Chapter Forty-Six

At long last, the morning of the Fall Fest homecoming dance— the day I’ve been counting down to for literal years, the thing I’ve hyperfocused on throughout my entire summer and the first few weeks of my senior year, the remarkable occasion that helped bring the Rivera family into existence— arrives.

It comes in like a cool autumn breeze, gentle and welcome. There is a sleepy smile on my face as I awaken. I take my time enjoying the sweet thrill of anticipation in my belly, yawning and stretching beneath the warmth of my blankets.

Until I hear them.

Las tías.

Or, more accurately, Titi Mariana and Titi Luisa, whose loud voices I’d recognize anywhere.

My eyes fly open as I sit up in bed, and Patch darts right out of the room at my sudden movement.

In all my visions for how this morning might go, I hate to admit that none included Titi Mariana or Titi Luisa. But of course they’d want to be here to help Lily and me get ready and to support their sister, Paola, on this night that is likely a mixture of joy and melancholy. It is a bittersweet reminder of Abuelo, after all.

It’s embarrassing that this is only now occurring to me, and I think perhaps I should approach Abuela with gentleness, even if it means I need to swallow some of my excitement. It’s worth it if it means I can be there for her on this day.

I brace myself as I pad out to the living room in my jammies, using the scrunchie that’s on my wrist to swoop my hair up into a messy bun atop my head while I walk.

Though I expect to find my tías doing their best to cheer Abuela up, I instead find the three of them sitting on the couch, poring over a photo album, howling with laughter. Abuela is in the center, a sister on either side, and they’re in such stitches I can almost picture them as children doing this very same thing.

I clear my throat. “Good morning?” I venture, in a voice that sounds like a question.

Abuela looks up and breaks into a bright smile when she sees me. “¡Mija! You’re awake!”

“¡Buenas días!” Titi Luisa chirps.

Titi Mariana sighs. “Buenas días, nena. What’s it like to sleep past nine o’clock in the morning? It’s been years since the twins let me.” She shakes her head. “You want to borrow them for a day?”

I laugh. “They’re adorable, but I think I’m good,” I say, giving each tía a kiss on the cheek. “What’s got you guys laughing so hard?”

“Tu abuelo y él bigote.” Titi Luisa curves a finger over her lips to mime a mustache. “¡Como una oruga!”

My eyes go wide. “Abuelo had a mustache?” I can’t remember him as anything other than clea n- shaven. Lily and I always made it a point to wriggle away from his kisses whenever he had an unexpected five o’clock shadow because we insisted it was too scratchy.

“Mira.” Titi Mariana points at one of the photos in the album that’s tucked behind the glossy paper, and yep, there’s Abuelo, maybe in his mid-thi rties or so, with thick black hair above his upper lip.

“Oh my gosh! He looks so . . .”

“H andsome,” Abuela breathes dreamily.

Titi Mariana and Titi Luisa exchange a look, eyebrows raised.

“I was going to say different, but sure,” I offer with a grin.

“It was a phase, but I liked it,” Abuela says, turning the page in the album to reveal more photos. There are pictures of her and Abuelo at a party together; a photo of her posing in front of a Christmas tree; of Abuelo flexing his arm muscles while wearing a silly expression. Her face is wistful as she takes in each photo, remembering. I reach out to touch her shoulder.

“It’s a big day, huh?” I say.

Abuela looks up at me. “It is. I wish he was here to see it all.”

Titi Luisa reaches out to squeeze Abuela’s knee. “Abuelo would be so proud of you and Lily.”

“I wish he were here, too.” There is a hitch in my voice as I say it, and I swallow, not realizing how heavily Abuelo’s absence might weigh on me, too, on this day. For so long, it’s just been us three, but on this morning, with so much meaning, it’s hard not to feel his absence in the pit of my stomach.

“Why don’t I make us some breakfast?” Titi Mariana offers. She stands from the couch. “Lulu?”

Titi Luisa stands, too, with a firm nod. “Vámanos.”

I settle beside Abuela on the couch, flipping through old photos, listening as she tells me this story and that— some I knew already, and some I’d never heard before. The shuffling of pots and pans and chatter wake Lily. She comes from her room with a scowl on her face, but joins us on the couch with a sheepish grin once Titi Mariana offers her a giant pan de mallorca dusted with powdered sugar that she picked up on the drive over.

While my aunts work in the kitchen, Lily, Abuela, and I take turns eating bites of the warm, sweet, buttery bread, one of Abuelo’s favorites, and settle into the past. The new memories we’ll make tonight can wait a little longer.

“Stop fidgeting!” Titi Mariana hisses. We’ve moved well beyond sweet reminiscing and well into the chaos of getting ready. Titi Mariana is pinning what feels like the millionth bobby pin into the back of Lily’s hair.

“I’m not!” Lily whines, but she totally is. I don’t blame her, though; her style is taking much longer to do than mine did, and she’s getting anxious.

Titi Mariana has swept Lily’s hair back into a soft braided updo with some of her dark waves left loose, and she has used an ungodly amount of hairspray and pins to keep it from moving while Lily dances.

My own hair is divided into a middle part with a small French braid on either side that wraps around my head like a crown. A few loose curls frame my face, while the rest of my long, wild coils are loose, cascading down my back. It feels like the perfect celebration of the hair I have, made fancy. I love it, even if it looks a little silly right now with my kit ten-pri nt pajamas.

“Okay, okay, I think we’re good,” Abuela says, rushing to Lily’s rescue. She cups Lily’s face in her palms. “It looks beautiful, nena.”

Titi Mariana steps back to admire her work and breaks into a smile, elbowing Titi Luisa. “Not bad, eh?”

