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Authors: Diana Rodriguez Wallach

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Chapter 27
A
ll of my guests arrived on time—my family, my friends, and my not-so-friends-who-invited-themselves-anyway. I was standing by the bar, alone, soaking in the scene. The tent swept high above us in white silk waves. Dozens of round tables with tangerine and fuchsia tablecloths popped against green and white orchids, lilies, and hydrangeas—their fragrance melting with the smell of seafood hors d'oeuvres. Votive candles glowed around each floral arrangement, accented by white china and lime green napkins. It was a tropical paradise in suburban America.
The cocktail hour was almost over (which in the underage-drinking world meant ginger ale and Shirley Temples). Guests filled more than two hundred chairs waiting for dinner to be served and the festivities to begin.
My ‘grand entrance' had occurred about an hour ago when I walked into the kitchen, amidst dozens of bustling wait staff, to get a handful of pretzels to settle my stomach. The fact that Betsy and Evan were the first guests I saw did nothing to help my nerves.
“Hey, happy birthday,” Betsy had cheered as she handed me a pink present with a giant white bow.
“It's from all of us,” Evan mumbled.
“Oh, Mariana, you're ready!” Lilly shrieked as she ran into the kitchen from the den. “I was just going to tell you that the first guests had arrived.”
“I, uh, see that,” I grumbled, through a mouthful of pretzel bites.
Lilly halted a few feet in front of me. “Oh, my God.”
“What?” I asked, still chewing.
“Nothing. It's just, you look ... Wow.
Bonita
.”
Lilly beamed as she ran over and hugged me, squishing me tight.
“Oh, no! I'm wrinkling you!”
“Don't worry about it,” I said, as I grabbed a bottle of Evian from the fridge.
“No, but really, you look amazing,” Lilly stated again. She lifted a disposable camera to her eye. “I have to take a picture for Mom. After everything you did for my
Quinceañera
, she'd kill me if I didn't send a photo from your Sweet Sixteen.”
“Ah, and how are the Sanchezes?” I asked, smiling for the photo.
“Wishing they could be here. They sent gifts!” Lilly cheered. “I tossed them in the pile with the others.”
Lilly gestured toward my living room, which was serving as a gift receptacle. It was the one clear benefit of the party.
“You do look nice,” Betsy added with fake enthusiasm.
“I like your shoes,” Evan said, staring at my peak-toe pumps with gold studs.
“Gee, Evan, I didn't know you cared.” I tilted my head and grinned at him.
He smirked back.
That was the last thing I remembered before the ambush of people came through the front door. I was hugged from all angles by a swarm of relatives and passing students, all headed toward the sizzling rhythms drifting from the tent in the back.
The band was currently in its Latin jazz, cocktail music phase. There were no lyrics, so my guests probably hadn't yet figured out that they were in for a night of popular Spanish music. Most of these kids didn't know me very well, which probably meant that after tonight they'd think I was some crazy, wannabe Latina—like those newscasters who look like Malibu Barbie but who pronounce their names with ethnic accents. Before this summer I barely spoke Spanish, I let my friends call me by an ethnic slur, and I resented being labeled “Hispanic” on standardized tests. Now here I was serving Puerto Rican food with the sounds of salsa in the background.
I popped another shrimp cake into my mouth. I had been standing by myself at the bar hoarding appetizers from passing waiters for several minutes. None of my guests seemed to notice me.
“Mariana!” Lilly yelled as she ran over. “I've been looking for you.”
“I've been right here,” I told her.
“Why are you alone?”
“I don't know. Why not?”
“You're supposed to be having fun.”
“Really? I must have missed that part.”
“All right, that's it. Let's go!” Lilly grabbed my arm and yanked me from my resting place.
“Where are we going?”
She dragged me straight to Bobby, who was talking to his photography friends.
“Wait here,” Lilly said before running toward the band.
I shuffled my feet and peered up at Bobby. He wore a platinum button-down shirt and a silver tie. His curly blond hair was slicked back and his normal two-day-old scruff was shaved clean. He looked like a grown-up.
