“Package for a Señorita Bonita Ysabela Martinez Galvan-Perez,” the delivery guy drones, handing me his pen for my signature. “What a mouthful,” he says as he returns to his truck. His remark is out of line, but he’s right. No one else would address my teenage niece, Bo, as señorita followed by her entire legal name except her Dominican mother, Isa. She didn’t mark her name as sender, but I know this is from her. Isa is marking her territory, repossessing everything—everyone—she gave up thirteen years ago when she’d rather party, and sprawl on casting couches for New York modeling agents than be my brother’s wife or a mother to their two year-old.
FRAGILE
FRAGILE
FRAGILE
“Package for a Señorita Bonita Ysabela Martinez Galvan-Perez,” the delivery guy drones, handing me his pen for my signature. “What a mouthful,” he says as he returns to his truck. His remark is out of line, but he’s right. No one else would address my teenage niece, Bo, as señorita followed by her entire legal name except her Dominican mother, Isa. She didn’t mark her name as sender, but I know this is from her. Isa is marking her territory, repossessing everything—everyone—she gave up thirteen years ago when she’d rather party, and sprawl on casting couches for New York modeling agents than be my brother’s wife or a mother to their two year-old.