Fifteen Candles (5 page)

“And if I had a crib like this and a closet full of clothes like yours, I'd never complain the way you do,” Jamie said.

“I'm not complaining, I'm just saying that my parents don't get how important being a Latina is to me,” Alicia said, correcting her. “All they really want is that I go to Harvard and get a law degree, which is what they did. You wouldn't understand, Jamie.”

Jamie looked hurt, then angry. “Why? Because my parents didn't go to college? Because they didn't go to Harvard?”

“That's not what I meant,” Alicia said.

“Of course you did. You're extra,
chica
. I'm used to it by now,” Jamie said.

Alicia blanched. Even though she knew that Jamie was just jerking her chain, it was always a short leap between someone inferring that her parents were snobs and sellouts to her feeling like a sellout herself.

“You know it's not like that,” Alicia said. “It's just, for some Latinos, they feel like they pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and that everybody should do the same.”

“Oh! So starting your own business isn't good enough?” Jamie said.

“
Cállate
, Jamie,” Carmen said, holding up one hand. “Stop ripping on Alicia's parents when we're in their house, eating their food—”

“Maribelle's food,” Gaz said, as he helped himself to a giant bowl of homemade rice pudding.

Carmen, who was sitting next to him, dipped her spoon into the pudding and continued, “Eating the food that
they
paid for. If Alicia's parents are really dead set against her doing this and the internship, maybe we'll just have to wait and start our
quince
business next summer.”

The room grew quiet as everyone finished eating, Carmen's—and Jamie's—words ringing in their ears. Finally, Alicia got up from the table and started to clear the plates. She scraped the uneaten food into the compost can and then began to load the dishwasher in silence.

“Come on,
Boca Grande
,” Gaz said to Jamie. “Apologize, so we can all move on with our lives.”

She began to protest, but Carmen gave her a look that stopped her cold.

“Okay, fine, whatever,” said Jamie, turning to face Alicia. “I'm sorry that I stated the obvious and offended you all by being up-front.”

“Maybe we should go,” Gaz said.

“What about Sarita's
quince
?” Jamie asked.

“What about it?” Carmen said. “Do you really care?”

Alicia still hadn't said a word. She was rinsing glasses slowly and carefully, as if one clumsy move would make everything shatter to pieces.

“Hey, I'm sorry,” Jamie said again, as she walked to the door. “But you shouldn't be so sensitive.”

“Te hablo más tarde,”
Gaz said to Alicia, reaching for his keys.

A subdued “okay” was all that Alicia could manage.

Carmen lingered behind Gaz and Jamie. “I'll stay here with you,” she said gently. “I can take a bus later, or my mom will come pick me up.”

“You don't have to,” Alicia said.

“I know I don't have to, but I want to,” Carmen said, wiping down the counter. Alicia smiled. At least she had Carmen.

When the kitchen was clean enough to meet Maribelle's standards, Alicia and Carmen poured themselves huge glasses of papaya punch and went out to the pool.

“Don't stress, it's not even worth it,” Carmen said, getting comfortable on her lounge chair. “It's like, every once in a while, Jamie's got to prove how Bronx she is, so she starts to act like a pissed-off homegirl.”

“I don't really think it's her that's making me so upset,” Alicia said, shrugging. “It's more that Sarita's
quince
has brought up all this stuff between me and my mom. I always felt like my mom thought having a
quince
was too
ethnic
or something. Then, the other morning, my dad told me that my mom hates
quinces
because, when she was my age, she was too poor to have one. Then Jamie gets in my face about how we're so rich, when I know that my parents used to be really, really poor. It just feels like one big mess.”

“It's not a mess,” Carmen said. “Your family is a Latino success story. That's something to be
proud
of, not something to be ashamed of. My mom always says no one handed us anything; what we've got, we worked for. That's as true of your family as it is of mine.”

Alicia let the words sink in. Carmen was, of course, right.

“And what about this stupid internship?” Alicia said.

“It's not stupid, you're working for the Office of Film and Cultural Affairs. That's awesome. It could actually lead to something. So, stop complaining, before I take Jamie's side.”

