Claribel tidied up the living room as much she could. La Lupe’s raspy voice blasted through the speakers in the living room of the Reyes’ two-bedroom apartment so loud the neighbors could hear her up and downstairs. A pain made its way from the back of Claribel’s head down into her jaw. Saturday morning music, but on a Friday night? She knew better than to say anything about it. Her mother, Marysol, never cared about the neighbor’s complaints or the headaches they gave Claribel.
Claribel took a deep breath. The twins were preoccupied: Jade spooned beef into discos with that bored and slouched posture of hers while Esme pressed in the edges of the soft dough with the precision of a surgeon. Claribel could already imagine them arguing that they’d done enough to get out of other chores that night. Of course, it landed on Claribel to make sure the rest of the apartment looked perfect.
Claribel reached her hand out to adjust a crooked frame slightly hidden behind the couch. The photo caught her eye—it was her mother, a young Marysol beaming a bright smile, arm in arm with another girl. The other girl’s smile was beautiful too, her hair in a short-cropped afro. Claribel thought she recognized the girl. In the kitchen her mother’s gold rings clinked, against iron pots of beans, white rice and pollo guisado. Marysol swayed her hips softly as she lip-synced along with the Queen of Latin Soul. With the long silver serving spoon in her hand, she pushed the fluffy white rice in the large pot to the middle into a mound leaving the hardened rice underneath it to be exposed. Her eyes glazed over slightly, and a smile stretched across her face, “I can’t wait to see Azula and her baby girl. It’s been so long, too long.”
“Here Ma, we’re finished,” Esme too swayed with La Lupe’s voice, passing the ready-to-fry pastelitos.
“Thank you, my love,” Marysol twirled her daughter before grabbing the container. “Clean up that table and wash whatever you used. Please.”
Claribel sucked her teeth. She knew when her mother was active like she was tonight it was a bad idea to upset her visions of perfection. And as expected, the twins were squeamish at the thought of any more chores. Esme shrugged, swaying away with a smile, having left Jade at the kitchen table with a cup of foggy water, fork, greased spoon, the small squares of plastic from the discos packaging and the leftovers of ground beef in a small pot. Jade grunted a bit and stacked the items before putting them in the sink.
“Watch—you’ll be stuck with the dishes next time. I promise,” Jade spat the words at her twin’s back under her breath, turned on the water and adjusted the knobs until it was cool enough to touch, but hot enough to kill the germs. Just like Marysol taught all her girls. Her small hands aggressively scrubbed the pot as she grit her teeth.
“Can you two just get along?” Claribel yelled over to the kitchen.
The twins nodded together from different rooms, “Sure!” Claribel sighed and walked past them with a knowing look. Marysol sang along loudly as she rinsed her hands over Jade’s shoulders in the sink. Her voice echoed down the hall to the front door. The next Lupe song came on when the doorbell rang.
“They’re here! Claribel, turn the music down! Better still, put on something else. Hurry up!” Marysol dried her hands and made her way to the door. With her head leaned against it, she asked,
“Who is it?”
“Azula y Yuri!” said a strangely familiar voice to Claribel from the other side of the threshold as her mother took a deep breath. If La Lupe had been spinning on a vinyl, her voice would have skipped just a half second in that moment. Marysol’s confident posture masked the yearning for the warmth of her old friend. The woman at the door, Azula, had short black hair, and was about her age. Marysol stretched out her arms and hugged her perhaps too long. To Claribel, Azula’s embrace was filled with love and a longing for somewhere beyond that moment. Behind Azula stood Yuri, smirking. She caught Yuri’s eyes for a second and they both looked at their mothers.
“Come in, come in,” Marysol ushered the two inside, then yelled down the hall, “Mi niñas, vengan aca! Come say hi!”
Claribel resisted the curve of the smile forming at the edges of her own lips, pretending to wait for an introductory cue.
“Clari, ven aca,” Marysol pulled Claribel in front of their guests. Claribel resisted a little, then straightened herself out. Why did her mother always find the worst moment to treat her like a kid? “This is Azula and her baby Yuri. You probably don’t remember them, but Azula was practically your Godmother when you were first born. We had big bellies at the same time. Went to doctor’s appointments together. We did everything together growing up. Just running around and nobody could tell us anything. We were like sisters.”
