I should’ve known my family wouldn’t leave me alone. Not ten minutes after Carlos leaves, my mom calls. “Honey baby, tell Mama what’s wrong.”
Honey baby? She must be up to something.
“I’m fine, just tired from all the running I did last night. You always said I needed more exercise, and I could lose five pounds or ten. Chubby cheeks, that’s me.”
“Oh, punchy sweets. You stay right there. Mama’s coming over. I know you’re devastated by last night, caught kissing someone else’s boyfriend. I explained to Gloria that you’re not like that. You must have lacked oxygen to your brain because of the running you’re not accustomed to, but Tita’s not happy. She wants you to start going to church again. She is your godmother, you know.”
“I didn’t know Carlos is Julia’s boyfriend. How come no one told me? And I wasn’t kissing him. We just sort of fell and it looked like that from the angle. Can you tell her it was nothing?”
“I did already, but she’s not buying it. She thinks I raised you too leniently into a shameless pussy.”
“Mom! It’s hussy, not … You let her talk about me like that?”
“Pssst. You know how Tita gets. All huffy. Anyway, get dressed. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“But … I—”
“Shush. Your father knew you weren’t really sick, but he let you have the time off. Let’s spend some mother daughter time together. Bye!”
“But—”
She hangs up too quickly, and I don’t get to tell her how she’s the last person I want to see. Well, next to last, since Carlos came by already and didn’t tell me anything. Like he’s Julia’s boyfriend?
Well, duh, maybe that’s why he came by this morning. To read me the riot act. That does it. I’m going to have to avoid him from now on.
My heart sinks into my hollow stomach. This means quitting my job at the restaurant, moving out of this apartment, and no more summer softball. No more jeering the batter, egging on the pitcher, being carried on Carlos’s shoulders for the victory lap, tossing our mitts, and thumping batting helmets. No more after game parties at the Hangout. No more singing Filipino folksongs with the Sunshine Retirement crowd at the restaurant. No more karaoke, no more jiggling under the laser lights and disco ball. I might as well move across the country like my sister Evie did. Maybe apply to a graduate degree program or find a job that includes lots of travel away from my family. Be a nomad where no one knows me, get a fresh start. Do that Eat, Pray, Love thing, except for me it’d be Eat, Cry, Die.
My mind in a cloudy haze, I shower, put on makeup, and pull on some decent clothes: a flowery skirt, not too short, a white linen blouse, and espadrilles on my feet. Can’t let Mama think I’m a total mess on a Sunday morning. Besides, gasp. Horrors. What if she stops by Carlos’s apartment and brings Tita Gloria along for an abject apology? I dig through my night table. Where’s my rosary? If they show up, it might look better if I had it hanging around my wrist, like I’m doing penance or something, reciting, hail whatevers, full of grace and mercy, yikes. Better look it up on the internet.
I pour myself a cup of guava juice and boot up my laptop. Somehow my web search ends on job pages. My sister’s living in Boston and has an apartment. I could start there. I have an anthropology degree with an emphasis on sociocultural food traditions.
I scan the ads, but all I see are host/hostess and food server jobs. I can see myself as an expeditor, running the entire show between the front of the house and back, coordinating the customer’s meal selections with the wait staff and line cooks. I mean, I do this all in addition to hostess and waitress at Barrio XO, and no one appreciates me. Well, Papa does pat me on the head and tell everyone I’m his manager, but in reality, he’s the one running the payroll, balancing the books and working with the suppliers, not to mention all of the decisions on menus, personnel, and advertising.
Mama calls from the intercom in the parking garage, and I buzz her in. She hates coming to my apartment, so she must be really worried about me to make this trip.
I smooth my blouse and straighten my skirt before opening the door. The thought of moving across country has me blinking back tears.
“Mama, I’m so sorry.” I rush to hug her. “I don’t want to move away and never see you again.”
“Why would you do that?” my father says in back of her.
My teenaged brother and sister are on both sides of him. Brian has his trademarked snarky grin. Genie twirls her hair, and her eyes are so far back she’s gotta be reading the inside of her brain or something.