Alicia felt tears pressing against her eyelids. “What if my mom's right? What if, in trying to do everything, I
fail
at everything?” she asked, choking back the tears.

“Alicia the Talented, you're good at everything! You'll be good at this, too,” Carmen said reassuringly. “Besides, you can't quit the internship until you find some cute guys for us to date. That's a perk of working in government, right? And needless to say, I'm meeting no one in the women's department at Saks.”

Carmen lay back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Alicia, what if you met some cute young politician, got married, and lived happily ever after? Wouldn't that be magical? Would you name your first child after me?”

“Married? At fifteen? My first child? Is that how they do it in
el campo
, in Mexico?”

“Don't dis Mexico!” Carmen said, getting up. Kneeling by the pool, she scooped up water with her hands to splash Alicia.

“Oh, so you want to play dirty?” Alicia said. “You know we Cubans aren't afraid of a little water. We're just ninety miles from home, baby.”

Smiling devilishly, Alicia pushed Carmen—who was fully clothed—into the water. Carmen gasped, then erupted in giggles. Alicia, also fully clothed, quickly jumped in after her. And for the first time since Jamie's hurtful remarks and her fight with her mom, Alicia felt as if things were back to normal.

ALICIA WAS
in the kitchen later that night when she heard her mother's voice calling from the garage: “Anybody home?”

“Just me,” Alicia called back. She had spent the rest of the afternoon hanging with Carmen, until she left to babysit her younger sisters. Then she'd run on the treadmill for a bit, showered, and changed into her favorite pair of Juicy Couture sweats.

“How was your day?” her mother asked, walking into the kitchen. As always, Mrs. Cruz looked stylish—even when working on a Sunday. She was dressed in a sleeveless burgundy dress and matching jacket. She kicked off her charcoal gray Jimmy Choo kitten heels; Alicia said a quick prayer that her mom would not scuff the Choos up before she passed them down to her.

“Okay,” Alicia said. “Carmen came over to swim.” She didn't mention the
quince
, Gaz, or the argument she had had with Jamie.

“That's nice,” her mother said. She paused and reached for a wineglass. “Sweetie, I'm sorry that I was so angry the other night.”

“I'm sorry, too, Mom,” Alicia said sincerely.

“I just want what's best for you, Lici. I want you to have everything I never had.”

“Like a
quince
?” Alicia regretted the words the moment she said them.

Her mother poured herself a glass of wine, took a sip, and sighed. “Like whatever you want,” she said.

“I know,” Alicia said, “and I actually do
enjoy
the internship. I'm grateful for everything you and Dad have done for me.”

“Who the heck are we, the Brady Bunch?” her brother asked as he breezed into the kitchen, interrupting the moment.

It was a well-known fact that Alex Cruz was genetically gifted. While Alicia was five feet four inches tall on a good day, Alex was over six feet. In hot weather, Alicia's hair was often a dark mop of loco curls. Alex's hair was dark blond, and he wore it long and surfer shaggy, as if he were always six weeks behind with his haircut appointments. The siblings were both creative, though. Alicia had her dancing, and Alex was a genius at building things. He was the kid who took apart the waffle maker to see how it worked, then put it together just like new.

He and Alicia were only eighteen months apart, and even though the touchy-feely thing was not big in the Cruz household—hence Alex's joke about the Brady Bunch—Alicia and her brother were close. For as long as she could remember, he had always been by her side. Whether she was learning how to ride a bike, flying on a plane for the first time, or attending her first day at C. G. High, she would always catch, out of the corner of her eye, a glimpse of her brother's hair, the Lacoste shirts that were his uniform, a flash of his sideways smile. It was comforting.

“Don't let me interrupt the mamapalooza,” Alex said. “It's just that I'm starvin' like Marvin. Can somebody holler when Dad gets home and we're ready to eat?”

He reached for an apple and headed for the Florida room.

“Don't eat, it'll ruin your appetite,” his mother said, on autopilot.

Alex turned and smiled. “Don't eat this
very
healthy apple because I'm a
growing
boy and I
crave
my fruits and vegetables?”

“Vaya,”
his mother said, shooing him away. “Your father will be home soon.”

