“I know what matters.”
Then he told me he loved the way I laughed when I was trying not to. The way I checked the doors twice before bed. The way I ordered French fries and then stole his because mine somehow never tasted as good.
He said he wanted ordinary mornings with me.
Grocery lists.
Bills.
Bad television.
Family dinners.
The boring parts.
Especially the boring parts.
Then he took out the ring.
A small princess-cut diamond caught the light from the patio lanterns.
“Will you marry me?”
I said yes before he finished.
An hour later, we were back at our apartment.
I sat on the couch staring at my hand.
Hector leaned against the kitchen island.
“You should call your mom.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because she’s your mom?”
I laughed.
“Give me one good reason not to post it first.”
He smiled cautiously.
“Because she’ll be offended?”
“She’ll be offended either way.”
“You’re serious.”
“Do you remember Christmas?”
“The promotion dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother talked about Berenice’s new house.”
“For forty-five minutes.”
“Forty-two.”
“You timed it?”
“I was bored.”
I lifted my phone.
“She’ll find a way to make this about Berenice too.”
Hector walked over and stood behind the sofa.
“Maybe this time is different.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the embarrassing part.
At twenty-seven, after decades of being second place in my own family, some small part of me still waited for the day my parents would suddenly look at me and realize I had been standing there the entire time.
I took a photograph of my hand by the window.
Posted it.
I said yes.
Mom called less than two hours later.
“Jimena Isabel Salcedo.”
Full name.
Not good.
I put her on speaker.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How could you announce your engagement online before telling your own mother?”
Hector covered his mouth to hide a smile.
“I was going to call.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“I had to hear it from Patricia.”
“You heard it two hours after it happened.”
“That is not the point.”
I looked at Hector.
He mouthed, Sorry.
Then Mom’s tone changed.
Instantly.
“Well, never mind. We need to plan your engagement dinner.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“A proper dinner.”
“Mom, Hector and I were thinking something small.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Dad’s voice came from somewhere behind her.
“Your mother and I will host it.”
I heard a chair move.
Dad got closer to the phone.
“That is what parents do.”
I nearly laughed.
Instead, I said, “We really don’t need anything elaborate.”
Mom was already naming people.
The Gonzalezes.
The Parkers from Dad’s office.
A family from church.
Mrs. Torres from their neighborhood.
A couple I had not seen since middle school.
By the time the call ended, my engagement dinner had seventy-four potential guests.
Hector sat beside me.
“Well.”
“Well what?”
“They’re trying.”
I looked at him.
“Are they?”
“Yes.”
“Or Mom just found a new event to organize?”
“Can’t it be both?”
I rested my head against him.
“Maybe.”
For the next few weeks, I let myself believe that.
Mom called constantly.
She sent photographs of linen samples.
Flower arrangements.
Dinner menus.
Cake designs.
She discussed whether a string quartet felt too formal for an afternoon engagement dinner.
She asked my opinion.
Sometimes she even listened.
Dad called me one evening just to ask how work was going.
“How’s the hospital software project?”
I was so surprised I almost forgot the answer.