“Hey.” I lifted my chin.
“Wow,” he replied, eyeballing my ensemble. “You look amazing. I wouldn't have recognized you.”
“Gee, thanks. Do I look that bad normally?”
“You know what I mean. I've just never seen you so dressed up before.”
“Same goes for you.”
“Well, I thought the occasion deserved a little more than old corduroys and a beat up T-shirt.”
“Truthfully, I'd rather be wearing the cords right now.”
Bobby pulled on his tie. “So would I.”
A few moments later, Lilly darted back and grabbed both of our hands. Her light brown eyes were electrified as she yanked us onto the dance floor.
“We're going to kick this party off,” she stated.
She left Bobby and me staring at each other with confusion on the parquet floor as she ran off in search of Evan. She pushed him onto the floor and nodded at the band. Immediately the twelve-piece ensemble ripped into a fast salsa rhythm with the thunder of brass trombones and pounding bongos.
“What the heck is this?” Bobby asked, staring at me openmouthed.
Lilly grabbed Evan in a standard ballroom dance frame, then looked toward us.
“The girls lead, the guys follow,” she cheered.
Lilly's hips swiveled as her feet rock-stepped and kicked. Evan looked stunned but kept up surprisingly well (those formative years in ballet must have paid off). He stepped from side-to-side as quickly as he could with a solid sense of rhythm.
I gazed at Bobby. “You wanna give it a whirl?”
“I don't know what to do.”
“That's okay. Neither did I the first time.”
With that, I bent my right elbow, and he clutched my palm. I placed a hand on his shoulder while he held my waist (which was extra firm thanks to my monster spandex panties) and we lightly swayed to the music. We locked eyes as he tried to move his legs in time with mine.
“Don't worry about your hips,” I stated. “That'll come later. Just try to feel the music.”
Bobby smiled nervously and kept stepping and swaying in a circular pattern as we moved across the dance floor. We weren't exactly on beat, but we could've been worse. At least he was trying.
“See, you're a natural.”
“Yeah, right!” he joked, just before nipping my toe.
We slowly found our flow, our hips waving together in time with the music. As the rhythm slowed, Bobby spun me under his arm and pulled me back for the final note. I opened my mouth to offer a compliment but was interrupted by a clash of applause. We turned toward the dining tables to see the entire crowd on its feet, hooting enthusiastically. Lilly swiftly ran over, clasped my hand, and pulled me to center stage.
“Ladies and gentleman, the birthday girl!” she screamed to a roar of cheers.
My face filled with heat as I scanned the collage of faces in the tent, all smiling and clapping. Then I did what any trained ballerina would do. I bowed.
Chapter 28
I
sat with my family at dinner—not just my parents, but everyone. I was surrounded by my uncles, my aunts, my cousins, and of course (just to complicate things), my new
tia
Teresa and her boyfriend Carlos.
“So, Mariana, I didn't realize you knew how to dance merengue,” my Aunt Stacey stated as she nibbled a lettuce leaf.
“It was salsa,” I corrected through a mouthful of chicken.
“Oh, there's a difference?”
“Yes,” Lilly stated, grinding her teeth as she smiled as politely as she could.
“Okay.” My aunt stared down at her tiny collection of Puerto Rican food.
Neither of my aunts were Latina, and neither was my mom. The Ruíz brothers unilaterally married outside their culture, which today wouldn't be as huge a deal, but twenty years ago, it caused quite a stir. My mother's Polish father wasn't exactly liberal-minded. He gave my father such a hard time, convinced he wasn't good enough for his daughter simply because he was Puerto Rican, that both my parents have sworn numerous times that Vince and I can marry whomever we want. My Aunt Joan's Irish parents and my Aunt Stacey's Italian family had similar reactions to their multicultural marriages. The only saving grace was that they were all devout Catholics, which at least gave the families the traditional weddings and baptisms they desperately desired. I still went to church every weekend with my parents, and so did all my cousins.
