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.
I shake the lightweight box, marked FRAGILE, on my way upstairs to the kitchen. Since Isa and my brother had their “last-minute” ceremony at City Hall five months ago, Bo has spent most of her time in their Minneapolis studio apartment instead of our five-bedroom suburban home. I drag a knife through the box and unfold the flaps. Though I’ve kept my promise to help my brother raise Bo, I was stripped of my rank and privileges when he let Isa back in our family. She’ll destroy him again. Until then, I’ve been demoted to auntie. But it seems Bo no longer needs me now that her parents are together like she’d always dreamed.
Beneath Styrofoam peanuts, I uncover a smaller package and open it. There’s a beautiful 8x10, gold-flecked, crystal frame inside. The photo enclosed shows my brother and Isa holding hands, kissing as Bo and my husband stand in approval of this New York moment no one else was invited to. With the four of them coordinated in off-white formalwear, it certainly doesn’t appear to be the last-minute arrangement my brother claimed it was.
It’s true he rushed to New York after getting a random call that Isa had relapsed. Somehow he felt responsible and couldn’t bear to leave her side. So he married her like he had always wanted. That’s what he said. Fact is, Isa’s a thirty-five year old, burnt out model who has probably slept with every agent in the industry. Twice. And has gotten wasted at so many parties she’s probably no longer welcome. That’s how she ended up in New York alone for thirteen years in the first place. With her best days behind her, she has weaseled her way back into our family for another shot at stability through marriage and motherhood. I wish my lovesick brother could see that he and Bo deserve better than that washed up diva’s sloppy attempt at sober living. Isa doesn’t deserve a fairy tale ending. She hasn’t done a thing to earn a place in this family. I’ve made all the sacrifices!
The image squeezes my throat until a tear trickles into my lips. My brother’s proposal was a surprise. But the “spontaneous” wedding far away from his family was intentional. And that was Isa’s doing. I flip the frame and snatch the photo out. If ripping her from my brother would somehow bring Bo back to me, where she belongs, I’d tear this picture!