Girl Crush | Alex Alvarez

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐂𝐔𝐁𝐀𝐍-𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋

"Why am I here?"

"Because Tia Ophelia liked your mother so that automatically invites your whole family." Alex shrugged as we walked in. Monica Riera, or Tia Bitchy as we knew her, hugged Lydia with tears in her eyes. She looked at me with an angry glint in her eyes as she spoke. "What is a Puerto Rican doing here?"

"Okay, lady—"

"She's Cuban! Ella es cubana, tía." Alex smiled nervously as he grabbed my ready-to-wrestle fists to the other side of the room. I smiled softly as he talked to the other relatives he probably didn't know—I could not believe that Alex remembered how much I loathed being called Puerto Rican because my dad was Mexican and my mom was Cuban and those were already two countries and you didn't have to bring freaking Puerto Rico into it. "Thanks."

"God, what would you do without me."

"Let's see," I began listing things off in my fingers, "Live normally, breathe normally, study normally, sleep normally..."

"It was a rhetorical question, Stel." Alex covered my mouth to stop me from talking. A blush crawled up my neck, reddening my cheeks as he lowered his hand. Alex scratched his neck awkwardly as I coughed, looking at anyone but him. "Oh look, other people!"

I sprinted away before Alex could question it, body slamming into Schneider as he spied on Pilar and her partner Susan. "Qué haces ahí hermana? Te ves ... preocupada."

"Hermana? No soy tu hermana, bicho raro anormalmente alto! Yo tampoco estoy preocupada, sólo estoy mirando a mi alrededor. Have you seen my sister? Before you answer that, do you have an asthma inhaler?"

"Woah there," Schneider calmed me down, "I'm gonna need you to repeat all the Spanish you just said because you're a lot faster than Ximena Romina."

"Who the hell is Ximena Romina, tonto?" I whisper-yelled, worried that the lady might show up if I insult her. "The lady from my tapes—sabes que estoy aprendiendo español, verdad?"

"Schneider, I want you to pray to Jesus right now."

"Eh, I'm not really that into Christianity, but I'm really interested in other religions. I'm thinking about exploring Buddhism—wait, why do you want me to pray?"

"So that you won't feel pain when a little girl saws your head off when you're asleep." I smiled as I walked toward Lydia. My jaw dropped open at the pure insanity Penelope and Tia Gray Tooth were displaying near the doors. "Don't make promises you can't keep—and I love your curls, always have, always will."

"That was out-of-this-world caca."

"Tell me about it," Lydia rolled her eyes, "It's time for Plan Mantilla Ladrona. Cover me, Stellita."

"Tia Ophelia! Oh, los recuerdos que compartimos fueron los mejores momentos de mi vida. How will I ever recover from such a great loss?" I bawled as Lydia discreetly tried to stuff the mantilla in the casket. I jumped as a hand touched my shoulder comfortingly. "I know, I know. She was such a great woman. Oh! Sequin eye patch—nice touch."

"Pilar, I didn't—wow, it's like you're a cat or something!" I exclaimed as the stealthy woman looked at me confusedly. I gave her an awkward smile as Lydia put the mantilla back in her purse and started sobbing. "Poor Stellita, Ophelia was very dear to her. Déjala descansar en paz."

"That was close," I breathed out as Pilar left with a comforting smile. Lydia looked at me in admiration as I wiped away the tears I'd cried on command. I cursed under my breath as she called Alex over. "Papito, there are too many people around. It's time to do what we talked about."

"No!" Alex and I groaned together. Plan Mantilla Ladrona was not working in my favor. God knew I hated funerals and large gatherings with Cuban people, I had no idea why he was pushing both on me. "Please, there must be another way."

"There is no other way, Now, go." Lydia pushed us away. Alex grabbed my hand, intertwining it with his own as we walked to the front of the room. "Ready?"

"Break out the baby teeth necklace and get me a wedding dress, I'm ready."

Alex laughed. "Does anybody want to see the Cuban girl who I'm probably going to marry and have lots of kids with?"

"Kids? We didn't rehearse that—okay." A massive stampede of Cubans ran toward us as I tried to stay afloat. Tias and abuelas from all over the freaking planet started touching my hair and my face, checking the size of my waist, and asking if I knew Spanish. "Don't let of my hand, Stel. Our bodies will never be found."

"I hope you die, loser."