“It’s because she’s a lesbian,” I explain, since I know it makes Caio uncomfortable to talk about lesbians in front of my mom.
My mom rolls her eyes so hard that it surprises me. I know how much she hates bigots, but I also know that she wouldn’t say or do anything to offend Caio’s mom.
“One day she’ll come around, I’m sure,” she says, placing a hand on Caio’s shoulder.
“I hope so, Ms. Rita.”
“For god’s sake, no calling me Ms. Just Rita is fine.”
“Just Rita sounds so serious,” he says.
“I think it’s cute when the kids at the community center call you Ms. Rita,” I interject.
My mom cracks a smile. “I like Ms. Rita.”
“Soooo, Ms. Rita,” says Caio, making his words longer than necessary. “Tonight we’re seeing Becky again, and if my mom asks, would you mind telling her you don’t know anything about it?”
My mom looks up at the ceiling, considering what to say. “Let’s pretend that I really don’t know any of it, okay? You two can go out, come back whenever you want, but I beg you, Caio, please don’t die in an accident. And don’t get any tattoos. And don’t lose any visible limbs. I don’t want to have to explain any of that to your mother later.”
“You got it,” Caio say, kissing her on the cheek gratefully. “I just can’t make any promises about the tattoo.”
“If it’s in a place she can’t see, then it’s fine.” She winks.
And I get up from the table because this is the most embarrassing conversation I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
We always get everything late in my town. Japanese restaurants weren’t a thing until just last year. The first Avengers movie only premiered in our movie theaters in 2015. So I’m not at all surprised when Caio tells me we’re going to a Festa Junina. If you’re not familiar, Festa Junina is a nationwide tradition in Brazil that celebrates the harvest. There are parties and festivals all throughout the month of June, and everyone dresses up in country-style costumes and eats all kinds of delicious food.
Since the month of June went by without any festivities, they’ve decided to seize the opportunity and have the traditional June Festival in July. Regardless of the month, parties here are always the same. A live forró band plays in the town’s main square, surrounded by food and drink stalls.
Usually these parties are pretty bad, but every year I stop by to eat some hot dogs and corn on the cob. I’ll suffer through any event that features hot dogs and corn on the cob.
When it’s almost dark, Caio starts getting ready to go to the festival. I’m lying in bed watching serious YouTube videos (Korean twins dancing to Madonna songs), when I see Caio pacing back and forth, removing several items of clothing from his suitcase, and trying to decide what to wear. From the face he’s making, it looks more like he’s choosing which wire to cut in order to successfully deactivate a time bomb.
Nearly an hour later, he’s ready. I’ve never seen him so dressed up. His hair is up, in a cool style. He’s wearing tight jeans that make his legs look so—I’m sorry but I couldn’t come up with a better description—delicious, and a blue shirt with the top two buttons open.
I, on the other hand, pick my usual jeans and a black T-shirt. I go into the bathroom to get dressed, and I’m ready in two minutes. When I come back to the bedroom, Caio looks me up and down, and in his eyes I can read the word DISASTER.
He pauses for a second, hand on his chin, does a little more thinking, and then starts going through a pile of my clothes that’s plopped on my desk chair. From the bottom of the pile he pulls out the checkered shirt that my mom bought me. The one he picked.
“I think this one would look nice,” he says, handing it to me.
I put it on over the black T-shirt and start buttoning it, hoping it won’t be too tight around my neck. When I get to the third button, Caio slaps my hand.
“No! It looks better open.”
But when he says “looks better,” I don’t know if he means me or the shirt.
He grabs the sleeves and folds them carefully up to my elbow. Then he pulls my wavy hair up and hits it with a little bit of hair spray. I stand completely still and hold back a sneeze because the spray smells like a grandma. Not like my grandma. My grandma smelled better than this. This has more of a general grandma smell.
When Caio is done working his magic, I open my closet and look at my reflection in the big mirror inside the door. My whole life I’ve avoided mirrors because I didn’t really like what they had to show me, but today is different. Because I look at my reflection and don’t hate myself right away. Actually, for a few seconds, I even kind of like looking at it. My hair is styled in a different way, the shirt looks nice on me (maybe red is my color after all), and I don’t feel awful.
To be honest.
I even feel.
Handsome.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a mirror hidden in there? This whole time I’ve been using the bathroom mirror to get ready!” says Caio, bringing me back from my trance.
“Caio, this is Mirror. Mirror, meet Caio,” I say, introducing the two, and Caio laughs as he gives my shoulder a little push.
In the living room, my mom is watching an episode of I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant (a reality show about women who, well, didn’t know they were pregnant).
“WHOA!” she says when she looks up from the TV. “Where are you off to looking that good?”
Honestly, I need to rethink my wardrobe strategy, because all it took was one new shirt and some hair spray and my mom is enraptured.
“The June Festival in the town square,” I say, my face completely red, but trying to act normal.
My mom shoves her hand in her pocket and takes out some crumpled bills. “Here’s some money for corn. Have fun, and if you come home late, try not to bang the door the way you usually do. You sound like a hurricane!”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“And you”—she points at Caio—“no illegal tattoos!”
The two of them laugh, my mom kisses our foreheads, and then we’re off into the night. Or whatever it is you say when you’re on your way to eat corn on the cob in the town square.
Rebeca and Melissa are already there when we arrive. The two of them are waiting for us at a plastic table by a street barbecue booth. Becky is wearing a yellow plaid shirt with a knot tied in the front, and Melissa is wearing a print dress and cowboy boots, and her hair is up in pigtails. The two of them really took the country theme to the next level.
“For once in your life you’re not late!” Caio says, and the two of us take the empty seats at the table.
“For these parties it’s always best to get here before the square gets too crowded with insufferable drunks,” Becky answers, rolling her eyes.
The party isn’t packed yet, but a few food booths already have lines. I look around and see a forró band doing a sound check on a makeshift stage, and I spot a few familiar faces, too. People from school know I exist, but I don’t feel the need to say hi to them.
When I turn my attention back to the table, I notice a beer can in front of me. I don’t know at what point Caio, Becky, and Mel started drinking (and I have no idea where this beer came from), but the three of them are holding up their cans and looking at me.