Paolo tries to nudge Natalia subtly, but nothing about Paolo is subtle.
She turns to him, eyes wide. “What?”
He nods his head in my direction.
“Oh shoot,” Natalia says. “You aren’t thinking about bringing anyone, are you? A plus-one or something?”
Interesting phrasing there, Nat. I gather she wants the answer to be no, but I am thinking about asking Max to join me—if I can work up the nerve. “Well, now that you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
Viviane appears out of nowhere—as does my mother.
“Yes?” I ask them.
“Oh, nothing,” my mother says as she wipes her hands on a towel and looks over my shoulder. “I just wanted to see the chart.”
“We’ve been at this for an hour,” I say, knowing a mother’s lie when I hear one. “You need to see it now?”
“Yes,” she says, nodding her head at me. “That’s exactly what I said.”
Tia Viviane’s too impatient to absorb information on the sly. She’s the type of person who extracts it—per her schedule. “What’s this about a plus-one? Who would you bring?”
I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Max Hartley, okay?”
Viviane gives me a dismissive wave. “More of that job again? You think if you bring him to the wedding he’s going to help you get it?”
Natalia and I exchange glances, amusement in our eyes.
Your mother’s so clueless.
Girl, I know. Just let it go.
“Tia Viviane, I’m asking Max to come with me because I like spending time with him. Is that a good enough explanation?”
“Hmm” is all she says.
Natalia squeezes my hand. “Of course he can come, silly.” She elbows Paolo. “Right?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
“This would just be a social thing, okay?” I slip in my latest news, hoping no one will make a big deal of it. “The job is no longer mine to try to get. My potential boss found out I lied about knowing Andrew and Max, so I doubt she’ll even let me do the pitch.”
Tia Viviane and my mother drag chairs over to the minuscule table and look at me expectantly. Damn. Of course they want an explanation. Fortunately, my mother’s called away to the counter, her expression barely disguising her annoyance that someone would want to buy something in a store.
Tia Izabel emerges from the back room. “What’s going on?”
Tia Viviane fills her in. “That job Lina’s trying to get? She lied about knowing her ex-boyfriend and his brother. We’re waiting for the rest of the story.”
My mother returns and stands over us, hands on her hips. “Okay. Finish.”
I give them the CliffsNotes version of the debacle. They supply the sound effects—a chorus of oohs, ahhs, and ta brincando, nés, which loosely translates to “You’re kidding, right?”
Tia Izabel fans herself with both hands. “You American kids have too much time to get in trouble. Stay at home with the family and things like this don’t happen.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly why Solange went buck wild when she left,” Natalia says under her breath.
I kick Natalia under the table and mouth shut up; she rolls her eyes in return.
Tia Izabel has no idea her only child, Solange, had a bit of a rebellious period after she left home for college, and I’m sure Solange would love to keep my aunt in the dark about her exploits. And anyway, it’s old news. Now that Solange is in graduate school, she’s calmed down considerably.
“Filha,” my mother says. “So what happens now?”
“I’m not sure.” I massage my temples. “And I’m sorry. I know I’m squandering the opportunities you gave me, and I hate that I let my silly emotions lead me down a destructive path once again. Believe me, I know none of you would have made the mistakes I made. But I’m going to figure a way out of this mess. One way or another, I’ll make sure I’m not a disappointment to you.”
My mother drops her arms and rests a hand on mine. “Why would you say something like that? You could never be a disappointment. All we want is for you to be happy.”
“Happiness doesn’t feel like enough, Mãe,” I tell her. “Not when I think of the sacrifices you made.” I look at my aunts. “Not when I think of the sacrifices you all made. I should be building on the foundation you gave me. Working harder. Achieving more. Isn’t that what the next generation’s supposed to do?”
My mother sighs. “I worked my butt off so you and your brother wouldn’t have to. My reward is seeing that you’re doing something you love and making a living at it. That’s all I ever wanted—for you to be okay, and you’re more than okay, Lina. Focus on that.”
“I just wish I were as strong as you are,” I tell my mother. “Look at what you’ve accomplished.”
My mother shakes my arm. “And look at what you’ve accomplished. You own a business, filha. That takes skills and a lot of strength. Yes, you faced a few bumps along the way, but that’s life. Don’t ever think you need to be exactly like me. We’re not the same person. I’m not perfect or superhuman. I just did what I had to do at the time. Now it’s your turn. And you’re much stronger than you realize.”
She’s echoing what Max told me when we were holed up in the bathroom at Blossom. Maybe they’re right that I don’t give myself enough credit for what I’ve managed to achieve thus far.
My mother walks behind me and throws her arms over my shoulders. “Live your life, not ours. You’ve been doing a great job of it so far. And if this job is what you want, fight for it. If it’s your own business you want to pursue, do that instead. Build a future that makes sense for you, not anyone else.”
God, she’s right. Instead of worrying about living up to their standards, I need to focus on meeting my own. And while my mother’s and aunts’ lessons will always serve as a guide, what makes sense for them won’t always make sense for me. That doesn’t mean I’m failing; it just means I’m living my own life. I reach up and squeeze her hand. “Thanks for always being there, Mãe.”
“Just remember one thing,” my mother adds.
“What?”
She raises an index finger and narrows her eyes at me. “If you ever put me in a nursing home, I will haunt you from the grave.”
* * *
Me: Just got home. Spent the evening with my mother.
Max: Next time you see her, tell her I miss the brigaderos.
Me: Brigadeiros.
Max: Right. Won’t make that mistake again. How’d the seating chart go?
Me: All set. Except there’s an empty space next to me. Want to claim it?
Max: What’s the date? Never mind. Whatever date it is, assuming it’s during a weekend, I’ll be there. But I should know the date so I can put it on the calendar.
Me: May 18. 11 a.m.
Max: Damn. I’ll be returning from a business trip that morning. I’d have to be a little late. Is that okay?
Me: That’s fine. You can meet me at the reception. A little of Max is better than no Max at all.
Max: You’re such a flatterer. It’s a date, then.