“I love your dress,” my cousin Jackie stated. “Dior?”
“No, Robert Rodriguez.” I nodded.
“Oh, I should have known. You know, he worked for Dior.”
I shook my head with an oblivious expression. Jackie was thirteen going on twenty-eight (never thirty; she already intended to lie about her age). She was tall, blond, thin as a rail and obsessed with fashion. She had been shopping in designer women's boutiques since her growth spurt in the fifth grade. Every spare weekend she spent at modeling agencies waiting for her big break. She was certain that if she didn't get onto a runway soon, she'd be too old to enter the business. Apparently, fifteen was over the hill.
“Jackie has such a great eye for fashion,” my Aunt Joan cooed. “You should have seen how impressed these photographers were last week during the shoot for her new headshots. She could name every label of every garment on the studio's rack!”
Jackie gave a smug shoulder roll as her medically enhanced lips curled in a perfected grin. I rolled my eyes at Lilly, who was staring at my cousin's collagen-packed pout. Jackie was the only girl I knew who asked for plastic surgery for her thirteenth birthday. And my Aunt Joan is the only mother I knew who would actually agree to such a request.
“So, Mariana, any other plans for your birthday?” asked my Aunt Stacey.
She was eating salad for dinner—just a small plate of tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, and sprouts (with no dressing, and she picked out the orange slices). My mother had ordered enough food to serve half the state of Pennsylvania, and my aunt was eating a side salad.
“Nope, no other birthday plans,” I muttered, spearing a piece of sauce-covered chicken with my fork. “This is pretty much all I can handle.”
“Mariana doesn't like being the center of attention,” my mother whispered.
“Isn't that a little odd for a ballerina?” my Aunt Joan countered.
“It's different when you're on stage. With the spotlights, you can't see anyone.”
“Really? Because I'd think performing would attract a lot more attention than a little birthday party. At least if you were any good.” She fake-laughed as she spat out the last line.
“You sure looked relaxed while you were dancing with that boy,” my Uncle Diego muttered, glaring at my father, who didn't look up from his plate.
“Is he your boyfriend?” my Aunt Joan continued in her sweetest tone.
“Bobby's just a friend from school... .”
“Still, you didn't seem to mind the attention then.” My Aunt Joan bit into a green bean and smiled wide.
I narrowed my eyes. Lilly clutched my arm in support.
“You kids and your contradictions,” she went on, shaking her head. “You don't want attention, but you throw a big party; you don't want the spotlight, but you dance in front of crowds. I just can't keep up!”
“Well, Mariana likes to dance,” Teresa snapped, speaking up for the first time.
My Aunt Joan flicked her eyes toward her husband's half sister. Her lips drew tight. “With all due respect, I don't think you could possibly know what Mariana likes.”
My Uncle Diego grabbed his wife's hand.
“I know because I asked her how she felt about this party,” Teresa said, lifting her linen napkin from her lap. “Did
you
?”
“Wow, you pop up during their
unsupervised
frolic through Puerto Rico, and now you think you're an expert on our family?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You know, you really don't need to say much of anything. I think we all know enough about
you
.”
All eyes spun toward Teresa. She immediately stood up and rested her napkin gracefully on the table. She lightly squeezed Carlos's shoulder, then walked away.
“You know, this is hard for her too,” Carlos stated, rising from his chair. “Would it kill you to acknowledge that? Because she deserves better than this.”
“Tttsst,” my Uncle Diego hissed, aggressively shaking his head.
“You know, you're the ones acting like you're sixteen.”
And with that, Carlos marched off after my
tia.
 
Lilly and I chased after them without a word to anyone at the table. It didn't matter what my grandfather did with her mother; no one deserved to be treated that way—especially not at my birthday party. I was embarrassed to be related to my family.
When we found Teresa, she was in the powder room in the downstairs den, despite the fact that my mom had rented a collection of luxurious trailers to serve as extra restrooms for the guests. I guess it helped that Teresa had joined us for a family dinner—she knew the layout of our house and the best place to hide.
