“Oh my God, Mom. Please, please, please put that away. Can we not do the sombreros tonight?” The thought of Annie wearing that straw monstrosity was more than I could bear.
“What in the world are you talking about, Jessica? Of course we’re doing the sombreros. We do the sombreros every Friday. It’s tradition.”
“A tradition I think we should most definitely keep in the family. Exclusively in the family.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” my mom scolded, pulling the other three sombreros out of the pantry while I broke into a cold sweat. “Annie is excited about taco night. She’s going to love this.”
My heart banged against the inside of my chest, and I debated telling my mom that she was coming dangerously close to giving me an anxiety attack. With my luck, though, she’d have an ambulance here in five minutes, and Annie would arrive to sombreros and paramedics.
“Mom, maybe we should set down some ground rules before tonight,” I said, trying not to sound shrill. “Let’s not scare Annie away forever with our craziness, okay?”
“What’s gotten into you? This is hardly the first time Annie has been over here. What are you so nervous about?”
I opened my mouth to explain, but words failed me. How do you tell your mother that she gets embarrassing when she hits the tequila on taco night? Or that cutthroat Monopoly might not be cute to an outsider?
Before I could translate my panicked thoughts into words, the doorbell rang and Avery Family Games Night began.
Of course, as usual, I’d worried far too much. Annie embraced my family’s craziness like she was born into it. She wore her sombrero with pride and devoured a whopping seven tacos, beating my dad out for the title of biggest eater and forever earning his respect. She also convinced me that we should speak Spanish all throughout dinner, which proved hilarious given that our only exposure to the language had been Dora the Explorer episodes and Taco Bell commercials.
“Hola, soy Annie.”
“Un taco, por favor.”
“Cuidado, amigo.”
“Vamanos!”
Later on, while my dad was destroying us all in Monopoly, Annie masterminded a strategy in which the three of us conspired to bring him down. I watched with a mixture of amusement and reverence as my parents laughed their way through the bending and warping of the rules. Only Annie could get away with messing up Monopoly during games night.
When my parents busted open the tequila, Annie and I escaped to my room.
“Thanks for tonight,” I told her, my voice breaking.
“What are you thanking me for? I’m the one who invaded your family night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Endured my family night, you mean.”
“No,” she said, suddenly serious. “You’re really lucky, Jess.”
“I take it your family doesn’t do games night?”
“You know I have a stepmom and stepsister, right?”
I nodded. “You mentioned.”
“My mom died in a car crash six years ago,” she said flatly. “I haven’t had much of a family life since then.”
My stomach started to hurt. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is. Now my dad’s remarried to a total bitch and I’m the freak of my family.”
I reached out and put my hand on her arm, feeling awkward. I had no idea what to say.
She swiped at her eyes and flashed me a too-bright smile. “Think your parents would adopt me?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Then I’ll be an honorary Avery,” she declared. “And we’ll be sisters.”
“We can speak Spanish and eat tacos together forever,” I confirmed.
The conversation moved on, but I felt unsettled, like I’d left something unfinished.
It wasn’t until hours after she’d gone home that I finally thought of all the things I should have said. I considered calling, but I didn’t want to drag her mind back to that sad place.
I sent a text instead: “Friendship is its own kind of family.” —Jessica Avery
Her reply was almost instantaneous: “Yo quiero Taco Bell.” —Chihuahua
Annie
Sketchbooks, graphite pencils, modeling clay, canvas, brushes, acrylics . . .Charcoals! I forgot charcoals.
I yank a pencil from the bun on top of my head and add yet another item to the list I’ve been compiling since third period, when my art teacher announced our independent study project.
It must be almost seven o’clock by now, I figure. But when I check my clock, it’s only 5:09. Crap. So far, I’ve cleaned my room, organized my desk, finished my science homework, and revised my list of art supplies . . . and there are still nearly two hours till my dad gets home.
I’m seriously losing my shit over this art assignment.
I had a full-on out-of-body experience in class today when Mr. Belachuk explained how we’ll be creating a portfolio of work that expresses who we are as artists. One minute I was sitting there looking over the assignment sheet, and the next I could see my mother’s paint-flecked hands and smell the solvents she used to clean her brushes. There was this ache in the middle of my chest, and I just knew that the only way to fix it was to create something.
That’s when I started making my list and fantasizing about shopping for supplies. I want to do it all—sculpture, paintings, sketches. I want to take the mess inside me and transform it into one beautiful thing after another.
Two hours.
I let my head fall forward onto my desk. We’ll never make it to the store tonight. Even if we eat right at seven o’clock, when Dad gets home, he’ll still want to check in with Madge and get changed and watch the news. The sign in the window of Morton’s Art Supply will flip to CLOSED and I’ll still be stuck here, crawling out of my skin.
I groan and pull out my sketchbook in an effort to distract myself. Of course, it just happens to fall open to the drawing I started at Jessie’s house the other day, ratcheting my frustration level up even further. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t get this
