“She feeds me.” My papá grins.
“We laugh. And work hard. Love harder.” My mamá rolls her eyes, and lifts her chin across the yard to where Cora walks toward us balancing three plates of food. “You finally going to make an honest woman of her?”
Cora and I moved in together eight months ago, soon after she accepted the job with Isabella Martin. Yes, it was soon. Yes, it annoyed my mom. But it was the right decision for us. We both live full lives, and sometimes the only moments we have together are evenings after getting David to sleep. Her condo’s become the total family pad—full of toys, art, laughter and so much love.
I sneak a glance at my papá as I roll my eyes. “Mamá, enough. Your nagging doesn’t make me move any faster.”
“Don’t make me wait another decade for more grandbabies.” She huffs out a breath. “We want all of our children to be happy, but at this rate we won’t be alive for any of it.”
“Maria.” My father wraps his arm around Mamá’s waist. “Love comes on its own schedule. Don’t rush him. Or the girls. We have plenty of time.”
Her features sober and she leans into his side, murmuring something only he can hear before kissing his cheek.
I think about Papá’s stroke, and how we might not be celebrating today if things had gone differently. Life is so precious. Nothing’s guaranteed. My parents have had a lifetime of love, and if I’m lucky enough to share one or thirty or fifty years with Cora, it probably won’t be enough.
“Go eat,” Mamá says, waving David and me toward a table. She helps Cora set the plates down, and pulls her into a hug. “Are your mom and sister driving up?”
“Last I heard, yes. They should be here soon.”
“Good. Make sure they know they are welcome. And to step inside if the noise gets too much for Maddie.”
“I will,” Cora says.
More family members pull my parents’ attention away and we settle in at our table. I cut up David’s food and take the empty seat next to Cora. Soon the seats around us fill with cousins and family members—some I haven’t seen in years. With good conversation and food, surrounded by the ones I love, the minutes pass quickly.
“Isaac.” Marlena touches my arm, her eyes worried. “You ready? I want to get started before they clear the tables for dancing.” It was Lena’s idea for each of us to write a short speech to help commemorate today as a gift to our parents.
My surprise is a little different. “Oh, crap.” I pat my empty pockets. “I left it in the truck.”
“Then, go get it.” Her eyes bug and she stalks off.
Cora hands me the keys buried in her purse. “She’s uptight tonight.” An observation I agree with.
“Probably just nervous to speak in front of everyone, even though it was her idea.”
Cora laughs. “You’re probably right.”
I brush a kiss on her cheek, then book it to where we parked down the street. The neighborhood is lined with cars, and a little pride bursts in my chest at how loved my parents are. How many lives they’ve touched in their years together. I want that with Cora.
“Isaac?” Cora’s mom waves from across the street. “Am I headed the right direction?” She puzzles at her phone.
I jog across the street to meet her. “You are. I left something in the truck. Everyone’s inside.” I point to my parents’ place. “Where’s Maddie?”
“She had a rough day. I decided last minute not to bring her.”
My heart falls a little at the news, even though I understand. “Is she doing better now?”
“Yep. Just checked in with ALAA House. She’s calm and content in her apartment watching YouTube.”
“Thank God for YouTube.”
“Right.” Cora’s mom laughs.
“Go in through the side gate.” I point to the opening. “Cora’s inside with David. I’ll be back in a minute.” I turn back and hustle down the street and pull the wrapped painting from the back seat. Then grab the surprise from the glovebox.
“Took you long enough!” Lena waits by the gate, her foot tapping as she glances at the crowd. The sun’s almost set and the strings of white lights paint the backyard with an enchanted feel.
“Chill out. It’s fine.” I don’t know why she’s in a rush. She knows everyone will stay well past midnight.
“Whatever.” She stomps ahead and pulls Becca to the center of the patio where a floodlight creates a makeshift spotlight. She says something to one of our cousins and a moment later the music cuts. He hands her a microphone.
“Excuse me. Can I get everyone’s attention?”
My parents wander closer, clued in to the fact we’ve planned something special.
Papá rubs his chest with a grimace.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“Heartburn,” he says under his breath. “Your tías must have been angry when they made the salsa. Too many jalapeños.”
“I’ll tell them you said that.”
He shoots me a look that says Don’t you dare, which causes me to chuckle.
Marlena levels me with a glare, and then calls my parents next to her. She recites some speech I don’t pay attention to, even though I probably should.
Standing off to the side and awaiting my turn, I find Cora’s gaze two tables over. She sits with David and her mother, but smiles at me. Does she notice I can’t focus on anything other than her?
Becca goes next, garnering more laughs from the crowd with her well-timed jokes. She’s good with people and shines in the spotlight. She tells a story from when we were younger that leaves more than a few people dabbing tears from their eyes. Still, I half listen, almost as if I’m an observer outside of myself.
“Isaac?” Becca holds the microphone.
“Sorry.” I shake myself from my daze and take it from her. I swallow hard, then clear my throat. Public speaking was never my forte. “My sisters and I want to thank you all for being here today.”
My right hand grips the painting I’ve been working on all month. “I’m not really one for words. The gift of gab goes to the women in our family. Right, Papá?” I wink.
He chuckles, holding up his hands as if to say You’re on your own, kid.
“But what I do know, is my experience of familia is one I could not have learned without you both. It’s love and steadfast commitment, of fighting for each other and following our truths. Of celebrating together. Of sacrifice. Digging deep when life gets tough.” I pause, remembering. “I don’t think it was my father’s dream for his only son to attend art school,” I say, earning a few laughs. “But in this house, we were taught to honor our dreams and run toward them, not away.”
I clear my throat. “I tried to depict thirty years of love into one painting. Something that’s impossible, by the way.” A few chuckles float through the crowd. I lift my gaze to Cora’s. She smiles so wide, her pride filling my chest with confidence. Earlier this week she finally convinced me to send a few photos of my recent artwork to Gwendolyn Wright. I don’t expect anything to come of it. I’m perfectly content creating as a hobby and finishing my business degree, but Cora’s relentless encouragement makes me realize I’m selling my dreams short by refusing to share my gift with the world—or at the very least, a celebrated artist with connections. Having a successful career, being a good father, and pursuing art aren’t mutually exclusive. They never were.