Page 7 of Interpreter

With a light blow on my newly polished big toe, my brother from another mother sits back in his chair, folds his arms, and lets out a deep sigh.

“What’s a penis going to do for you, Mami?” His hand darts out and makes a swirling motion as if he’s drawing a circle around the hot mess that I currently am.

Have I mentioned Felipe is super dramatic?

“Well,” I start, opening both eyes and sitting up straighter. I need my words to sound convincing and educated, not slurred and mispronounced. “For starters, I could work for you while unemployed.” I look at my wrist like there’s a watch there. There isn’t. “Like at the end of the school year.”

Felipe’s lips thin like the mere thought of me working for him is atrocious. He totally ignores my ticking timeline of impending unemployment.

“I’m serious, Pe. I need a job! Principal Moorehouse said the board voted to cut the foreign language program instead of making their precious athletics department use last year’s uniforms.” I attempt an eye roll, but the way Felipe smirks at me, I’m pretty sure it looks like I am about to pass out, which, in all honesty, is quite possible at this point.

“Look, Mami.” He scoots closer and plucks the bottle of tequila from my hand. I was done with it anyway. Maybe not. Maybe I could have used one more sip. “No. You’re cut off. I can’t carry you up the stairs anymore,” he adds, answering my desperate look at the bottle of tequila. “Last time I pulled a muscle and laid in bed for a solid week.”

Such a liar…. “I told you and Marcus to stop using that Kama Sutra app. But you insisted on adding some kink to your relationship.”

And kink they both got, just not in the way they imagined. Seriously, it was bad. Felipe needed help in the bathroom and, well, let’s just say, we weren’t able to look each other in the eye for a couple weeks.

“Listen—” He waves away my smug look. “—you’re drunk and I’m tired.” I cock my head to the side. At least I think I do. The room keeps spinning, so it’s a little hard to tell. “The point is, you need a job to keep your work visa and stay in the states with moi. Having a penis will not help you accomplish any of those things.”

I beg to differ. Coach Murano gets away with new equipment and his job, thanks to his penis. Although I like Principal Moorehouse, I understand there’s a brotherhood of the penis that I will never be able to penetrate—pun intended. And having a penis would ensure me a job at Felipe’s club. It’s a special one. No tacos allowed. Only length and girth are admitted to Felipe’s high-end karaoke bar. Felipe would disagree and tell you it’s not a karaoke bar or a club, but rather a high-end restaurant for the elite of Madison, Georgia. Its name is Magic Michelle’s. You do the math. Regardless, I have nothing to offer Magic Michelle’s. The only thing I have that can constitute as being long is my Latina hair and American credit card bill.

“Maybe not,” I argue with the man still holding my tequila hostage, “but at least I would have been able to tell Coach Murano to suck it when he smiled down at me like a weasel.”

Felipe grins. “Do weasels smile? I mean, I don’t really run into many weasels, so I can’t say for sure, but—”

“Oh my gosh! Weasels don’t smile!” I explode. Where is the floor? I need a good cry in my closet or bathroom. Screw it. Wherever my feet stop is fine.

“Felipe,” I whine, poking my lip out in a pout. “I need you right now. Can you please focus?”

The only man in my life drops the stupid grin on his flawless face and slides me to the edge of the high-top table. Those strong arms, that he swears he doesn’t do anything to achieve, wrap around me in a soft hold, and I snuggle in, resting my chin on his shoulder.

Oh, hello floor. Nice to see you again.

“We’ll figure this out, Mami. Even if I have to dress you in drag, we’ll find you another job.”

I snort, totally unladylike, but Felipe has witnessed worse, so he doesn’t comment.

“You know,” comes Felipe’s thick Spanish accent, “you could always marry an American.”

I pull back, wishing the floor farewell, and lock eyes with my bestie.

“Are you saying you’ll marry me, Pe?”

He was born here. We already live together. I think it’s a solid option.

A completely inappropriate sound bursts out of Felipe.

“What’s so funny? Marrying me would be beneficial to both of us,” I add, suddenly realizing this might be the answer to my problem.

“Uh, hell no.” Myex-best friend sighs and lets go of me to tilt my chin to meet his brown eyes. I hurry and close them. I am seriously about to get rejected by a man whose summer wardrobe looks better than mine.

“Come on, Mami. You don’t want to marry me.”

Well no, not now.

Now I want to take my sad and lonely ass upstairs to my apartment, which I happen to share with Felipe above Magic Michelle’s.

Oh God.

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