The Tequila Worm by Viola Canales Read Free Book Online

and more of her sticky tape to cover something, “but my things will last forever—and will always stay brand-new, too.”
    She sat, swallowed up in her enormous wine red armchair, moving one bare thigh this way and that way because her sweat had pasted her to the plastic. She pried her arms from the armrests, making a rude sucking sound. I sat on the massive matching sofa, not knowing if and how and when to move, but ever more concerned that the pools of sweat gathering around my thighs and legs would soon start running like rivers onto her plastic-covered carpet. Every two minutes or so I turned to pull up the purple octopus doily—yes, one of Mama’s wacky creations—that kept sliding down and bunching on my neck like a big ball.
    I wanted to yell, Why don’t you just go ahead and enjoy
your furniture? Uncover it!
But she would say, “I understand how to keep things new, how to keep things lasting forever, truly a great secret.” Recently, she’d even arranged for the funeral home to line her entire casket with plastic, so that she didn’t ever have to worry about bugs or dirt or anything.
    Tía Petra left and then returned with a plate of hot, crispy cinnamon-covered
buñelos
. They smelled so good. I took the top one. “Tía
,
” I said, “can I eat it on the sofa?”
    “
No!
That’ll dirty the cover. Come to the table. I’ll get you a plate.” And of course, the table was entirely covered with . . .
    I pulled out the school brochure. Tía Petra returned with a plate and a big glass pitcher of bright red hibiscus water. She poured me a glass and then sat down beside me.
    I thanked her, took a sip, and then handed her the brochure. “It’s a school in Austin. I just won a scholarship to go there.”
    “Yes, your mama told me. I’m so proud of you, mi’ja. This is for when?”
    “For next year . . . if I get to go.”
    “Do you want to go?”
    “Yes.”
    “What about your papa and mama?”
    “They’re still talking about it. We’ve already had a million
sobremesas
on it.”
    “Ay, mi’ja, ”Tía Petra said laughing. “It’s always harder on the parents. And then there’s little Lucy. But let me tell you a secret. I’m your godmother, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you also know the secret of the godmother?”
    “Well . . . you sponsored my baptism . . . and you’re supposed to take care of me . . . if something ever happens to my parents.”
    “Yes, that’s all true. But as your godmother, I also have a say regarding your education. Did you know that?”
    “No.”
    “Yes, but here’s the catch. Your education means not only your school and book education but your spiritual education as well. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
    “Is it about learning to be a good
comadre
?”
    “Yes, of sorts. So your papa and mama have mentioned this?”
    “Well . . . sort of. In a way that makes them sound like they’re from another world.”
    Tía Petra started laughing. “What do you mean?”
    “Well, Mama worries that if I go away to Saint Luke’s, I won’t learn to be a good
comadre
. And when I asked what that meant, Papa said that it was at the heart of learning to be happy.”
    “
Ay
. Two Martians talking. That’s because you’re still young, Sofia, and learning what your mama means takes time. And not through books but through experience, and having
comadres
around to help you.”
    “But I’m happy now, so why do they keep saying they want me to learn to be happy? They also talk about discovering my
don
and things like that.”
    “Yes. I’m glad you’re happy, Sofia. But like I said, you’re still young. When I was your age, I was happy too, and thought I would always be that way. And no one could tell me
anything
. But as I got older, well, things got trickier. And then my father died. That’s when things really got hard. Part of learning to become a good
comadre
is learning how to feel happiness, especially after life gets tricky.
    “But now I’m talking like a