When we get inside, sweaty and Taki-less （in my case）， I finally privilege myself with a glance at my phone. JoyeriaFlores is by no means viral, but it’s got a few hundred notifitications on Twitter and Instagram, with plenty of people excited in the comments. I quickly check Etsy.
Half the items have already sold. I throw myself onto my bed and happily convulse, squealing loud enough for Cesar to come in all concerned.
“Okay . . . I don’t wanna know.” He backs away slowly from my squealy frenzy.
Once I calm down, I type up a thank-you post for everyone’s support, promising to restock some of the favorite items soon. Then I get to work trying to get the rest sold. I go back in my mom’s room and put on some jewelry, then take some videos for TikTok. I only post one and save the rest in drafts to post later. Hopefully one of these videos hits everyone’s For You page so it can blow up. When the front door opens, I rush over to greet Mami, preparing myself for a swift un-grounding.
“Mami, I have a surprise for you!” I say, hugging her.
“A surprise?” She raises an eyebrow.
I grab my phone from my pocket and pull up my Twitter post, then I hand her the phone. I hold my breath while I watch her every expression, trying to calculate how far into the post she’s read. Her expression doesn’t change, but her thumb moves to click on the Etsy link.
“Do you like the name? Look at the sales! Isn’t that amazing? This will be my new job! I can help you with your workload and I’ll take care of all the online stuff.” I feel like I’m about to cry from pure joy. Mami must be so proud of my entrepreneurial genius. She hands me my phone back.
“Take it down.”
I blink. “What?”
“Take it down.”
“Why?” I can’t help the crack in my voice.
“Because I said so.”
I stare at her with my mouth hanging open. Does she not realize how good this could be for her? For all of us? She’s the one who wants me to make more money. She’s the one who grounded me because I’m not making money! Why is she so damn stubborn? This was the perfect idea, and I honestly don’t know what else to do. It seems like I can never do anything right with her.
“Listen, mija, I’ve had a long day. I can’t deal with this right now.” She walks past me into her room without another word. I storm into mine, fall back into my bed, and groan into my pillow.
If it was up to Dad, he’d let me do it. He loved this idea. Maybe he can help me. Or maybe I just need to vent. I send him a voice message.
“Paaaaaapi, I miss you. Mom is being a huge dick,” I start, then delete it and start again.
“Papiiiiiii. Tell your wife to stop being such a huge dick!” Delete.
I’ve recorded seven different messages by the time I get my anger out. I finally send a tame one, calmly explaining the situation to him. Maybe he’ll work his magic and talk some sense into her.
My phone keeps buzzing with notifications, and eventually the background of me and my dad’s model poses fades to black as my phone dies. I don’t have the heart to charge it, because that would mean I’d have to break the very embarrassing news that the shop is closed after only one day.
When I finally put my phone back on the charger in the morning, the notifications are still blowing up. Which pisses me off, because it was such a wasted effort. But then I see I have two texts. One from Mom . . .
Mami: Leave it up . . .
And one from Dad.
Papi: I talked to her
3
Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Butt
By the time the first day of school comes around, I still can’t use the mirror in my room. Luckily, Mami’s been so busy and distracted the last month that she hasn’t found out about it yet, and I intend to keep it that way. She rarely comes into my room, so I shouldn’t have a problem. Unfortunately, it means I have to let Cesar stink up the bathroom before I get ready, since he always manages to get in there first. I turn on the fan so I don’t die from toxic fumes.