The smell of the house was an assault on the senses, a masculine mix of sweat and paint and freshly cut grass on top of the smell of breaded chicken that had recently been fried. Despite her resistance to the intensity of it all, Aria loved the way the inhabitants seemed to suck up everyone around them into their festivities as if they had already been invited.
Pedro caught her staring at a bouquet of partially deflated balloons that had drifted into one corner of the room. “The kids like to play with them. Those are from my birthday. It was two days ago,” Pedro said. “What day is your birthday?”
Aria rolled her eyes, all too aware of the irony of his question. “Actually, it’s today!” she said.
Pedro put down his glass as if she had told him that the world as he knew it was about to change. “Hijole, no way, are you kidding me?” he said. Aria shook her head, embarrassed by his theatrics. “Hey, everyone … My friend’s birthday is today. Hoy es el cumpleaños de mi amiga, todos a cantarle.”
Like a conductor he raised his glass, and everyone in the room, including the children, stopped what they were doing to join the chorus. They sang to her in Spanish.
Estas son las mañanitas
Que cantaba el Rey David
Hoy por ser dia de tu santo
Te las cantamos a ti
Despierta mi bien despierta
Mira que ya amaneció
Ya los pajarillos cantan
La luna ya se metió.
When they were finished singing, everyone cheered. The same woman who had poured her a drink went over to the kitchen and rifled around. She pulled a used blue candle that was left over from Pedro’s birthday party from a drawer and a concha from a plastic bag covering a collection of various breads. Aria watched her light the candle on the stove and push it through the crust of the sweet bread, which she had put on its own little ceramic plate. Aria squirmed under the discomfort of being the center of attention. The woman placed the concha in front of her and said, “Make a wish.” In her head, Aria made the same wish as she had before. When she blew the candle out, again everyone cheered.
Aria let the sun disappear from the sky. She talked to Pedro and allowed him to translate what he could for the people who wanted to know more about her while she drank more soda than she should have. When she got up to make her exit for the night, a few of the children had already fallen asleep on the floor and on couches. She stepped over one of them, surprised that they could sleep through the noise still echoing through the house.
“No, hey … Antonio can take you wherever you want to go,” Pedro said, motioning to one of the younger men on a couch. He spoke briefly to the man in Spanish.
“Sure, sure, I can take you,” the man said. He grabbed his coat and hat from the arm of the couch and led the way out the door.
“Hey thanks, I had a really great time,” Aria said.
“Me too, hey thanks for coming. I hope to see you again real soon. Happy birthday!” Pedro said, hugging her tightly.
Aria walked across the room and hugged Consuelo, who blushed in response. “See you guys later, thanks,” she said to the other people in the house. Though she had not met each of them individually, they all smiled and waved warmly to her when she said goodbye.
Aria directed Antonio to the Super Sun Market, knowing that Omkar would be worried when she got back. The brakes of his little Ford truck squealed audibly at every stoplight. The man, who had been born in America, spoke perfect English. He kept the momentum of the conversation going for the whole drive and, at the end of it, asked her for her number. When she explained why she didn’t have one, he gave her his number instead. Aria thanked him for the ride and took the number, but knew that she would never use it because it was obvious that he was interested in her romantically.
Omkar had seen the man pull up to drop Aria off outside the store. He came outside partially to greet her and partially to challenge the other man with his presence. “Oh hey,” Aria said, hugging Omkar as if getting dropped off by another man was a usual occurrence.
“Who was that?” Omkar asked, trying to not let jealousy get the better of him.
“Oh, that’s just some guy that gave me a ride back here,” she said.
“What have you been doing all day?” Omkar asked.
“Just saying hi to people and finding places to eat, you know.” Aria tried to make her day sound as boring as possible, hoping that it would end his interrogation.
“Why don’t you just eat here?” Omkar asked.
“Well, I don’t want to be some huge burden here. Your mom won’t let me touch the kitchen and it makes me feel so weird when she cooks for me. Even my own mother never cooked for me. It makes me feel guilty.”
Aria played with the wave of hair over his forehead. Omkar’s good nature returned. “Don’t you know that Indian mothers love to cook for people? It’s this big secret they don’t want anybody to know about. All you have to do is to tell them that you love it and they will be like putty in your