“Perfecto,” Titi Luisa agrees, reaching out to wrap one of my curls around her fingers. “You have the most beautiful curls.”

I beam. “Thank you, Titi.” I turn to Lily. “Should I start on your makeup?”

“Fine, but no foundation!” Lily reminds me.

It doesn’t take long for me to give her a natural look that enhances her long eyelashes and bronze skin. Titi Mariana and Titi Luisa watch as I apply the makeup, as if in a trance.

“This is so relaxing,” Titi Luisa says with a soft laugh.

A soft knock on the door grabs all our attention. Abuela tsks at me when I rise to answer. “You still need to be taking it easy,” she warns. She hurries past me to do it herself, and her expression brightens when she sees Sophie and Marisol, each with their gowns draped over their arms. “¡Hola!”

“Hola, Abuela,” Marisol says, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Sophie does the same before hanging her dress on the coatrack near the door and glancing over at me. “How are you feeling?”

I grin. “I’m amazing, especially because you guys are right on time.”

“Well, we know how neurotic you are, and we didn’t want you to be mad at us when you’re the one doing our makeup,” Marisol teases, adding her dress plus a linen tote to the coatrack.

Lily laughs. “She is super neurotic. Especially today.”

“Shut up, Lily!” I nudge her with my elbow, laughing, too. She shrugs. “What? My makeup’s already done, so I can say whatever I want.”

This gets my tías to laugh and exchange a knowing glance.

“Aren’t sisters the best?” Titi Luisa asks.

Titi Mariana checks the time on her phone and claps her hands together. “It’s already after three! We still need to do Sophie’s and Marisol’s hair, Whitney needs to get going with the makeup, and then you all need to get on your dresses, and your accessories, and take pictures. ¡Rápida, Lulu!”

At this, Titi Luisa rolls her eyes. “See what I mean about hermanas?”

Lily uses this moment to escape, which I respect. The rest of us settle down to create a makeshift salon in the center of the living room.

Titi Luisa keeps us hydrated and Abuela turns on music so we can find a rhythm while we work, and soon we’re all swept away in delightful and dizzying excitement of getting ready for homecoming.

I handle the makeup for me, Soph, and Marisol, while Titi Mariana fixes their hair.

Before long, Marisol’s copper curls are held back on one side by four gold pea rl- studded pins, the rest of her long corkscrews flowing down her back. She has an expertly applied red lip, long lashes, and a dramatic winged eye, with matching rosy cheeks.

Sophie’s dark locks are wavy and expertly tousled. Her dark eyes pop under lash extensions and a bold orange lid, which she’s paired with simple, clear lip gloss.

For myself, I’ve dusted gold, shimmery shadow across my lids, accented by dark brown liner. Bronzer highlights my cheekbones and shoulders. Like Sophie, I’ve chosen a clear gloss. I feel beautiful.

“Should we get into our dresses now?!” Sophie squeals. Marisol grins. “Let’s do it!”

Sophie and Marisol grab their dresses and I usher them toward my room, but not before I hear Titi Mariana ask, “Is it time for wine now?”

I duck into the bathroom while my friends head to my room. Thankfully, my period has lightened significantly, so I should be able to relax a little at the dance without worrying. Still, I grab a handful of tampons from under the sink so I can tuck them into my clutch, just in case.

In my room, I find Marisol emptying the contents of her tote— jewelry and shoes for what looks like both her and Sophie— onto my bed. I stash the tampons in the gold clutch that matches my strappy heels, then meander over to my bedside table, where I’ve stored the gifts I got for them.

“I have a little something for you.” I hold up the thin rectangular packages artfully covered in sparkly paper with a white ribbon in the center.

Marisol puts her hand on her heart. “You’ve been on bed rest and you somehow managed to get us gifts?”

“Oh my gosh, Whit.” Sophie reaches for the present and gingerly takes it in her hand. “Should we open them now?”

“Please,” I say, nodding.

While Sophie shimmies the ribbon off the gift and tucks it into her bag no doubt to repurpose it later— and then tears into the wrapping paper, Marisol rips off the ribbon before using a long, manicured nail to carefully slice into the Scotch tape on either side of the package. It’s a small but delightfully appropriate embodiment of who they are: Sophie, ever the sentimental one, loving ferociously, and Marisol, tough on the outside but oh- so - sweet and resilient on the inside.

I smile to myself as they study the framed pri nts— the ones that capture the three of us mid-laugh during a perfect afternoon at the Knol l— before them.

Marisol presses her fingers to the picture. “This is beautiful, Whit. Thank you.”

Sophie hugs the frame to her chest. “Thank you so much. You really shouldn’t have. . . but I’m really glad you did.”

“I’m so happy you guys like it! It’s just a little something for each of us to remember this fall. To celebrate how amazing this friendship is.”

“And how hot we looked that day,” Marisol adds with a grin.

“Not as hot as we’re going to look today,” Sophie says, pulling out her phone and putting on some music. “Shall we?”

An upbeat reggaetón song fills the room moments later. We pull off our clothes and climb into our dresses, dancing and laughing. I am thrilled when I find I’m not even consumed by thoughts of hiding my body; I’m in the moment with my friends, clasping a necklace here and asking to be zipped up there and having a good time.

I save putting on my gold dangly pumpkin earrings— the ones from Abuelo, the ones Zay always adm ired— for last. And then we’re staring in the mirror, our reflections adorned in the colors of autumn, skin sparkling, smiles big. We look stunning, and excitement ripples through my chest. Tonight is going to be one of the best nights of my life. I can already feel it.