“So,” Alicia said, again eyeing her mother's Jimmy Choos. “If I'm going to work at City Hall, then I'm going to need to get some grown-up clothes. Or borrow some stuff from you. For example, those shoes you were wearing today…”

“Ha,
niña
,” her mother said, “you do this internship, you go to Harvard, you go to law school, then maybe we'll talk about me buying you some outrageously expensive designer shoes. For now, help me with dinner.”

They had just put the
pernil
in the oven when Alicia's father came home from playing tennis.

“What's the
qué pasa
?” he said, tugging on Alicia's ponytail.

Then he walked over to her mother and kissed her full on the mouth.
“Hola, mi amor,”
he whispered to his wife.

“Consider me officially grossed out,” Alicia said, mostly because they expected her to. But she liked it that her parents still kissed. Some of her friends had
such
complicated family lives. Carmen's dad, Javier, had remarried: a blond
cubana
named Natalia, who was only nine years older than Carmen's eldest sister. Carmen's mom, Sophia, was now married to Christian, an Anglo history professor at the local college. But Carmen also spent time with Mariella, who was her father's first wife—her mother was her father's second wife, and Natalia was his third. Mariella rented the guest house from Carmen's dad and was like a second mother to Carmen, who liked to say, “
Es un pocito confundido
. A little confusing.” Her affectionate—even if kind of gross to Alicia—parents were at least
less
confusing.

“Alex!” Alicia screamed. “
Papi
's home!”

“Call me when the food's on the table! I'm watching the soccer game!” Alex yelled back from the living room.

“No,” Alicia said. “Come help me set the table.”

“It's four plates, four forks, four knives,” Alex said, coming to stand at the kitchen door. “You can't possibly need help with that.”

“Help your sister,” their father said, tossing his jacket over a kitchen bar stool. When the table was set, the family sat down to eat.

“Alicia, your mother and I have talked about it,” her father said after he had taken a few bites of food, “and it's fine for you to help your friend plan her
quince
as long as you understand that your internship comes first.”

Alicia tried not to jump out of her seat. This was great news—no, make that fantastic news!

“Do not embarrass your father at his job,” her mother added.

“Never!” Alicia replied, thinking that even if her father hadn't been the deputy mayor there was no way that Lori, the wicked witch of South Beach, would let her slack off on the internship. She would show her parents that she could handle this—she hoped.

After dinner, Alicia jumped up from the table. “I've got to go call Sarita, and Carmen and Jamie and Gaz; then I'll come back and load the dishwasher, promise!” She couldn't wait to tell everyone the good news.

“I got it,” Alex said with a wink. “It's only four plates, four forks, and four knives. It's not exactly a two-person job.”

Alicia gave her brother a quick hug and said, “Thanks for having my back.”

“Always,” he said.

And although she rarely thought about how much she leaned on her big brother, Alicia was glad to hear him say it. He did have her back, and that felt good. It wasn't every girl who was cool with her seventeen-year-old brother. She smiled. And it wasn't every girl who got to plan
quince
añeras
—as a job!

The next weekend, Alicia gathered the Amigas at Lario's on Miami Beach for their first official meeting since her parents had given the okay. She was so excited she'd arrived ten minutes early. She'd dressed in her new favorite outfit: a one-shoulder black blouse, a pair of boot-cut white jeans, and a pair of worn Chanel sandals that her mom had given to her. The sandals were a little torn, but the double
C
's always made Alicia feel extra grown-up.

She asked for a table for five, and as she waited for the rest of the group to arrive, she laid out all the materials she'd prepared. There were so many details of a
quince
to work out. No wonder so many moms went a bit loco with the planning. But if she and her friends could make Sarita's party completely cool and completely unforgettable, then all of Miami would look to them for
quince
planning, and they would have themselves a legitimate business.

Carmen came in soon after Alicia, looking fabulous in a red sundress with a bubble skirt.

“Hola, loca,”
she said, giving Alicia a
besito
on the cheek.

She sat down at the table and took a sketch pad out of her World Food Program bag.

