “I believe she said, ‘magician’s assistant,’ tía. You know, the woman who goes ‘Ta da!’ whenever a trick is successfully completed. Sometimes she gets sawed in half or disappears from a box. Can you do either of those things, Sancha?”

“That’s a bit advanced for me at this stage. Right now, The Remarkable Ricardo is just having me handle his props and do presentation.”

Raphaela snickers. “You’re handling more than his props, aren’t you? How else could you have gotten a job when you have no experience in the field?”

“Ew, why do you always have to go to a gross place? Ricardo’s like fifty, and our relationship is purely professional. He sees my potential and is willing to help me hone my craft.”

“This is absurdo!” Brigida exclaims. “You cannot make a living being the assistant of a man who pulls rabbits out of hats.”

“Maybe not at first, but Ricardo and I are going to work on the act for a few months, then audition for Carnival Cruise—”

Brigida’s jaw drops. “You want to live on a ship that will take you far away from your family?”

“And go to foreign countries where you’ll be exposed to strange diseases you can’t even pronounce?” Mamá makes a face as though the very thought of such a thing makes her want to douse herself in Purell.

“No daughter of mine is going to give up a perfectly good job to go into show business. I forbid it!” Brigida pounds her fist on the table.

“I’m a grown woman; I can do whatever I want!” is Sancha’s obstinate response.

“Not as long as I’m alive! Is that what you want—for me to be dead? Here’s a knife.” She picks up the one sitting next to her dinner plate and points the blade at her heart. “Go ahead. Put me out of my misery.”

It should be noted that Brigida is holding a butter knife, which can’t even cut through a loaf of bread much less pierce a bodily organ. My own mother has pulled this same stunt on numerous occasions, and it’s always good for a laugh.

“Your misery is of your own making, Mamá, which means it’s not my problem. If you were a good mother who actually cared about my feelings, you’d support me!” Sancha asserts, with a quivering lip.

Calling Brigida’s maternal skills into question is a bridge too far. She gasps indignantly along with the other mothers at the table and drops the knife on the table. We all know what comes next. Sancha’s about to be disowned. It’s happened to me twice, no wait, three times. Of course, these things never stick (unless you really screw the pooch—or should I say rat?—like Nita did).

Apropos of nothing, Pilar blurts out, “Ford and I have decided to name the baby Placenta!”

I know my sister’s not serious and she just said the first thing that came to mind to try and distract everyone and defuse the situation, but still Placenta? I guffaw so hard I start to choke on the bite of beef I just took and Eduardo has to whack me on the back.

A chorus of “No!”s rings out around the table, with everyone rushing to tell Pilar how she’ll ruin her child’s life if she saddles her with a name like that and offering up other options, some of which are almost as bad. The name debate carries us through the rest of the meal, and we all pretend like the brouhaha over Sancha’s career change never happened. I notice that Eduardo cleans his plate and goes back for seconds on the vaca frita, so at least all of our family drama didn’t affect his appetite.

“I hope everyone saved room for dessert!” Mamá sings out while rising from the table.

We all groan and rub our stomachs because they’re so full from the starchy meal, but of course that won’t stop us from inhaling large slices of Solana’s tres leches cake. “Bring it,” I say.

“Girls,” she waves at Ana and Pilar, “clear the table, por favor.”

I can’t see Ana’s face, but I’m willing to bet there’s a scowl on it. “Why does Izzy get to sit on her butt all night?” she queries irritably.

“Because your sister has a guest, and it would be rude of her to abandon him. Besides, you need to work off that vase your roughhousing children broke earlier.”

Ana getting a verbal smackdown from Mamá is a rare and beautiful thing, so I savor the moment. When my sister stands and shoots daggers at me with her eyes, I can’t resist sticking my tongue out at her. There’s a new world order, Ana, so get used to being number three!

After Mamá and my sisters leave, there’s a brief lull in the conversation and Rique seizes the opportunity to ask Eduardo, “Do you have any pets?”

“My lifestyle isn’t really compatible—”

“You should get a ferret or two. They’d be the perfect pets for a busy executive like you—they’re small, and quiet, and easy to take care of.”

Raphaela rolls her heavily-lined eyes. “Let me guess. You have another litter of the little rodents you’re trying to unload.”

Rique’s jaw clenches. “I’ve told you a million times; ferrets are not rodents.”

“You could have fooled me. They have those pointy faces with beady eyes and twitchy noses. Kind of like your ex-husband.” She elbows her sister and chortles.

Now it’s Sancha’s turn to look pissed. “Diego did not look like a rat! I don’t know why everyone always says that.”

“He was fond of cheese,” I remind her.

“Cheese is bad for ferrets; they do best with an all-meat diet.” Rique pauses to reach under his chair and when he straightens back up, he has a furry, pink-nosed creature with a tail in his hand. Where did he have that thing stashed all this time? “Fernando has been eating the Carnivore Plus Diet since he was weaned from his mother a few weeks ago, and he loves it! Right, Fernando?” Holding the animal aloft, he exchanges Eskimo kisses with it while the rest of us cringe.

A shriek of horror pierces my eardrums when my mother walks back out onto the terrace and sees the ferret. (She is not a fan of animals, especially at the dinner table.) Chaos ensues as a startled Solana drops the cake, splattering several of us with cocoa powder-sprinkled frosting, and Fernando leaps out of Rique’s hands, landing right in the middle of Sancha’s barely touched salad. Rique makes a grab for the ferret, but Fernando easily eludes him and begins to run from one end of the table to the other in a blind panic, tracking tomato and squishy green avocado all over Mamá’s white lace tablecloth.

“That rodent is defiling the food!”

“Catch him!”

“Don’t let him get away!”

“Be careful with him!”

We’re all standing now, trying to corral the runaway ferret before he gets hurt or causes more damage.

“I’ve got him!” Eduardo crows when Fernando tries to vault off the table and my man catches him mid-air. Unfortunately, his triumph is short-lived. “Ow!” he yelps when Fernando chomps down on his hand. The pain makes him loosen his grip, and the ferret is able to slide to the ground, where he makes a mad dash through the demolished cake, leaving a trail of chocolate paw prints behind as he bolts through the sliding glass doors into the condo.

Mamá glares at Rique. “Tu estúpido hurón has probably given Eduardo rabies! Arturo, call an ambulance before he starts foaming at the mouth.”