“Anyway,” Prieto continued, “I wasn’t as freaked out as I was frustrated. I don’t know, maybe I wanted a way to make it up to Mami.… It’s all so fucking twisted. So I went to see Karen just to see if I could fucking communicate with her somehow.”
“And?” Olga asked, cautiously.
“Karen wouldn’t even see me. Mami’s next-level angry.”
Her brother had tears welling now and Olga put her hand on her brother’s back and rubbed it the way Abuelita used to do. She felt a sense of relief. Prieto had proven Reggie wrong. She’d asked him about Karen and he’d told her. Because why wouldn’t he? After all that they had been through together. Just the two of them. Now, she resolved to be there for her brother in this moment, fully. Her brother who helped raise her, who bought her prom dress, moved her in and out of every college dorm she’d lived in, who took her, at twenty-five, to have an abortion and asked no questions at all. Her brother who was, she knew, her only real friend. Olga deeply resented her mother for injecting this wedge of secrecy between them. She wanted to tell him everything that she knew, in the hopes that together they could make some sense of it, and, perhaps selfishly, to unburden herself a bit. A lump formed in her throat. Instead, she said, “Mami’s gonna be fine. She’ll get over it. We’ll think of some grand gesture to make it right. So, don’t worry about that. Let’s just get you this test, okay?”
It was a lie, she knew. But she needed this lie right now. To protect her brother from fear: of disease, of losing their mother’s love, of perhaps something more nefarious. To protect herself as well. From what exactly, she did not know. What she felt though, in her gut, was that for now, the less he knew, the better.
There was more she wanted to say, but they were interrupted by the sounds of laughter coming out of the reception hall. Tío Richie, Mabel, Julio, Fat Tony, Matteo, Titi Lola, Tío JoJo, and Titi ChaCha emerged, drinks and cigars in hand, lighting up before they could even get outside. ChaCha had her arm around Tío Richie’s ample waist and Prieto swatted his sister’s arm as they knew the parking lot fight that would ensue whenever Ana noticed that they both were missing from the ballroom. Olga raised an eyebrow at Matteo, who just shrugged at her with a smile. She was walking over to him when Mabel grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side. She’d been dancing all night and Olga was impressed with how well the airbrushed makeup had stayed.
“You brought those napkins, didn’t you?” Mabel asked.
Olga wasn’t going to lie, but at the same time, after their exchange this morning, she didn’t feel the sense of joy she had thought this moment would provide her. Olga sighed. “I did, Mabel. Pero…”
But it was too late.
“Listen, puta, I’m no dummy. I know you. You did this to try and show off to la familia, but guess what? All you did was play yourself! My mother-in-law was so impressed by those fucking napkins! And since she has no idea who the fuck you are, she figured it was me. She was all ‘What great taste you have, Mabel! They don’t even leave any lint. This is real European style, Mabel.’ You know she’s Italian and thinks she’s fucking better than everybody.”
Olga sighed, regretful that she’d already fucked up their truce. “Mabel, I really want to start on a new—”
“Prima, listen, we’re all good. But in the spirit of a clean slate, I just needed you to know that I saw what you were trying to do and let you know that it backfired, okay? You wanted to make me look like a chump and instead I looked like a champ!”
The cousins stared at each other in silence for a moment, and Mabel took a puff from her cigar.
“So,” she continued, “we’ll call it water under the bridge now. Pero, Olga—” She gestured her cousin to come towards her, and whispered, “What I really want to know about is your new man. I mean, I’m a married woman now, but a girl can’t help but notice…”
The doors to the hall opened and they could hear Fauxman Scoop call from inside,
Aiiight, Imma need all my single ladies and all my single fellas to report to the dance floor. Report to the dance floor!
Olga reached for Matteo’s arm.
“That’s us; let’s go.”
SWALLOW
The Wednesday after the wedding Olga awoke with a start from a dream. She was a little girl again, holding her father’s hand as they exited the subway. He was taking her to the circus—not the cheesy one at Madison Square Garden that Prieto liked, the good one. The one behind Lincoln Center. They exited the train and walked past the fountain and when she could see the red-and-white-striped tent lit up before them, she squealed and looked up at her father with delight. Inside the tent was an old-fashioned arena, the crowd seated on bleachers around the bright blue ring, a big white star radiating from its center. Olga and her father found their seats and the tent went dark for a moment before a single spotlight shone on one side of the ring, revealing, in a gilded cage, a lion. The lion swiped at the bars and roared, vexed at its captive predicament. On the other side, a second spotlight. A woman dressed in a red tailcoat and top hat, black leotard, and knee-high boots, one of which was resting casually on a small black stool, stood illuminated. In one hand she held a whip. Her other rested with ease on her hip. She grinned at the crowd and the gold of her hoop earring caught the light, making her appear to glow. It was her mother.