Page 22 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

CAI

I can’t speak for all Cuban women, but in my family, we meet potential natural disasters with preparation. We outwork the trials and tribulations. We face anxiety head-on with chore accomplishment and an energy reserve that rivals the Energizer Bunny.

After the niceties, the work is delegated, and I am whisked away to the kitchen with most of the women, while Sonny is pulled to the side by Rey. I catch his eye, about to protest, not wanting to leave him to fend for himself, but he doesn’t look upset at all. He doesn’t look annoyed or overwhelmed; his eyes aren’t pleading with me to save him from this imposition or threatening me with an argument later. He actually seems… happy. Absolutely content and fine with the situation.

I heard him speak up with authority on the phone, so I know he can assert himself if need be. That assertive side of Sonny actually makes his humility more outstanding; he can be forceful, but he chooses to be gentle. So when Sonny smiles reassuringly, I know he isn’t only being polite.

With that small gesture, a weight has been lifted. How long had I carried the feeling like I am a burden to my partners? I hadn’t realized I’ve been doing it until just this moment. It isn’t until I realize that my gut reaction when wanting something, even if that something is just kindness, is to negotiate, offer a concession, or even plead. I haven’t expected someone just to be agreeable without expecting anything in return.

It is shocking to me that, after all the food my family has already prepared and brought over, we would still be needed in the kitchen.

Upon entering the room, the direction is given to begin filling the water bottles. Many of these will go in the freezer to keep the refrigerator cold as long as possible. Others would be set aside to drink as needed or for the bathrooms. All are preparations for the loss of power, which was usually a given.

There are only so many people you can have filling water bottles at once, so some of the women begin warming the food for dinner on large platters.

Cuban matriarchs in my family made an art out of complaining, hurricane or no hurricane, so Tia Elena makes sure to point out that the water bottles should’ve been put in the freezer hours ago.

“The wind is already crazy outside, and the storm will be here soon. Let’s hope we don’t lose power before they freeze.” Tia Elena notes as we all work.

“I would’ve, but I had to get the house cleaned, and all the sheets done, and the fans needed to be dusted…” My mom lists all the chores she has done. She makes sure to throw some shade my way. “Maybe if Cayetana had helped out a little more, I could’ve gotten more done.”

“You can’t expect Cayetana to do that,” Tia Elena says, coming unexpectedly to my defense. “After all, she came home with a boyfriend.”

“Well, first, I wasn’t even meant to be here, so I can hardly be the problem,” I say in my own defense. “Second, why do we have to clean the house like it’s going on sale when a hurricane hits?” This is a valid observation and something I never understood. Why do we always deep-clean before a potential natural disaster, as if dust invites bad luck?

“And third, he’s not my boyfriend,” I say this last bit quickly, hoping it won’t be dwelt on. No dice.

Tia Elena literally stops what she’s doing to express her shock. “Not your boyfriend?”

“No, escucha esto.” My mom seems all too happy to share the update. “El boyfriend is in Puerto Rico. It’s only thanks to Hurricane Olive that we get to see Cayetana.”

Tia Elena’s eyes looked like they might pop out of her head.

“Well, he had to work.” The lie spills out. “We were considering surprising you guys afterward…”

I can feel myself starting to sweat. I am singularly focused on changing the look all over their faces—the look that says I am a disappointment or that I have ruined another relationship.

“Sure you were.” This time, it is Tia Julia, rolling her eyes. “Cayetana, you called to prepare us for the fact that both your names would be on the Christmas card. You expect us to believe that you’d plan a trip here together without telling us?”

“Well, he insisted on it being a surprise.” I hear myself say. “I thought maybe he had an even bigger surprise planned, and I didn’t want to ruin it, so…”

It is like a compulsion at this point. I was having an out-of-body experience, as if I were watching a stranger tell these lies.

The kitchen felt like a sauna. If they found out how wrong I was about this, how different the actual case was, I would throw up right here.

“But este el Sonny, he seems so nice.” Back to sweet Tia Elena, who seemed confused by the whole thing.

“He’s a nice friend who we are helping out for the hurricane,” I clarify.

“At least he doesn’t avoid your family like la plaga,” my mom says with a sour face.

“Trevor isn’t avoiding you. He’s just been… we’ve been busy. If you met him, you’d like him. More than Sonny probably.” Why am I pushing Trevor this hard? I don’t even recognize the person I’m describing, but it definitely isn’t my waste of a boyfriend. Of course, I am really defending myself.

“When’s the worst of the storm supposed to hit?” I say, hoping to change the topic.

That did it. The conversation spins off into debates over when the hurricane-force winds will arrive. Conversations veer off onto the latest storm trajectory, and everyone chimed in with their “expert” opinion on how bad it will be, given when it makes landfall and the pressure systems involved. The consensus is that we’ll start getting hurricane-force winds in the next few hours.

“You know,” Tia Elena says solemnly. “There haven’t been accurate storm predictions since Walter Mercado…“ She gets caught up before she can finish and crosses herself. My mother and the tias all cross themselves as well. Walter Mercado is the recently deceased over-the-top astrologer who would air on TV every evening at seven to tell you your horoscope. Most people I’ve spoken to grew up huddled around the TV for the news or some family show. We gathered to see what Walter Mercado would tell us about our fortune.