“We were thicker than thieves. Our souls were supposed to link up in this lifetime.” The energy between the two women were like fridge magnets. Marysol stepped towards Yuri, gave her another squeeze and then stepped back in awe. “Que linda ta! Just beautiful,” she said, taking in Yuri’s 15-year-old self. “And this is my Claribel,” she added, turning to Azula with pride.
“Hi, how you doing?” Claribel asked. Her voice came out high-pitched. She cleared her throat and forced herself to look from Yuri, beaming a smile at Azula instead. “Come here and give me a hug, Claribel. I held you in my arms when you were a baby.” With Azula’s arms tightened around her, Claribel caught a whiff of her mother’s favorite Chanel No. 5 mixed with a powdery deodorant—unexpectedly comforting. “Dios mio, you’re the spitting image of your mother.” Azula’s eyes pooled with awe. Claribel felt a mix of awkwardness, warmth, and a strange flutter in her chest.
Behind Marysol, Esme and Jade made noises with their closed fists, bumping each other they caught Claribel’s glare and whispered, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
“Mi’ja, show Yuri around and get her something to drink. Chacha, no te ponga seca. Are you thirsty mama? We got soda, juice, water,” she smiled a closed-mouth smile at Claribel and turned her head to Azula, “and for you we got some adult drinks,” Marysol squeezed both her guests, “You’re in your house now, don’t be shy. Ok?” Crossing into the living-dining room, as the music blasted, Claribel could see Azula’s eyes were somewhere else. The room swirled with deliciousness, the food, the smell of that signature perfume. Each scent and sound pulled her further back into memory.
Marysol said, “Claribel take care of whatever they need, me oye?”
Marysol nudged Claribel on the shoulder and pointed her nose down the hall. Claribel scanned Yuri’s face for embarrassment, but she was calm, a slight grin tugging at the edges of her mouth.
“C’mon Yuri.” Without thinking Claribel grabbed Yuri by the hand and led her further into the apartment. The twins followed close behind. Claribel looked down at her hand and, as if she did not recognize it, let go. “Can you two get off me?” Claribel said. “Go help Ma bring the food to the table.”
“But we wanted to hang out with y’all,” Esme said.
“With Yuri,” Jade coughed into her hand.
“Go help Ma. Now.” She enjoyed telling off her sisters.
Yuri giggled softly as they entered. The small room oozed the scent of lavender and the remnants from the twins’ experiments with nail polish. Claribel shook her hands to release this unfamiliar nervousness. Usually, people had to catch up to her.
“It looks different from what I imagined.” As Yuri ran her finger along the edge of the round mirror on the center wall Claribel thought it might as well have been her spine. The glass’ coolness contrasted the warm air coming through the open window.
“What did you imagine?” Claribel gave Yuri a curious look in the mirror.
Yuri turned to Claribel accidently stepping on her foot as Claribel steadied hers with Yuri’s forearm feeling the hairs on her arm linger a second longer, she let go and stepped back tucking a loose braid behind her ear, trying not to smile. She looked at Yuri with a knowing smirk, “Try being 15 sharing a room with your 10-year-old twin sisters.” Could Yuri hear her heart thumping in her stomach? Claribel tucked the notebook sticking out under her pillow and patted a spot on the bed for Yuri to sit and sat across from her, reaching for the black beret hanging from the bedpost.
“Do you watch Doug?” Claribel asked.
“The real question is who is your favorite character?”
“I don’t think Judy gets enough love. Big sisters never do,” Claribel said, posing with the beret in the mirror.
“Maybe it’s because big sisters are annoying,” Yuri smiled, “They always trying to love you and tell you what to do.”
“Sometimes big sisters need big sisters.” Claribel brushed an invisible piece of lint from her hat.
“I can’t be your big sister, but I can be your friend,” Yuri said. When she scooted closer their knees touched and a jolt shot through them, making both girls sit up straighter. Some silent rule broken.
“I’d like that,” Claribel scooted back slightly, the wooden chair pressing against her skin—both a cool relief and a pang of mystery. Without realizing it, Claribel squeezed Yuri’s palms, the mix of their callouses and soft spots comforted her.
“Claribel!” Marysol’s voice rang from the kitchen. “Come help put this stuff on the table.”
