Four Years

"Magdalena, apúrate," my mother called. She waved me forward and I tottered to catch up to her in my heels.

There was nothing like going back to the suburban oasis of Exeter, Arizona, to make my mother nervous. Far from the drizzly, cool comfort of Seattle, her composed face started to melt away. Sometimes nearly literally—her makeup had a hard time withstanding the Southwestern heat.

"We're late, Magda," she hissed, turning and frowning at me. I was tempted to remind her that she would get wrinkles doing that, but thought better of it. If Exeter was discombobulating, being near her older sister Maria Eugenia was enough to rattle my mother's bones apart. Since Elena and Ivana were celebrating their quinceañera at the Exeter Golf and Country Club, my aunt was bound to be in a carnivorous mood, her lifelong competition with her sister elevated to homicidal levels.

Learning of my father's absence would probably also cause some kind of showdown between the sisters. His recent career-pivot into 'self-employed writer' had impressed no one on my mother's side of the family, and he was expected to atone. What better way than by paying tribute to Elena and Ivana at my aunt's party? Everyone showed up to my aunt's parties, after all. Everyone. Even people like my father, who she hated and for whom the dislike was surely mutual.

"Magda." When I finally caught up with my mother I could see she was pale under the sweaty sheen of her makeup. "I think we missed the waltz. What was wrong with that Uber driver? I told him where to turn..."

I shrugged and stopped listening as she continued to complain about the Uber. Watching my twin cousins waltz with their hirsute father sounded like something any sane person would be glad to miss.

"Mom, your..." I circled my hand around her face without saying anything, and she reached into her purse for a tissue.

"Don't these people know that it's winter?" she complained, dabbing at her face with the tissue and jettisoning it into a trashcan by the doors. "It's 80 degrees, and it's nighttime!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the building's foyer, guiding us toward the reception hall by following the heavy thump of bass. And the giant signs proclaiming in a unicorn's measure of glitter that the party was this way.

We stopped before the glass doors that led to the reception hall, where an attendant in black and white invited us to sign the guestbook and leave our address.

"She knows our address," my mother snapped. I raised my shoulders in apology as she turned her attention back to me.

"Why couldn't you wear turquoise?" She straightened out my burgundy dress, flicking invisible lint off the thin, sparkly straps.

I sighed and gestured at the dress I was wearing, which was already a concession to my mother; the slit ran up the side of my leg, reaching above my knees and tickling levels of impropriety. If I could have had my way I would've been wearing pajamas, bedded down watching Netflix at home in Seattle. "You liked this yesterday."

My mother tutted and set her jaw, steeling herself against entering the party and having to greet her sister. She gave my hair a final tousle, rearranging the loose curls she and the hairstylist had conspired upon.

"At least you're prettier than her daughters. And thinner." My mother savored the thought like the sweets she wouldn't let herself eat. "Work your weight into the conversation if you can," she added.

I thought about suggesting that she do that, instead, but decided I preferred surviving the night. I followed her into the party, hoping I would find someone from Saint Barbara's Academy that I recognized. It had been nearly four years, but Elena and Ivana would have invited seniors to seem cool.