SHOUT - Adopted by Lin Manuel Miranda

GIVING THANKS

Lin waits until Thanksgiving to introduce me to his family. He says the occasion is perfect because everyone can give thanks that I came into their lives. I give thanks because his mother is cooking. Otherwise, the firemen would have had a very exciting holiday. 

I know it's a special occasion because we turn all the lights on and crank up the heater. We eat pancakes for breakfast and hot pockets for lunch. Lin must have forgotten to take his medicine. He's sliding in socks from living room to kitchen and singing operas in Spanish. I'm on toddler-duty. At 4:30 Sebastian brings his outfit into the guest room: a mini suit and bow tie. Looks like he's getting married. He thrashes when I button his shirt and kicks me in the nose when I pull on his socks. I'm not saying he's especially difficult to manage, but the kid's got a wild streak in him. When provoked, he goes full on jungle animal, kicking and screaming in some indecipherable toddler language. I'm wearing an outfit my sister Radhika gave me, one from Pakistan: a tight green-pink dress with a scarf draped around my neck. I wear a jean skirt over the bottom of the dress. I don't want to completely steal Radhika's look. She wanted to be a designer. 

And my heart stutters, then stops, then no no no, don't need to think about that. No need. Don't want to. Never will. It's okay. Breathe. Breathe. It's all good. I'm good. Snap out of it. Snap. Out.

I take my sweet time drawing my mehndi. No one can yell at me for it. Holidays are a free pass. Mess up? Get in a fight? Break mother's fine china? Don't worry about it. Days like this bring food, joy, and passive parents. I think that's why Lin waited until now to introduce me to his family. It's Thanksgiving. Vile little foster gremlins are welcomed with open arms. 

We leave at 5:00. Two subway transfers and three blocks later, we arrive in Brooklyn Heights. Lin's parents' house is your typical Brooklyn Brownstone, three stories high and shingled with curled cement. They have a welcome mat and a harvest wreath hanging from the door. Inside, the light glows orange. The main room smells like lasagna and potpourri. There are bookshelves and cushy furniture and scented candles. I meet Lin's family, all smiles and black hair and ooey-gooey hugs.

Lin's parents smile off our coats and smile me into a hug. Well, hugs on their part. I count three big breaths before the skin-to-skin contact is over. They kiss Lin and Vanessa on the cheek. Luis spins Sebastian around in his arms and Luz kisses his forehead and says something in Spanish. 

The fire escape is locked from the outside. These people have not yet said three words to me and already know me way too well. 

"And look, here's Miss Vidya!" Luz swoops her hands over my arms. "I like your tattoos." 

Her upturned lips say, I like your tattoos. Her eyes say, you're too young for tattoos, you juvie-girl, use markers or something, you're not supposed to be here, but you are, so take off your shoes so you don't fuck up the rug.

Lin beams. He looks almost proud. "It's not tattoos. It's plant paste. Not permanent. It fades."

I watch Luis's brown eyes squint at the jewelry on my forehead. "What is that, Indian? Or--"

He waits for an answer. My jewelry jingles when I cross my arms. "Pakistani," I tell him. I feel like I'm giving a speech at a funeral, like someone else should be here to say what I'm saying. Luis stands with his mouth open for a moment before complementing Sebastian's bow tie. I scoot past them.

Lin's family congregates in the living room. There are seven of them, not counting myself and the people I came with. There's Lin's sister, her husband, and his three kids. They remind me of Sebastian. Then there's Lin's parents, Luis and Luz. The abuelos. Luis looks like Lin. Luz looks like the sister. For Lin, Vanessa and Sebastian, there is food, family and music. For me, there is a couch covered by a blanket so I don't contaminate their precious textile. I sit.