Claribel sucked her teeth and got up, “Let me get back into Big Sister mode.”
While Claribel and Yuri moved dishes of steaming food to the table, Claribel watched her mother and old friend sitting closely, looking through the pictures Azula brought in a tattered envelope. The small rectangular images had taken on a sepia tone after decades of being trafficked behind sticky plastic in albums and different frames. Claribel’s family only used that big dining table twice a year: Thanksgiving and Christmas. Otherwise, it was a token of status collecting dust, old mail, unused catalogues, and other small pieces of junk. This was a special occasion. It felt like a noche buena—a special gathering of family in every sense.
Soon the mahogany table came together through interlocked hands and bowed heads.
From the head of the table, Marysol took a deep breath and led the prayer. “We give thanks for bringing us all together tonight, after too many years. Thank you for a moment of good health and for the food we are about to eat. Bless the hands that made the dinner and the bodies that will eat it. Thank you.”
Amen. A chorus of gratitude in whispers made its way around the table.
“Sit, sit, sit,” Marysol signaled with her hands.
“Can I have some rice?” Jade’s short arms held out her empty plate.
“Aqui tiene,” Azula spooned some steaming white rice onto Jade’s plate, and she lingered taking in the smell of warm fried dough. She asked Marysol’s youngest to put a pastelito on her plate, “Perfect, thank you Esme—Jade.”
“The thigh please,” Esme put her hands in the prayer position, excited as her mother stirred the bowl of stewed chicken next to Claribel. Caught by Azula’s soft smile, Marysol’s grip fluttered the serving spoon, and a small splash of brown liquid hit the white lace tablecloth before she regained her focus and spooned the piece of chicken onto Esme’s plate.
“Cla-ri-bel, right?” Yuri turned to Claribel.
“Joo-ree, right?” Claribel’s hand grazed Yuri’s as she reached for the beet red potato salad. They exchanged a quick glance, a mix of curiosity and a shared interest. And for a moment they could only hear each other’s shortened breath.
“So how’s the house? We need to come over and see it sometime,” Marysol put some food in her mouth and chewed slowly. Intently.
“We’re not all the way there, but getting there. Chacha, you know how moving is.” Steam rose out of the pastelito when Azula bit into it.
“Me lo dice? I had to move when Clari was 6 and I was—these two weren’t even born yet.”
The two women laughed, moving around the food on their plate. Everyone except Claribel joined in with awkward giggles. She scanned her mother’s shining face for the rest of that story.
Claribel remembered moving to this apartment, but she didn’t remember Azula. And for all the talks adults gave about speaking clearly, she never understood why they couldn’t say what they had to say more directly. Each response felt like lyrics to a Salsa or Bachata that made you either stop dancing when you realized what the song was about or go even harder.
“Pero mira que grande ta Claribel. Una se-ño-ri-ta,” Azula beamed with pride as she looked across the table at Claribel.
“Claribel? Look at your beautiful girl Azula. Que dios te la bendigue,” Marysol mirrored Azula’s smile. “Entonces, tell me Azulita, what made you come back?”
Azula pushed some food towards the middle of her plate, “Long story short…” Her gaze lingered for a moment over Yuri, “For love.”
Marysol squeezed the stem of her wine glass and set it down forcefully. “Is that right?”
“Now Mary, it’s not like that,” Azula replied, looking over her plate. Claribel thought about the sound seatbelts make when clicking into place on a rollercoaster and the muscles on the back of her neck tightened a little. Azula didn’t want to acknowledge the sting of her old friend’s words. “You know my mom is still around here and Yuri is getting older and—”
“Girl. You don’t have to explain yourself,” some food fell off Marysol’s fork before it made it to her mouth, “At this point, I’ve learned that many of us are willing to play certain games over and over hoping for the win that changes everything.”
Claribel rolled her eyes. And there it was. Her mother always had to find a way, tarde o temprano, to share her opinions like a wind-up toy whose sweet melody anticipated the scary clown waiting to spring out.
Azula chewed slowly and then looked at her friend of almost two decades, “Well you gotta be in it to win it. Didn’t you always say that, Mary?”
“Sometimes the cost of getting that far isn’t worth it,” Marysol offered Yuri more pastelitos.
“So, girls, how old are you now?” Azula asked.