“She's in there,” Carlos stated as we rushed in.
He was standing in the doorway to the den, pointing toward the bathroom door on the back wall. He glanced around the room nervously. I sensed that he was afraid to invade my father's home office.
“Did she say anything?” I asked as I walked into the dimly lit room.
He took one step inside and stopped. “She's not speaking.”
Lilly knocked on the dark wood door to the bathroom.
“Teresa? Teresa, it's Lilly and Mariana.”
No response. Lilly tried the door handle. It was locked.
“Teresa, it's Mariana. Look, I'm sorry my family sucks so much.”
Still nothing.
“Thanks for trying to stick up for me. My Aunt Joan has some serious issues. Trust me, it's not you, it's
her.”
I heard the faucet turn on inside. Then she blew her nose.
“Teresa, if it makes you feel any better, Mariana's friends don't like
me
very much. I know what it's like not to fit in,” Lilly stated.
“That's not true!”
“Yeah, it is.” Lilly sighed. “You saw how they acted before the party.”
“That's just because Madison's so into makeup and stuff. It's, like, a calling.”
“So? I still could've helped you get ready.”
“I don't think she meant to be rude.”
“I do. The girl made me break in your shoes!”
“I thought you wanted to break in my shoes... .”
“For a half hour! Come on.”
“It was a big help,” I muttered, staring at my feet.
“Yeah, well, I hope your feet are very comfortable.”
“Actually, they are. Thank you.”
Slowly the bathroom's doorknob rotated, and the door creaked open. Teresa stood there, her eyes bloodshot and her nose pink.
“You girls ...” she mumbled, shaking her head. “You fight like
hermanas.
”
“Or distant cousins,” I joked.
We all chuckled.
“Really, I'm sorry for what happened back there,” I stated.
“Don't apologize for them,” Teresa said softly as she turned off the bathroom light and stepped into the den. “You shouldn't apologize for other people's actions.”
“She's right,” Carlos added, strolling to his girlfriend. “But it was very nice of you to come looking for her.”
He looked at my
tia
and grinned slightly before wrapping his arm around her.
“
Esta bien,
” he whispered to her.
They hugged like a couple who had been together for ages. She pressed her head against his chest as his bearded chin rested on her head. Who knew you could find all that on the Internet?
“My family,” I murmured, “we're a stubborn group.”
“Yeah, you are,” Lilly huffed.
I snarled at her before breaking into a smile.
“We're stubborn,” I continued. “But we're good people. They'll prove that to you eventually.”
“Mariana, I know you mean well. But I don't think I belong here,” Teresa stated with an exhausted sigh.
“Yes, you do. I invited you.”
“Hey, you're more closely related than I am,” Lilly quipped.
“This is true. She's, like, my third cousin.”
“And you're her half aunt. That has to be a higher ranking.”
We both snickered.
“I have to accept that they may never accept me. And that's okay.” Teresa closed her eyes and rested her head on Carlos' shoulder. “I have my own family now.”
“They will. In the end, they will.”
She looked at me with weary eyes. I could tell that she wanted my family to want her, even if she acted like it wasn't important. She wouldn't have come to my party if she didn't, nor to the family dinner, nor to Lilly's
Quinceañera
. She sought us out even after we offended her repeatedly.
“Let's go back to the tent,” I stated.
She shook her head.
“Come on, Teresa. It'll be fun. There's dancing. And have you taken a look at the crowd? No one else can salsa. We'll look like rock stars,” Lilly added.
“She makes a good point,” I said. “And I hate to do this, but it
is
my sixteenth birthday. I can pull the guilt card here. You can't run out on a birthday girl.”
Teresa offered a small grin and stood up straight. Her dark round eyes passed between Lilly and me.
“Fine, I'll go. But only because of the dancing. These people are gonna look like
idiotas.
”
“See! Now that's the spirit!” Lilly cheered.
I nodded at her, and then we all walked back into the party together.

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