“I’m not,” I hastily say. “I meant I’m sorry I ruined Tita Gloria’s dinner.”
“Pshaw.” Mama pats me on the back. “She’s always complaining anyway. What’s a burnt dish or two between old friends?”
Without being invited, my family steps through the doorway. Brian heads straight to the refrigerator, and Genie’s eyes are busy inspecting my apartment, as if she were looking for clues that I had a guy over, because well, as far as my family thinks, the only reason I moved out was to have guys over.
“Sure, come in, welcome, love to have you for breakfast.” Ha, ha, I don’t really mean I want to eat them for breakfast. “Coffee, tea, guava juice?”
“Yum, buko pie.” Brian removes a covered pie plate. “I knew Carlos would leave some here.”
The other three members of my family freeze, their stares boring through me.
“Carlos was here?” Mama says this like he’s some kind of serial killer or something.
“Well, yeah, he lives down the hall, per your specifications,” I say to Papa, who’s suddenly decided he has a huge mosquito bite on the back of his neck.
“What’s she talking about?” Mama turns on Papa. “I thought Carlos was only supposed to drive her to work, not visit.”
Genie’s greedy eyes are still digesting every nook and cranny of my apartment. Thankfully I don’t have empty condom wrappers lying around. I bet she heads for the bathroom soon.
“What are you worried about?” Papa retorts. “Carlos has his mama living with him.”
Sure enough, Genie claims she has to pee.
“Then, what’s with the buko pie?” Mama crosses her arms. “Choco, you promised us when you moved out that you won’t be entertaining men, that the only reason was to be close to your evening classes.”
What century are these two living in? Even though I, loyal Choco, lived at home all through college, might I remind them that my wild sister, Evie, went all to the way to Harvard and was living with a man? Why am I always under their thumb?
“What kind of example are you for your younger brother and sister?” Mama persists.
Oh, as if they’re that innocent. I have to really rein in my eyes from rolling all the way to China.
My brother has the buko pie on a plate already and an open can of coconut water. “She’s got Carlos’s favorite beer in the back of the fridge.”
“Good Heavens!” Mama opens the refrigerator door.
Just at that moment, Genie emerges from the bathroom with a wicked grin. “You shouldn’t leave your birth control out in the open.”
“What?” I gape at her before realizing how stupid I am for letting her venture in there before my mother inspects. “Where did you plant it?”
My parents immediately head to the bathroom. Genie puts on an innocent pout and plugs her ears. “Mom, Dad, I shouldn’t even hear what comes next.”
Faker. I’m the one who drove her to the clinic to get her pills. Why is she picking on me all of a sudden? Trying to divert attention from her misdeeds, huh. I bet.
Both parents emerge with empty hands and raised eyebrows.
“What’s she talking about?” Papa says. “I didn’t see anything.”
“I flushed it down the toilet.” Genie laughs.
“Liar. There was nothing to flush.” I turn to my parents. “Why are you all here?
“Family intervention, Sánchez style.” Brian burps from the table, his mouth full of pie.
“Intervention? What have I done?” I screech. Well, I can’t help it if my voice has that squeaky, cockatiel quality.
Sometimes I wish Evie, my next younger sister, were here. She and her Romeo troubles were legendary, worrying my parents to all hours of the night while she went gallivanting with him on his motorcycle to points unknown. Oh, yeah, it was easy to be the responsible older sister with her around. Except it started falling apart when I got drafted to chaperone Genie’s prom. Even after Genie specifically asked for Evie and Romeo, it was responsible old me and Carlos who finally went—together.
Papa puts on his serious Filipino head of the household look and gestures to my small kitchen table. I take a seat next to Brian who has his foot on the chair, his elbow propped on his knee. He’s not paying any attention, but is staring at my laptop. Genie sits around the corner from me, and Mama is across from me.
We wait for Papa to speak. He paces a few steps to the left, then to the right and stops behind me. “Why did you call in sick when you’re obviously not?”
Interesting opener. None of them have mentioned Carlos and Julia, yet. Maybe they’re really here because they hoped to catch me in bed or something. But then, why warn me? Oh, so, maybe Mama decided to warn me, but the rest of them thought to surprise me.