“I'm so excited about designing my first
quince
dress,” Carmen said. She took out an ad for DiaNoches, a fancy boutique in Coral Gables that specialized in
quince
dresses. The owner of DiaNoches also happened to be Simone Baldonado's mom. “Have you seen this?” Carmen asked.

“Nope, but it's good research, right?” Alicia said, flipping through the pages.

“Hardly,” Carmen scoffed. “It's one poufy dress after another. These girls don't look like
quinces
, they look like plastic wedding-cake toppers!”

Alicia laughed. “Look at this one! I feel like the hosts of that show
What Not to Wear
. These girls are serious fashion victims, in need of help that only we can provide.”

Jamie arrived and took a seat next to Carmen.

“So, what's up?” Jamie said to Alicia. Then she added, “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks,” Alicia said, with a small smile. She knew what Jamie was doing. She was trying to make amends, but she was never actually going to apologize. That was typical Jamie.

When Gaz slid into the booth, Alicia let out a breath. He had a way of easing tension—spoken or unspoken. A moment later, a waiter came. He took their drink orders, then asked if they were ready to order food.

“We should probably wait for our client to arrive,” Alicia told him.

Jamie couldn't resist the opportunity to get in a dig. “Client?” she said. “Oh, is that what you call a fourteen-year-old girl who wants a
quince
?”

Alicia was steamed. “Duh. That's what a
quince
business is—helping fourteen-year-old girls plan parties of legendary proportions. And yes,” she added to her friends, “we can call her a client, because we are doing this! With parents on board, Amigas Incorporated is now open for business.”

“Yeah, and what's up with dissing the fourteen-year-olds?” Carmen asked.

Because she was so tall, so mature-looking, and such a fantastic seamstress, it was easy for them to forget that Carmen had skipped the second grade. And even though they had all just finished the tenth grade, she was only fourteen, a year younger than Alicia and Jamie. Gaz, on the other hand, was sixteen. His English hadn't been that great when his family came to the U.S., and his mother had decided to let him repeat a grade so he could catch up.

“Okay, try this on for size,” Gaz said to Jamie. “
Cállate
. Be really nice to Alicia or you quit the club. We're all still friends, we can all chill, but if you don't respect her vision, then you oughtta bounce. She's working really hard to pull this all together.”

Jamie looked as if she were about to make a comment about Alicia's “vision,” but a stern glare from Gaz stopped her in her tracks.

“Are you in or out?” Gaz said.

“I'm in,” Jamie said. “You guys know how I am. I'm quick to speak my mind, but I'm always down for my peeps.”

“Apology accepted,” Alicia said with a wink. She didn't want to fight anymore and knew that the implied apology was all she was going to get.

Just then, Sarita arrived. She was dressed in a zebra-print halter top, black shorts, and black gladiator sandals.

“Hey, y'all, sorry I'm late,” she said, taking the seat next to Alicia. After introductions had been made, she went on: “My mom is so psyched that we're going to get some help in the
quince
planning. But she wants to know how much this is all going to cost. We've got a five-thousand-dollar budget, but we hadn't thought we'd be paying a party-planner, too. So I want to make sure I can afford you guys.”

“No te preocupes,”
Alicia said, her mind still reeling at the huge number Sarita had given. “Since you're the first official client of Amigas Incorporated, we are going to do your
quince
completely for free. The only thing the budget will pay for are things we have to buy.”

“Fabulous!” Sarita said. “Let's get this party started.
Vamos a echar la casa por la ventana.
”

Gaz burst out laughing. “That's what I'm talking about,” he said, reaching across the table to give Sarita a high five.

Alicia, Carmen, and Jamie looked confused.

“Translation, please,” Alicia finally said.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Sarita said sweetly. “I assumed you spoke Spanish.”

Alicia figured there was no real value in faking the funk. “I speak a little Spanish and a lot of Spanglish,” she said, sheepishly.

“Yo también,”
Carmen said.

Jamie was uncharacteristically silent.

“So, what was that thing you said?” Alicia asked.

“Vamos a echar la casa por la ventana?”
Sarita said. “It means, ‘We're going to throw the house out of the window.'”

“And that means—?” Jamie asked.