I mean, obviously you can. Obviously Melissa, like Xiumiao, did. And obviously I’m the only one who expected anything different.
* * *
• • •
When I get home, Connie is having a minor freak-out, and for once it isn’t my fault. She stomps restlessly around the kitchen, offended when I don’t accept a plate of scrambled eggs (still vegan). I don’t know what’s put her in such a bad mood until her cell phone goes off in the middle of the table, and it’s Dad, and she stares at it for a long time and sucks in a huge breath before answering.
“Ellen, would you please drive Yasmín to camp?” she asks, and then storms into her bedroom and slams the door.
Damn. Apparently I missed something. A familiar sour feeling creeps into my stomach, but at least I know where Connie is and that she won’t go anywhere without Yasmín.
Yasmín is in bed with her pink-and-green quilt wrapped over her head. For a second I panic that she hasn’t dressed yet, but then she stands up and I see that she’s completely ready, pink backpack on over her white cardigan and everything.
“What were you doing in bed, kiddo?”
Yasmín fiddles with the strap of her backpack. “Is Mom driving me?”
“No, I’m going to take you today.” I bow and point Yasmín out into the hallway. “After you, milady Tailfeather.”
That provokes a tiny smile, at least. A few years ago, Yasmín went through her big princess phase. We’d play that she was Princess Eustonia Belindaline Tailfeather, and I would take turns being either Butler, the manservant, guardsman, and companion to the princess (Yasmín didn’t know what a butler was, so Butler was a man of many hats), or Princess Leela, Princess Eustonia Belindaline Tailfeather’s best friend.
I miss the days when Yasmín was an even bigger weirdo than me.
As we step out into the hall, Connie’s voice rings out from behind the bedroom door, indistinct but shrill. The smile drops off Yasmín’s face.
I have plenty of time during our drive to gnaw my lip and watch Yasmín’s watery eyes in the rearview mirror. This should be the part of the movie where the sappy music starts playing and the big sibling unleashes some serious wisdom.
“So . . . are you ready for your test?”
Yasmín sniffs and then swipes her hand under her nose and pretends she didn’t.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s wrong?”
Silly question. If I figured out about Connie and Dad’s fight after five minutes at home, then of course Yasmín is aware.
“Are you ever going to get married?” Yasmín asks.
The question blows my mind in that my brain explodes with things to say, most of which don’t actually answer the question at all. Things like “Why is a ten-year-old worried about this?” and “Marriage is just a social construct and an institution rife with problematic elements and patriarchal undertones.” Things like “Jesus, what has Connie been saying to you?”
“Um . . . I don’t know. I guess maybe, someday. I don’t know?”
Yasmín looks unimpressed with this unimpressive answer. I don’t know what else to tell her, though. Marriage occupies roughly the same space in my head as a retirement fund—I know it’s a thing older people do, so probably I’ll do it, but I’m not entirely clear on why or how?
From eighth grade until halfway through junior year, I had this massive unrequited crush on Hugo Ronchetti, who was a decent but ultimately average guy that I finally realized was not, in fact, hiding his deeply poetic soul from the harsh fluorescents of high school—but was, in fact, just kind of boring.
Apart from those few whiny and angst-ridden years (during which Melissa supported my obsession in the nicest way possible and Xiumiao told me to stop being so annoyingly straight), most of my crushes have been on actors (Daniel Radcliffe) and other celebrities (Lin-Manuel Miranda. No matter how old or married he is. Lin-Manuel Miranda forever), or unattainable (usually gay) cosplayers on Tumblr. At the end of junior year, Melissa convinced me to accept a date with Jack Reardon, a kid with freckles and Dumbo ears and super pretty blue eyes, but even though we kissed a little bit at the end of the date (three short pecks that each felt like the sample spoons you get at ice cream shops), neither of us really tried to talk after that. Melissa said he was an asshole for not calling me, but I secretly never blamed him, because it felt like we both just decided to go with the usual vanilla cone.
So yeah, I don’t have as much experience as Melissa, who has dated the whole spectrum from cool to human dumpster fire. But honestly, watching her, I feel like I’ve saved myself a major headache.
“I’m not getting married,” Yasmín announces, like she expects me to tell her she has to. “Boys are annoying and husbands are mean.”
“Hey, that’s my dad you’re talking about,” I remind her. “But, you know, that’s fine. You don’t have to.”
Yasmín just shrugs.
“Look,” I say, “don’t worry. Whatever they’re fighting about, I’m sure it will blow over.”
I almost miss my freeway exit trying to watch Yasmín’s face in the mirror to gauge whether she’s buying my totally unjustified confidence. Then I almost miss her muttered comment because I’m trying to change lanes without getting us killed by any of the cars honking at me.
“They’re fighting about you.”
I’m surprised the hood of the car doesn’t crumple against the impact of her words.
“They’re what?” I croak, spinning the steering wheel sharply. Once we’re on the right street and alive, I have more time to ask, “Why?”
Yasmín falls forward in her seat and buries her head between her knees.
“Yasmín, what?” I don’t want to yell at my little sister, but my voice jumps several octaves and crescendos to fortissimo.
“They were yelling about money and college.” Yasmín’s lap muffles her voice.
Wow. All that willpower focused on not causing any more blowup arguments this summer, and I still manage to be the reason Dad and Connie fight.
“What exactly did they say?” I ask, voice turning hard and questions tumbling out fast. “Is there a problem with tuition? Do I need to not live in the dorms? Dad never told me anything . . . What did they say?”
“I don’t knowwww.”
Shit. “Okay, all right, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Whatever it is, I’m sure they’ll get over it.” Yasmín sits up to make a face at me, and I wince. “They will. Remember that time they fought about maybe getting a dog?”