“10,” the twins answered.
“Wow, it’s been that long, Mary?” She looked somewhere beyond Marysol as if searching for something just out of reach.
“It’s been that long, Azulita.” Marysol matched her gaze, “Los años no perdonan.”
“I know that’s right,” Azula said, with the same mix of regret and stubborn hope.
For a moment, it seemed like the room warped into some undiscussed past. The women at either end had travelled somewhere else though that somewhere else was still not clear.
“Do you like The Price is Right?” Claribel asked Yuri, twirling her fork.
“I like the part at the end,” Yuri’s eyes sparkled, “You know, when the big prize is revealed, and they have to guess how much it costs.” Her soft gaze held Claribel’s just long enough to make her stomach flip.
“Is it weird I always want the vacation instead of the car?” Claribel paused, surprised by her nerves. Did Yuri think she was the silliest person on Earth?
Yuri leaned in a touch closer, “No, that makes sense. A car’s just…a car. But seeing somewhere new? That’s… different.”
“Exactly!” Claribel’s eyes widened and, in her excitement, bumped knees with Yuri under the table. She held her leg there a little longer.
“Where would you want to go if you won?” Yuri took a sip of limeade from her sweating glass.
“I’d want to go to the park,” Jade pushed the empty plate away.
“The pool is better,” Esme placed a pastelito on her plate.
Claribel looked at Yuri and burst into laughter. Feeling the warmth of Yuri’s body, Claribel inched a little closer, “Zanzibar.”
“Zanzi-what?” Yuri scrunched the toes in her shoe, trying to imagine it.
“Zanzibar. I saw it on a TV show once and it looked amazing. It looked a lot like DR, even the people and that clear blue water.”
“So why not go to DR?” Yuri gave Claribel a mischievous look. It didn’t matter what they were talking about, they were happy to have a conversation about anything.
“Cuz I’ve been there already. Zanzibar is somewhere new. Isn’t that the real prize?” Claribel sipped from the glass again.
“I guess so. A beach is a beach.” Yuri said.
“If that was true, then why is the water at Orchard Beach brown-green?” Claribel sat back as the group laughed, picturing the muddied water ebbing and flowing at the edge of the Bronx.
The conversation lasted hours as the mothers time travelled, laughing as if time had no end. There was a gentleness in Marysol’s expression, a mix of pride and something heavier, that Claribel didn’t see as much these days. And here she was again, probably thinking about how Claribel wasn’t a little girl anymore, running around the apartment in search of adventure. Now Claribel was fifteen, still running around, but her adventures had changed in ways her mother didn’t always understand.
Across from her mother, Azula glowed under the warmth of the light. Claribel ran her finger along the rim of the almost empty glass in front of her. The way her mother looked at Azula felt different. Not bad but different. Sometimes she felt like an outsider to a world that wasn’t hers. One that was filled with inside jokes and stories from long before she was born. Then she caught the spaced look in her mother’s eyes, “Ma, you ok?”
“I’m fine baby, just thankful that’s all. Sometimes people need to grow apart to grow closer, my love.”
“How does that work?”
Marysol smiled, turning her attention to the rest of the table, “There is plenty of food here, keep filling up your plates.”
“I’m going to take the garbage out.” Claribel placed her hand over her mouth so that only Yuri could see it and then got up.
“I’ll go with you,” Yuri shot up from her seat.
“Wow, I guess taking out the garbage is the big Friday night event,” Marysol responded.
The two women shared a smile of gratitude.
“Pues ta bien, hurry up.”
“Anything else, mother?”
“Can you get strawberry ice cream?” Jade smiled.
“No, cookies and cream?” Esme winked.
Claribel walked towards the door and grabbed the half empty trash bag on the way out.
“I’ll be right back Ma,” Yuri whispered in her mother’s ear as she walked past her, behind Claribel.
As the door closed behind them and Claribel secured the locks, they secretly sighed before getting into the elevator. “It’s like we were the meat in a sandwich.” Claribel said, “Moms on one side, little sisters on the other.”
“Moms,” Yuri and Claribel said in unison as the elevator reached the first floor and the door opened. “Jinx you owe me a trip to Zanzibar.”
Claribel smiled.
* * *
Image by Jonas Leupe via Unsplash
