Page 5 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

Hey familia, surprise… plane diverted to MIA. Hurricane thing. I’m here. Like, right now.

The group chat explodes before I can even second-guess my wording.

Alex

OMG Sis! Can’t you warn anyone?! Why were you even on a plane?!

Sofia

Yay we need a new pic for Insta!

Tia Elena

Al fin! ¿Tienes hambre?

Don’t eat! We have so much food we have to eat in case the power goes out!

Mama

¿Estás con el boyfriend? Does he like flan? I’ll put on the cafetera.

I stare at the messages, heart pounding. They’re acting like I won the lottery. Of course, they don’t know that I’m showing up unannounced, single, heartbroken, and possibly about to be interrogated by every tía on the block. That’s a relief until I realize I will eventually have to tell them, and then it’ll be mortifying.

Or do I? What if I just stretch the truth a bit? After all, there’s a hurricane coming, and they must all be preoccupied with all of that. It would be selfish, unkind even, to add my current predicament to everything else they’re handling.

Sonny gives me a tight smile and a short wave as he gets up to deplane. I stay put and decidedly type back:

Cai

No, he had a work thing. Long story. Just me.

The replies keep coming: heart emojis, party poppers, dancing ladies. To them, it’s a celebration. My brother finally chimes in with his typical no-nonsense take.

Crispi

Are we preparing for Hurricane Olive or Hurricane Cayetana? Maybe we focus on the real storm instead of stuffing our faces?

Alex

Hush Crispi. You, Papa and Los Tios can worry about the storm. We want to drink cafe and hear about Cayetana’s life.

Rey’s running errands near the airport. I’ll tell him to go pick you up. Text me when you get your luggage.

I consider reminding them to call me Cai, not Cayetana. My sister, Alex, whose name is Alejandrina, has made similar requests concerning the use of her nickname, so she should be more sympathetic. Instead of starting any drama, however, I decide to give a thumbs-up and get up with a heavy sigh to get off the plane.

In the terminal, I wonder if I’d suddenly stepped into a post-apocalyptic movie. Several people are loudly yelling on their phones. Some are gesturing wildly at airline staff, clearly blaming them for the unexpected weather. Suitcases are being dragged in every direction by the hurried steps of passengers with someplace to be. Others are sprawled on the floor, having already given up on their hope of finding somewhere else to go. The frantic feel lingers in the air, making it feel thicker and muggier than your typical indoor humidity in Miami.

A group of people I recognize from my flight appear to be gathered around an airline employee who is giving them directions. I see Sonny at the edge of the mob, and I walk over to him.

“What’s going on?” I ask him.

Sonny looks up from his phone. “It’s your typical disaster movie opening. Looks like almost all of the flights are grounded. Rental cars are all rented in a 50-mile radius. No hotel rooms. So yeah, people are freaking out.”

I look around again, specifically at the people’s faces. Most appear to be terrified. As if there is a horde of zombies on its way to us, not a really bad storm.

“Looks more like they’re expecting World War Z rather than Into the Storm, and the hurricane is hours away,” I say as if reasoning is needed at this time.

Sonny shrugs. “The airline person told us, ‘Welcome to Miami in hurricane season.’”