horrified when she saw people in airports walking around in their pajamas.
“Abuelita, you look amazing. You cut your hair!” She’d let her hair go gray in the last few years, and she was sporting a pixie cut now. Most likely my mom’s idea. My gorgeous grandmother was my mom’s living model and very willing guinea pig for any new styles she wanted to try.
She carefully patted the top of her hair. “You like it?”
“I love it.” I slid an arm over her shoulder, feeling needy for more hugs from my family.
“Mi muchachita,” my grandma gasped, calling me her little girl even though I was on the other side of thirty. “You look so pretty. This dry air suits you, mi amor.”
I shook my head at my sister, who was letting the old people get a piece of me first. “Y tu? Traidora? You couldn’t give me a hint that this invasion was going down, huh?”
Paula gave me a tiny smile and one of the awkward one-armed hugs she’d been giving us since puberty hit. She was dressed in her hipster/goth attire, black boots, jeans, and top. She had new fashionable purple-framed glasses and a cute bright yellow cardigan, and suspenders the same color as her frames.
“You look good, baby sis. I like this bold use of color. How was travelling with the old people?”
Her eye roll was a full-body thing. “Dad made me listen to a book about the border the entire flight up. It was good, but I had my own stuff to read.”
“Don’t even front like whatever he made you read wasn’t already on your list,” I told her as we walked into my apartment.
Paula dramatically threw her hands up and gestured toward the Herschel backpack my dad had put in the corner. “Yes! But I had a ton of shows I wanted to catch up on too.”
Dad winked at me as he inquired about what to do with his bags. “Papi, the rooms are down the hall.” I’d been telling my family about how much room I had for months, but now that there were five of us in here instead of just me, the place was starting to feel cramped.
The living room was spacious for two or three people, but not so much for five. And the dining room was just a small round table with four chairs next to the kitchen. I had a double bed in the extra bedroom, because I was Dominican and Puerto Rican and knew it was only a matter of time before my entire family showed up to visit. Our people do not do hotels.
“Papi, put your stuff in the bigger room and Paula and Buela can sleep in the other one.” I pointed toward my gorgeous blue velvet couch. “I can sleep on this.” The outcry, as expected, was immediate.
“No, mija, we can’t kick you out of your bedroom. I’ll take the couch.” That was my grandmother.
Paula waved me off and took her backpack from where it was sitting on the floor and launched onto the couch. “I’ll sleep here, Buela.”
My dad, who was the only reasonable person in the family, just shrugged and started moving toward the room. “It’s Julia’s house, Mama.” This was my mother’s mom. My dad’s mom had died when he was a young boy, but he loved his mother-in-law and had always called her Mom. “We sleep where it suits her.”
Instantly my grandmother, who basically worshipped the ground my father walked on and never disagreed with him on anything, nodded and came to give me a peck on the cheek. “Esta bien, mami. We can let Paulita have the couch and you and me can take the guest bedroom.”
“Julita.” That was my mother yelling from the kitchen, where she already had half her body inside the fridge.
“Si, Mami.”
“Mija, we need to go to the store.” The tinge of horror in her voice indicated that my pantry and fridge were just not cutting it for whatever Thanksgiving meal plan she and my grandmother had.
She waved me over frantically, needing to show me the reason for her agitated state. “Mama, ven aca. We need to make a list if we’re going to make the pernil and moro for tomorrow.”
I rushed over to the kitchen, to try and reel in whatever was about to happen. My mother did the most for holidays. “I have guandules.” I pointed to Paula, who was already dutifully holding a notepad and starting to jot things down as my grandmother listed them.