“I’m sorry, Papa.” I can’t help wringing my fingers. “I’m just overtired, and I wanted a day off.”
“You could have asked, like you asked on behalf of Carlos. Didn’t I grant him time off to go to Mass with his mother?”
“Yes, you did. But we’re always so busy. I feel guilty not being at the restaurant.”
“Maybe she does need more time off,” Mama adds. “She’s twenty-six already and not getting younger. If we want her to get married eventually, she’s going to need time to meet suitable men. Gloria has a list of friends’ sons: dentists, doctors, pharmacists, engineers.”
“Wait, wait.” I hold up my hand, avoiding Genie’s amused smirk. “I don’t need to meet Gloria’s list of friends’ sons. I just want some time alone.”
“If you meet more suitable men, you wouldn’t be …” Mama seems reluctant to continue. “How shall I put this mildly?”
“Shoving her tongue down guy’s throats.” Genie has no compunction.
“Which is the real reason you called in sick,” Brian says. “You’re afraid you can’t control yourself and go after the kitchen staff, even the new busboy.”
Both of my parents cringe. Papa clears his throat loudly and resumes his kitchen two-step pacing. “Choco, is there something you’re not telling us?”
Mama reaches for my hands across the table. “It’s okay, darling daughter. We’ll love you no matter what. If you need professional help, we’ll get you the best specialists.”
I stand so quickly the chair topples. “What the heck are you talking about? I’m perfectly normal. What do you think is wrong with me?”
Suddenly, the entire clan goes poker face on me. I go from one to the other. “Well? What have you guys been saying behind my back?”
The silence stretches. Genie chews her lips. My father’s face is darker than usual, his eyes bloodshot and moist. Mama twists her wedding band and blanches, looking like she’s about to faint.
“Well?” I point my stare at Brian. “Spit it out.”
Brian tips his chair backward and shakes his head. “Must be true since you’re looking for a job across the country.”
“A job?” Papa barks. “Where?”
“Boston,” Brian replies.
“Why Boston?” Papa shakes my shoulder. “Is that where the sex clinics are?”
“Sex clinics?” I’m sure my eyes are bugged out, about to pop from their sockets and bounce on springs.
“You know, for the sex addicts.” Mama’s voice wavers.
“I am NOT a sex addict.” I back toward my bedroom door. “All I wanted was a day off to be alone. To do some skin and facial treatments, maybe even sleep late.”
“I understand.” Mama comes toward me, her arms wide open. “We still love you. No matter what. I always told Papa he shouldn’t work you so hard. Let you have regular days off, not just Monday, but an occasional Friday or Saturday night so you can schedule outings with friends. It didn’t have to come to this. Gloria says this often happens to young women who haven’t a proper outlet for affection, like a husband.”
I shake loose from her grip. Usually I love hugging my mother. It always reminds me of when I was a little girl and I liked to talk until I fell asleep and Mama would lie on my bed to “stay for awhile,” and I’d prattle on and on about my little friends, but now, she seems so alien, turned into a Tita Gloria acolyte.
“For the last time, I’m not a sex addict.” I cross my arms. “I hate to be rude, but who’s running the restaurant with all of you here?”
“Carlos and Johnny have it covered,” Papa says. “Johnny is teaching me to delegate, and Gloria offered to be the hostess.”
“Hostess?”
She’ll drive away all the customers with her prune face. This isn’t good. Is she asking customers when was the last time they’d been to confession? Oh no! If she meets the Sunshine girls, a fight might erupt. They’re staunch Baptists and Tita Gloria’s a proud Catholic. If Tita Clare or Tita Grace get a hold of her with their soul-winning tracts. Oh no! They’d start a major religious debate.
“Wait, wait. I’m feeling better.” I need to head off a disaster. “Let me pull on my Maria Clara skirt.”
Mama and Papa give each other meaningful glances. Is this all a ruse to get me to go back to work? Whatever. I don’t care. Anything’s better than this crazy family intervention.