I lay on my couch that night with my six-pound black and tan mutt, Michelangelo, curled into a ball on my chest. Part rat terrier, part Chihuahua, he was my devoted, slightly neurotic bestie. Even Micky knew that I needed a break from the hamster wheel. A getaway, maybe. It would help me regain proper perspective and help reignite my passion. I’d have the weekend off after the parking ticket story was logged for air, so maybe I’d jet down the coastline to my hometown of San Diego for a bit and spend some time with my family. I shuffled Micky’s paws. “You want to visit tía Yolanda?” I asked Michelangelo. “She’s the one who gives you all the chicken when I’m not looking. She’s a good aunt, but bad for your diet.”
Micky lifted his paws and placed them back on my chest, energized. I was ninety-eight percent sure he spoke English and was thrilled with the news. He blinked up at me and smacked his chicken-loving lips. He was no fool.
“Yep. I thought the chicken would convince you,” I said, giving his ears a hearty rub. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the massage. I reached for my phone and texted my cousin Sarah, hopeful that she’d be around and up for some hang-out time.
Thought I’d swing into town this weekend. You free? Don’t say no. I’ll cry.
The bouncing dots indicated an imminent response. Stop the tears. Of course. Grace has a tuba recital Saturday, but free after. Get here already.
I grinned. Sarah Matamoros was the sister I’d never had, and her daughter, Grace, was the sweetest, quirkiest sixteen-year-old ever. When my father died of a heart attack when I was seven, my mother moved us from Guatemala to San Diego, so we’d be closer to her sister Yolanda and her family. Sarah, eleven years older, was immediately a warm presence in my life. She took me to the park, the movies, and even to work when she needed an extra pair of hands. Now that she was a successful entrepreneur with a family of her own, Sarah continued to inspire me. As for tía Yolanda—hands down the best cook in California and God had blessed her with the best backyard barbecues in life—once she heard I was coming home, I had no doubt she would round up the family and cook her heart out. I grinned, my spirits lifted at just the thought of a weekend back in my old stomping grounds and the aroma of smoked chicken.
My phone buzzed. I studied the screen for what else Sarah had to say. But it was Kacey. My heart fluttered a little. Dammit.
You up?
I laughed at the message and shook my head at the tired line. It’s come to this?
No. What do you take me for? her reply read.
Someone in desperate need of a hookup.
Guilty. A pause, then another message. You up?
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. My relationship with Kacey was fun if frustrating. We could go toe-to-toe, challenging each other with zingers back and forth all night. Our chemistry between the sheets was also helpful, but at the same time, we were…complicated. Wanted different things and finally had to call a truce. We got together here and there, but our occasional with-benefits status stopped just shy of actual dating, which had always been a sore spot for me. I would have liked more and saw potential there, but Kacey just wasn’t the type for anything domestic. She was a stylist who worked long hours at her own salon and kept me on speed dial for…whenever she wanted to take her clothes off. While I enjoyed the naked perks that came with our no-strings relationship, I quietly wondered what it would be like to have more from someone I really liked. She wasn’t exactly perfect for me, but worth exploring.
“I’m in a fucking rut,” I told Michelangelo. I pointed at my screen emphatically. “And if I meet her tonight, I’m going to stay in one. Wouldn’t you say I need more?” He lifted his paws again. Solidarity. “Decided. Thank you for your sage small-dog advice. I will pay you in strawberries from the festival.” More feet tapping.
I swiveled back to my phone and typed with determination. “Can’t tonight. Heading out of town tomorrow. Gotta pack.” I tossed my phone onto the bed and sighed, because the idea of letting off a little steam with Kacey didn’t sound bad at all. I grinned, closed my eyes, and imagined her fingertips across my skin. The release it would offer, the fun we’d likely have, but to what end? I wasn’t a kid anymore. God, I was tired of spinning my wheels in a job with no real challenge and a faux relationship that had hit a dead end.
Onward and upward.
* * *
When I arrived on the curb outside my aunt Yolanda’s house the next day, I took a moment to exhale the bad and leave room within me for the good ahead. I pulled my way too heavy hair into a ponytail and wiped the sweat from my forehead because my slightly beaten-up blue Toyota Camry had lost air-conditioning two weeks ago, and I hadn’t had the money or the time to have it fixed. Bygones. I was here now and needed to enjoy it.
“Baby Skyler! Bambina!”
I whirled to my right and saw my aunt standing on the sidewalk with her hands on her hips, huge welcoming grin on her face. Her hair, once as dark as mine, had gone gray a few years back, and she’d given up on coloring it, usually keeping it pulled back in a knot at her neck. I thought it made her look wise and warm, myself. She was two years older than my mother, who would be so jealous we were getting together without her. She’d worked her way up from student to attorney and now killed it eighty hours a week for a firm in LA. We’d FaceTime her later.
“Hi, Tía. I’m here! Oh, and you look amazing.” She wore white pants that hugged her round frame with the prettiest white and pink top. Healthy and vibrant. “I should take your sassy photo right now.” In fact, I stopped and did just that. She struck a pose, one arm in the air.
“That’s enough silliness,” she yelled. “Get up to this house right now. I’m going to smooch on you.”
I grinned and hurried the rest of the way to her. “Okay, but I’m hot and a little sweaty from the ride.”
“Mija, please.” She ignored my directive and kissed my face aggressively. “I’ve got cool lemonade on the counter and an ear that’s eager to hear all you’ve been up to. Come in. Come in.” She clapped. “I’m just so excited you’re here.”
My aunt gave me the biggest squeeze, about eight more kisses to my cheeks, and led me into the cool house I’d loved since I was a kid. The interior overflowed with things, tons of them, and something about the abundance of objects made the place feel homey and warm. Trinkets over here. Framed family photographs covering the side table over there. Magazines in a plentiful stack on the coffee table. A series of intricate vases along the counter that bordered the kitchen, the hub of the house where the food was made and everyone hung out. I reflected on all the laughter growing up and the amazing mingling of aromas that wafted from the room from the tall pots on the stove. Steam billowing. My mouth watered at just the memory.
Second to my own, this house had always been my safe place to fall, where I built my confidence on warm hugs and compliments, even when school wasn’t the easiest place for someone acclimating to a whole new country. Luckily, I’d been a quick study and adopted a thick skin.