“If you’ll forgive my assumption here,” I say, “you don’t seem like party-hosting is your jam.”

He shakes his head.

“If you let us, my mom and I can take care of all of that. You just provide the venue.”

I deeply hope this is true, and that my mother doesn’t kill me later, but I remind myself that I’m mainly doing this for her, so she has no grounds for complaining. “If you’re interested, let me or my mom know. I’m sure we can make it happen.”

“I, uh, might be,” he says.

Amanda makes a soft, choking sound.

“You okay?” I ask her.

“Swallowed wrong,” she says, gesturing to her plastic cup of beer.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to my mom about it.”

“I’ll give you my phone number,” Brody says, holding out his hand.

1) That was definitely a full sentence, and 2) He’s asking for my phone. So he can enter his number in it.

My fourteen-year-old self squees so loudly and for so long that Brody says, impatiently, “Your phone.”

I dig it out and hand it over, and he taps his digits in, then hands it back.

I’m doing this for Mom, I tell myself.

And Abuelita.

I am so full of it.

5

Rachel

“Real Romance,” I read off the side of the demo bin, as I set it down next to my mom. She’s sitting in a comfy chair with her legs up on an ottoman in a Rush Creek living room, site of my first girls’ night out. The women slowly filter from the kitchen—where the drinks and snacks are—into the living room. They arrange themselves in a circle, perched on kitchen chairs they hauled in.

“I thought it said ‘Read Romance,’” I tell her. “Now that would be a great business, don’t you think? Curated romance novels, sold direct, in the privacy of your own home party.”

She looks like she’s seriously thinking about it, so I say, “Kidding, Mami!” All the bins attended to, I position myself behind my mom, ready to bring her what she needs from her stash of boxes.

The women settle in, and my mom makes them all introduce themselves and explain why they accepted the RSVP.

The answers vary wildly. Quite a few women respond, “I was just curious!” A few say a friend made them come, shooting fond or dirty looks at the friend in question. Others use phrases like, “self care,” “self-indulgence,” or “luxury.”

“I could use some new toys,” one woman says, which seems like kind of an odd answer, but maybe she’s one of those people who fully embraces a new hobby. Like, she’ll buy the whole line of candles, or whatever, and the stands that go with them, and photograph them for Instagram, one per day, for thirty days.…