Ma bobs her head multiple times, then follows my sister to the room where we set mattresses covered in fluffy blankets on the floor, giving the illusion of one giant bed. Another one of Wren’s genius ideas. I almost broke my back bringing some of these mattresses into the room, but it was worth it. Before leaving, Ma looks at Wren and I and gives us a look that shows me just how grateful she is.

“Thank you again,” I tell Wren once we’re alone.

She rolls her eyes, then picks up both of our plates and brings them to the sink. “Stop thanking me and start washing instead.”

I shake my head. How a person can be so calm yet so commanding, I will never know.

I start washing the dishes, Wren drying beside me. The girls eventually bring their plates back to the kitchen before making their way to the living room with Callie and my mother. In the background, I hear high-pitched shrieks, followed by the opening credits of a movie Callie watches every single year.

The music my sister selected still plays from the speaker I linked to my phone. I still don’t know who the singer is, but he’s pretty good.

“Are you dancing?”

I turn to Wren, who’s watching me with a raised brow while drying a plate.

“So what if I am?” I say.

Her eyes narrow, although a twinkle of amusement fills them. “You dance?”

I laugh. “I’m Dominican, cariño. Of course, I dance.”

She hums, then returns to her drying. My hips never stop moving. I wasn’t lying: when there’s music, I can never not dance. It’s automatic.

“What about you?” I ask with a smirk.

“What about me?”

“You dance?”

She shakes her head vigorously. “Nope. Can’t dance to save my life.”

“Come on, now,” I say while drying my hands on a rag. “Everyone can dance. It’s natural.”

“No, it’s not.”

It might be the two beers I just drank, or the fullness in my chest from seeing my sister so happy, or just that damn black dress, but something pushes me to extend a hand and say, “I’ll show you.”

Her eyes triple in size, and before I can remove my hand, she whips it with her dish rag. “I’m not dancing.”

“Why not?” I smirk. “Scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

Hips moving left and right, I move closer to her, hand still extended. “Then you have no reason not to let me teach you.”

She rolls her eyes, but when she sees I’m not letting this go, she puts her hand in mine. Her skin is warm, even a little clammy. I take her other hand and start walking backward, dragging her slowly with me.