“Hijo de puta,” I groan. It wasn’t enough to have to listen to my parents champion this union—now it looks like half of San Miguel will be here doing the same.
“I believe you mean daughter.” Liam removes his right hand from the wheel and pats the top of my knee. When I level him with a look of what the fuck, he explains his remark. “You said, ‘son of a bitch,’ but they’re your parents, not mine…”
“That’s kind of like calling Lita a bad word, right, Daddy?”
He nods, wedging his black Hummer the wrong way between two parallel-parked cars. “Sure is. You should definitely tell Lita, Sofia.”
“Or not.” I step down, and my heel sinks into the freshly mowed grass as I adjust the skirt of my green floral dress. At least I dressed sensibly. “Come here.” I wave my child over to make sure she’s presentable.
After smoothing down her flyaways, I add a little pink gloss to her lips. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but be on your best behavior, yeah?”
“Sure.” Yeah, right. And even if she is, it isn’t saying much. Our child is a hot mess. I one hundred percent blame all the unsavory parts on her father.
“What are you doing? Stop messing with your dress.”
“Ugh,” Ellie groans, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Pockets? I didn’t even know this dress had pockets!
“It itches.”
I tug her hands out, placing them at her sides. “A lady doesn’t fidget.”
Her eyes roll.
“And don’t make a face when the relatives greet you. I will hear about it for weeks.” I lick my thumb, wiping a smudge from her cheek.
Liam chuckles when she sulks, scruffing the hair I just tamed back into a wild mess. “But I don’t like people touching me, and they even kiss me too.”
“I don’t know what you’re laughing for.” I glare his direction. “You will be just as attacked.” Maybe he’s forgotten what these family gatherings are like. Personal space is not a thing with these people.
At that, his smile spreads. “Yeah, but unlike El-belle here, I love being the center of attention.”
“I bet they all came to celebrate your wedding,” my daughter announces on the way up the stone steps of their little Spanish-style house. Just as I realize—due to my little girl’s keen observation—that this is indeed a tornaboda, or Mexican wedding reception, the door bursts open.
We’re greeted by my cousin Maria. Followed by a loud mix of English and Spanish cheers and greetings. A large, colorful banner hangs above head. “Felicidades Nya y Liam!” it reads.
“Uh, Abu,” my daughter whisper-shouts to her abuelito. “Why isn’t my name on the sign? It was my birthday wish.”
Papi shrugs. “Blame Abuelita and Bisabuela.” He points her in the direction of his wife and mother in law. “No one consults me about anything. I only live here.”
While Ellie storms off to scold her grandmother and great-grandmother, Liam and I are assaulted by the aunts, uncles, cousins, and close friends of the family. San Miguel is a tightknit Hispanic community in North Las Vegas. Although most of the familiar faces filling the room are of no relation by blood, they are very much my family.
I’m kissed and squeezed half to death. My lips feel as if they will crack from all the forced smiling. We haven’t even made it through the foyer yet and already I’m exhausted from pretending.
“Sofia y Carlos! Buenos dias!” My husband greets my parents with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning once he’s finally released by my Tio Frank. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m walking in front of a firing squad.
“Oh, mija,” my petite, round mother, coos. She dabs at a tear, and my chest clenches tight. However over the top her reaction might be, she is my mother, and I’ve never been able to stand seeing her upset.
“Why are you crying, loca?” Throwing my arms around her neck, I kiss her first on one pudgy cheek, then on the other.
“I’m just so delighted you’ve finally come to your senses. And my little Ellie…you’ve made her so happy…look at the way she keeps smiling over at the two of you.”
She’s right. Ellie is gazing this way, her face filled with so much pride it makes me queasy.
“Mami,” I grit. “You know this is only temporary. What were you thinking, doing all of this?” I look around the room at the outlandish decorations and flowers lining every surface. It’s all way too much. “A cake!” Oh, dear God of all that is holy, there is a three-tier wedding cake on a fancy cake table, complete with champagne and a photographer set up waiting to take pictures.
“Of course, there is a cake. What’s a wedding without cake? The first time you and Liam eloped, we threw tradition out the window. That union was cursed from the start. Not this time. This time we dot all of our Ts.”
“You mean dot our I’s.” I giggle at her error. “You cross Ts.”
“Huh?”
“Nevermind… You know you’re just going to make this harder on your granddaughter when this bogus marriage ends.”
“You won’t throw a perfectly good man away a second time, mija.” She tightens her fingers around mine. “You always were a stubborn girl, but not stupid. I believe you’ve learned a valuable lesson. I have faith in you to do the right thing.”
As she walks off, the man in question reappears by my side, having wandered off to raid the punch bowl. “It was awful nice of your family to do this for us.”
That is not at all what I was thinking. My body tenses up when he lays an arm across my shoulders. Then I force myself to relax, remembering all of the eyes fixed on us, including our daughter’s.
He gives me a little shake. “What’s that?”
I turn in the direction Liam’s pointing to find Papi guiding Father Juan to the center of the room, with my godparents, Tia Ana and Tio Frank following closely behind… carrying a lasso of flowers. Oh, please no.
Why are they doing this to me? Isn’t your family supposed to love and support you? This is the opposite of being supportive…this is complete sabotage.
“As most of you are aware, it is tradition to celebrate a new marriage with el lazo.” My mother addresses the crowd, pausing to allow Tia and Tio to drape the string of flowers around both Liam and me, twisting the center so it forms a figure eight, or infinity sign. “This is usually done during the wedding ceremony, but my Nya never does things by the book, so Father Juan has graciously agreed to stop by and say a blessing over the happy couple.”
An intense sense of obligation toward this mockery of a marriage threatens to overwhelm me as the old man speaks of our duties to each other as husband and wife. Hearing similar words spoken by an Elvis impersonator just didn’t have the same effect as they do coming from this man. A man I was brought up to love and respect. “This lasso signifies your union. It is a symbol of your responsibility to love and support one another through good times and bad.”
My mother catches a coughing fit behind him, making sure I’m paying attention to that last bit about the bad times. She and my father made no secret of the way they felt about me running away when things got tough. They are firm believers that a marriage can survive anything outside of adultery and abuse… and even then, it’s dicey.