THE CRUZ FAMILY room was a big open space that consisted of a kitchen and a living-and-dining space. The room had floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and a glass door that led out to the pool. Alicia’s parents collected photographs by Latin American artists; the walls were covered with brightly colored depictions of men, women, and children from places ranging from Mexico City to Montevideo. The family’s schedule was increasingly hectic, but with Alicia’s older brother off at college, her mother insisted that they eat dinner together at least three days a week. This was one of those nights.

Although Alicia complained about her mother’s summoning her home when she really wanted to grab a bite with Gaz or her friends, she loved the family dinners. And ever since Maribelle had started dating Hiro, a chef at Nobu Miami Beach, the family had been treated to an array of new and impressive Japanese meals. Tonight, the menu consisted of nabe udon, a big clay hot pot of noodles and seafood.

Alicia’s parents often changed before dinner, but it had been a busy week. Her father had barely had time to loosen his tie before sitting down, and her mother had come dashing in from a meeting that had run late; she had quickly kicked off her pumps and made a giant bib out of a linen napkin, so as not to spill anything on her silk blouse.

Alicia felt like the parent as she sat patiently at the table waiting for them. “Relax,” she said, using on them the word they had used on her for years. “The food’s not going to run off the table.” Her mother and father laughed.

“Where have I heard that advice before?” Mrs. Cruz teased.

As Alicia filled her bowl, she told her parents about her college adviser. “He’s like a surf dude in a suit who’s really good at math.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” her mother replied.

Her father agreed. “Sounds like a well-balanced guy.”

Alicia sighed. “Well, he wants me to come to a surf class he’s teaching on Saturday.”

“Is it for C. G. High students?” her mother asked.

“Nope, it’s for small-business owners,” Alicia explained. “It’s some ‘ride the wave, be on board,’ business/surfing thing he does. I really don’t want to go. I just haven’t figured out a way out of it.”

“What a wonderful opportunity,” her mother said, in between bites of udon noodles.

“And a real honor to be asked,” her father added.

Alicia poured herself a glass of cold green tea. “I know, I know. But for some reason, I’m a little nervous,” she admitted. “Hopefully I can convince Carmen and Jamie to go with me.”

Somehow, her mother had managed to make the big napkin tucked into her blouse look elegant—stylish, even. “You know it’s good to get out of your comfort zone sometimes,” she asserted. Then, segueing a little awkwardly to a more pressing matter, she added, “Speaking of which, how are those college applications going?”

Alicia shrugged and tapped her chopsticks against her plate. “It’s all fine,” she mumbled.

Her mother looked concerned. It wasn’t like Alicia to be so evasive. Even so, and despite their own high-achieving careers, Marisol and Enrique Cruz made every effort not to be pushy when it came to their kids. This was a delicate balance—nurturing success without demanding it.

The awkward silence that filled the room was indicative of what everyone felt.

Marisol broke the ice. “So, Lici, is the list of schools you’re applying to the same as it was last time we talked?” she asked her daughter gently.

“Um, yeah,” Alicia muttered, helping herself to a couple of Maribelle’s homemade shrimp dumplings.

Her parents exchanged glances. Mrs. Cruz had tried. Now it was Mr. Cruz’s turn.

Enrique took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “We’re old and slightly senile,” he joked. This was, of course, patently untrue. He was not yet fifty. “Let’s go over the list together,” he suggested, “just for the benefit of the memory-challenged among us. It’s Brown, Columbia, Penn, Yale, and that dinky little school up in Cambridge….”

In spite of herself, Alicia smiled at her dad’s corny sense of humor.

“Harvard,” she said, finishing his sentence.

“Oh, right, Harvard,” her father beamed. “Didn’t the rep invite you to coffee?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to call her,” Alicia replied nonchalantly. She’d kept Serena Shih’s business card on her dresser, and she looked at it every day. As soon as she figured out what to say besides I really, really want to go to Harvard, she planned to give her a ring.

Sensing that Alicia was not enthused about the college conversation, her mother changed the topic. “So, how are things going with the mystery quince?”

Alicia smiled. In spite of all the stress and pressure of senior year, the idea of planning a quince for Carmela Ortega was very exciting. “We haven’t heard from Julia Centavo in a while, which is good, because we’re hoping to hire some sophomores to help us out and to take over the day-to-day operations when we go away to college.”

“Right,” her mother said. “I ran into Jamie’s mom, and she told me you were having a contest to find your successors, called Are You That Chica?”

Her father reached for his briefcase and handed Alicia a section of the newspaper. “I saved this for you. Yesenia and Carmela Ortega are out of the country—on a diplomatic trip to South Korea.”

Alicia’s eyes widened as she looked at the picture in the paper of Carmela Ortega and her mother wearing traditional Korean dresses. “How cool is this?” she asked her parents excitedly. “I cannot wait to meet them.”

Her mother held one hand up, in a gesture of caution. “Don’t get your hopes up, Lici,” she warned. “You don’t know for sure that she’s your mystery client.”

But Alicia wouldn’t be swayed. “She is. Deep down in my gut it feels right. After all, our birthdays are just one day apart. We share the same astrological sign, which means we’re both awesome. I already feel like I know her.”

“So, have you decided on a theme yet?” her mother asked.

“Not yet,” Alicia said. “But we’ve got a little time. Usually, when we have enough time to plan, the budget is small and we spend all our time wheeling and dealing. If the budget is big, the client always wants it all done yesterday, so we’re rushing around like madwomen. This quince is a happy medium—generous budget, reasonable timeline.”

Alicia’s parents looked at each other and laughed.

“What is it?” Alicia wanted to know.

“It’s just that, four years ago, you had braces and your biggest ambition was to show off your dancing skills on a reality TV show,” her mother said teasingly.

Alicia playfully lobbed a napkin at her mom and replied, “Oh, nice. Well, for your information, four years ago, I was thirteen, and I was, and still am, an excellent dancer! I could so be on TV.”

Her father smiled and squeezed his daughter’s shoulder. He said, “What your mother is trying to say is that we are really proud of you. You’ve not only built a thriving business; you’ve helped us all see an old tradition with new eyes. That’s really special. That takes vision.”

Alicia stood up and hugged each of her parents. She didn’t say anything, because it was one of those moments when she knew that they understood exactly how she felt. As the saying went, sin palabras. There were simply no words.