My mom was silent for a moment. “Was she the one that you told your Ba about? You had coffee together, you lived together...that one?”
I nodded wryly, unsurprised that my mom’s memory issues weren’t an issue at all when it came to potential brides.
My mom simpered. “I knew she’d be good for you.” At my puzzled expression, she unhelpfully clarified, “Her face. I told you she had a good face. You two are good together.”
I shook my head. I’d never understand my mom’s mysterious ways. “But it’s over now. We’re just friends.”
My aunt snorted and cracked another sunflower seed between her teeth. “Liar.”
“What? It’s true.”
My mom and aunt both tittered and shook their heads before my mom continued, “We saw how you two looked at each other. How you made jokes together even as you worked side by side. She couldn’t stop looking at you and burned herself with hot oil, twice.”
My aunt added, “It didn’t look like it was over to me.”
Such romantics. I sighed again and rubbed my face. “Ma, Ayi, she’s back in New York now, and I’m here.”
They exchanged a look, then turned their eyes back to me. “So?” they asked in unison.
“There’s something called a phone, Ian,” said my mom. “You can call people with it.”
Well no wonder I hadn’t wanted to date Lina.
◆◆◆
I paced back and forth in my room, smacking my phone against my hand with each step.
Should I call her?
Would she even want to talk to me?
What would I say?
More importantly, what was the point? We were living on two different coasts. And she was different now...stronger, more intimidating. Independent. Would she even want to hear from me?
It felt a little like I was psyching up for a big move on the bouldering wall. Don’t overthink it. Just do it.
Before I could chicken out, I tapped on the phone icon under her name.
And then I chickened out and promptly hung up. Shit.
I texted Anna an excuse. Hey, sorry about that. I just accidentally called you. I was trying to call my Ayi and your name is above hers.
A few minutes later, she texted back, No worries.
I waited...but there was nothing else.
Sighing, I put my phone down and went to make dinner.
◆◆◆
A few days later, I was surprised to find an email from Anna.
Hey Ian,
I’m sending you a draft of my writeup. I can’t post it to my own blog yet because it’s for Moonslick Mirror, but I wanted to share it with you before it’s published (if it’s ever published).
Thanks so much for reaching out to them on my behalf. And thanks again for the weekend—it was wonderful to see you.
Cheers,
Anna
I opened the draft and read the following:
The Llama People: Not Your Mama’s Alpacas Tour is their most spiritual and dominant yet
By: Anna Tang
The Llama People (TLP) have been around for years. They’ve been lurking in your fields, munching on your grass, and spitting on your children since 2006.
I, hipster that I was, first discovered TLP that very year in high school. Of course, it was love at first listen. I was a DJ for the school radio station, and I nearly got fired for playing two of their earliest and raunchiest hits,Your Ass is Grass and Shear Me Out. It was gratifying to hear the principal tell me that I wasn’t allowed to play music with such sexually gratuitous lyrics, then ask me for the artist’s name to “make sure that no one else played their music.” I caught her humming the tune to Camelid Toe a week later.
Back then, their sound was raw and outrageous, brutally erotic, and perfect for those early years of adulthood.
Their sound has since gone through epochs of evolution.
In 2009’s Llama Kush, they introduced stronger elements of Latin American polyrhythms and syncopation into their sound, and their songs soon invaded salsa clubs around the city. One could not escape Bachata Night without hearing Como Se Llama at least once. But their most popular track off of this album, the slow and haunting Dam and Her Cria, truly allowed singer Maria Lopez to shine, with her soothing vocals and poignant humming. The song inspired any number of mugs, t-shirts, and Mother’s Day cards, and no doubt induced millions of people to call their mothers that Sunday.
With Nuzzle My Fuzzle (2011), TLP reassured fans everywhere that sex was still on the menu. But unlike the wanton, provocative lyrics and sounds from their early years, the music was sensual and intimate, and Lopez’s voice caressed deep into our ears and left us yearning for more, especially with their track, 30 Minutes on Top.
Then in 2014, TLP devastated fans everywhere with the Pack it Up tour. Fans were dually disappointed with the uninspired pop lyrics and catchy, but basic, melodies and beats. TLP announced that it would be their last album, and fans were both glad and disappointed that Lopez and TLP’s keyboard guru, John Matthews, were headed into early retirement so that they could start a family together.
They spent five years in relative privacy, only occasionally spotted holding hands with their adorable daughter, Mia, and their son, Milo, as well as on date nights at romantic nooks around New York City.
But after five quiet years...they’re back. And they’ve brought Drops of Thistle Milk.
Not Your Mama’s Alpacas is more playful and energized than any of their previous albums, bringing in more synths, percussion instruments, and strings than ever before. Matthews introduces us to a unique orgling sound, which mingles with Lopez’ otherworldly vocals to transport us to the terraformed hills of Mars, where the grass is plentiful and the llamas are looking to fuck.
This album is the magnum opus that fans have been waiting for.
Bottle-fed hearkens back to Dam and her Cria, but the Cria is all grown up with a cria of her own, and the lyrics are even
