Page 6 of Two to Tango

“We’re still waiting for Julieta to find somebody, too,” my mom chimes in. From anyone else, this might seem insulting, but it’s just par for the course from my family.

“How's work?” Cecilia asks me instead.

“Busy.”

“Yeah? You look a little tired.”

Iamtired. A bone-deep exhaustion that I can’t shake. The words from Larissa pop into my head again, unwelcome.

“She works so hard,” my mom says. “But what a wonderful job she has. And how great it is to have work, especially in these times. Gracias a Dios.” I know she’s proud of me and all the work I’ve put into my career, but right now, with my grandfather present at dinner, it feels more like an act.

“Mi hija abogada,” she says to the table, showing me off. She looks like she might cry. My mother has always been proud of my success as a lawyer, and she has always made sure to let me know just how happy it makes her.

"Si," I nod. "I am lucky to have this job." It's true, and I am very grateful.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s tired,” Agostina adds in, speaking to my mother.

“Ya sé, Agostina," my mom responds, eyeing her. She turns to me. “Come más, Julieta.”

She adds more steak to my plate, even though I didn’t want it, and the conversation continues.

An hour later, most of us have finished eating, and dinner is starting to wind down. We’re still sitting around the table,talking, when mother brings over a box of alfajores that abuelo brought for us.

Tío Luis grabs one first, unwrapping the gold foil wrapper and biting into the cookies sandwiched with dulce de leche, enrobed in chocolate. I reach over to grab one, but my abuelo calls me over instead. I notice he’s holding a box as I walk to him and sit down.

“I was cleaning some things out last month and I found this,” he starts. “I didn’t even know it was in the closet, and I feel terrible that I found it so late, but I’m glad I can deliver it to you in person.”

“This is for me?” I ask.

He gently places the box on my lap, nodding.

I glance around the room at everybody who has stopped conversations to look over at us.

It’s a shoebox, still in good condition, with minor bends on the corners. Even though that should tip me off, it still comes as a shock when I take off the lid and come face to face with the contents.

“Holy shit,” I hear Delfi whisper.

Agostina gasps. “No fucking way.”

My mother places a hand over her mouth, while tía Cecilia just sits there smiling wide.

In the box, perfectly worn and loved, are my grandmother’s dancing shoes.

“No entiendo,” I furrow my brow, looking up at my abuelo.

“La tarjeta.” He points, signaling to a note tucked on the side.

I open it up to find my grandmother’s delicate loopy script on white sturdy stationery:Para Julieta.

“She left these for me? I still don’t understand.”

“Oh my God, this makes so much sense,” I hear Delfi mutter to Agostina.

My mother’s pursed lips are speaking volumes right now and my father has taken to eating another alfajor, unaware of the emotional turmoil about to erupt inside of me.

My grandmother passed away two years ago, a long road of health struggles coupled with old age. I still remember the phone call from my mother: early morning, I almost ignored it thinking it was Barbara calling. I spent the next week tending to everything, making arrangements, making space for whatever anybody needed. I don’t even think I slept.

Why would she leave me her shoes? Me, of all people? Agostina would make better use of these. She does everything. Even Delfi, ever the romantic, would love them and give them a happy home. But me? They’re just going to continue to collect dust in a closet.

---