Of course accomplishment is not the only thing giving me the warm fuzzies this morning. After the huge ups and downs of last week, I’ve made things right with Ellie – mostly. Things aren’t perfect, but for now I’m focusing on the only thing that I know for sure: I want Ellie in my life. And not just on Friday nights. To do that, I need to broach the idea with the girls.
I’ve come up with a tentative plan.
I sit them down on the couch, three in a row. They look like baby birds with their curious expressions, waiting expectantly for whatever I’m about to tell them. Pacing in front of the coffee table, I run a hand through my hair in a sudden bout of nerves. “So, um, I need your guys’ help with something important today.”
“Really?” Daniela says, showing the same surprise as her sisters.
“Yeah, I want you to help me choose some flowers that I want to send to someone.”
“Flowers?” Daniela asks. She and Rosa begin to vibrate with sudden excitement.
Carmen, on the other hand, is now suspicious – smart girl. “To who?”
“To . . .” A girl? A woman? A lady? Or maybe just a friend for now? Shit, woman is probably the right answer but I don’t like the way it sounds in my head. Snap decision. “To a girl that I really like.”
Rosa sucks in an audible breath. “You like a girl, Papá?”
The next words on the tip of my tongue are: Yes. Is that okay? But I can’t let that out of my mouth. It can’t be their decision whether I date a woman or not. Do I ever want their approval though. “Yeah, I really like her.”
“Like . . .” Rosa’s eyes are huge in her face. “Like a girlfriend?”
“Yes, like a girlfriend.” And then I hear myself say, “What do you guys think about that?” Damn it. But I suppose it’s better than is that okay?
Daniela claps with glee. “I think it’s amazing. What’s her name, Tío? Is she beautiful? I bet she’s beautiful. Anne Marie says her mom thinks you’re so handsome, so she must be beautiful.”
Shit, I think I might be blushing. I take a deep breath to give myself a chance to gauge the others’ reactions; Rosa: shocked, but not horrified. Carmen: unhappy. All righty then. “Yes, she’s really beautiful. And . . . ” I say, drawing it out, “you won’t believe what her name is. I’ll give you two guesses. It’s from your favorite movie.”
Daniela’s excitement can’t be contained. “Her name is Anna?!”
“No, but close.”
“Her name is Elsa,” Carmen says reverently, her displeasure now forgotten.
“It is.” All three of them squeal and I laugh. “Can you believe it? But she likes to be called Ellie.”
Rosa, who has a practical streak to rival my own, dives right in with the pertinent questions. “Are we going to bring her flowers today? Do we get to meet her?”
My stomach clenches. “Um, well, no. We’ll get them delivered.”
“Awww,” Daniela complains. “Why can’t we meet her? We’ll be good.”
“It’s not about you being good . . . anyway, you guys are always good. If things go well, you can meet her in a couple weeks. Deal?”
Even Carmen, with her obvious reservations, is nodding in agreement.
“So, go get your sweaters and we’ll go pick out some flowers.”
In the truck, I marvel at how well that went. Even though I didn’t think any of them had it in them to hate Ellie on principle, if they wanted to, they could really make life difficult for me on this.
At the flower shop, the girls oooh and ahhh at all the selection.
“¿Papá, le vas a comprar rosas?” Rosa asks cheekily.
Laughing, I agree, “We should definitely get roses. You guys can choose the color.”
Surprise, surprise, they choose pink. When the owner of the shop informs me that pink signifies admiration, I grimace. “Are you sure you don’t like the red ones?” I ask them hopefully.
“Ellie is a girl, Tío,” Daniela informs me. “She likes pink way better than red.” The word red comes out sounding like she’s describing roadkill and I have to smile.
The florist sympathizes with me. “How about eleven pink with one red in the center of the bouquet?” she asks, handing me a pen to fill out the card.
“I like it,” I tell her, relieved, but then I hum and haw over what to put on the card until I come up with:
Dear Opal, I hope you like the flowers. The girls chose the pink ones and I chose the red. See you tonight at 6. Scott.
I have to pay a premium to have the flowers delivered to her work before two o’clock, but it’s worth it.
The energy around the house that afternoon is different – good different. As soon as Abuela arrives back from her knitting circle, the girls tell her the whole story. I’ve gotta say it’s a little embarrassing to have my kids watch my grandmother pinch my cheek and say how proud she is of me.
They go through the same process when Desiree gets home from work, then again with Mari, both of whom tease the shit out of me. I don’t really care, I’m thrilled to see my family happy and laughing. Well, happy and laughing until my mother makes an appearance.
When she arrives, there’s no clamor to include her in the family gossip. She does, however, realize that something’s up. She leans against the door jamb, assessing us suspiciously where we’re gathered around the kitchen table.
“What’s going on?”
Mari snorts. “Scotty está enamorado.”
I tsk. “Shut up. I’m not in love.” I shove her shoulder playfully.
“With that tall girl?” my mom asks, and everyone turns to her and then back to me.
I consider my answer, wondering what her angle is. I can’t see any harm in not denying it, so I give her the truth. “Uh, yeah.”
“¿La conociste, mija?” my grandmother asks curiously. You’ve met her?
“Yeah, I met her. She’s whiter than Wonder bread.”
My mouth opens but nothing comes out. I think we’re all surprised by the spite in her tone. Desiree recovers first. “What are you trying to say, mother?”
“Nothing. It’s typical, that’s all.”
My back is definitely up now. “What does that mean?”
“Just that it figures you’d choose some white chick who looks like a model instead of a regular Latina.”
I don’t have a single clue what to say to that. Again, Desiree comes to my rescue.
“Yes, mother, we all consciously choose who we fall in love with,” she says caustically. “Just like you. That’s you and Robbie, right? Till death do you part? Oh wait, it’s not death keeping you apart, it’s prison.”
Carmen, who’s sitting on my knee, recoils at the mention of her father. In fact, everyone does and before my mother can fire back, I put a stop to this bullshit. “Ni una palabra más.” Not another word. I look from my mother to my oldest sister, who opens her mouth anyway. I cut her off. “Ni una, Des. This conversation is over.”
I put Carmen on her feet. “Come on, girls. Let’s go to the park.”