Olga Dies Dreaming(33)

“If being a single woman made you gay,” Olga would say, “then make me Grand Marshall of the Pride Parade.”

This would inevitably inspire laughter, because everyone knew that Olga had always been a world-class hetero sucia, a rotating cast of boys and men trailing her since she had first begun to develop. Certainly, her aunt had never brought another woman around the family, minus her friend Lisa, who Lola had known so long, Olga retained no memory of even meeting her. Mabel had lobbied the rest of the cousins hard that Lisa was not Lola’s friend at all, but instead her lover, to which Olga retorted that people can and do have friends. “Not the Ortizes!” the rest of her cousins had replied. To a certain extent, this was true. Richie had three kids with ChaCha, two more with Ana. JoJo and Rita had Mabel, Isabel, and Tony. Everybody’s kids then had kids, except for Olga and Mabel. What room was there for friends when there was so much family around?

Olga’s real confusion about her tía’s life was rooted in her grandmother’s death. Before Abuelita passed away, Olga could understand why her aunt might feel she had to hide who she was from an admittedly old-fashioned and faithfully Catholic woman. But Abuelita had been gone for twelve years now and Olga saw so little need for a closet that she began to question the hypothesis—that her aunt was queer—in the first place. Her aunt was quiet, but fearless, unafraid to live life on her own terms. To Olga’s eye, her aunt’s persona simply didn’t befit a closeted person. Unlike her brother.

Olga had long suspected that Prieto was gay, but she knew he would more likely die than embrace an identity so “alternative.” His private life, in this regard, was one of the few unspoken, off-limit topics between them. Olga, unlike Mabel, did not like to trade in rumor and suppositions, especially where her brother was concerned, and so she kept this thought to herself. Also, no one would have chosen to believe her anyway. Her case for the matter rested largely on circumstantial questions for which her family would have convenient answers.

Wasn’t it weird that her brother had never had a girlfriend? He’s too dedicated to his work to have time!

But what about when he was younger? Why would a man so handsome want to be tied down?

Isn’t it strange how Sarita is around him? So cold and chilly, no hint of lost passion? Ay, her family would say, she’s just bitter that he ended things.

Olga was unable to articulate the less tangible reasons for her belief. Things that only she, raised under the same roof with him, noticed. How, when he’d take her to the pool at Sunset Park, she’d find his gaze lingering on the same shirtless boys her own eyes had wandered to. How, when she would clean his room, she’d find men’s muscle magazines hidden between the wall and his twin bed, tucked away like another guy might have stashed Playboys.

Prieto’s relationship with Sarita transformed a nagging feeling into an unconfirmed belief. Olga remembered cognitively registering, the first time he brought her around, how stiff he seemed. Like a robot playing the part of himself. Before his wedding ceremony, when he looked nearly sick, she’d reminded him that he didn’t need to go through with it. He’d replied, very seriously, that yes, he did. In a way, she supposed, he was right. To her consternation, her brother’s identity was completely enmeshed with the appearance of perfection. And while people weren’t outwardly homophobic, she understood that a description of the perfect Latino man did not include the word “gay.” Prieto’s need to be liked was compounded by his palpable fear of disappointing people: their family, their mother, his constituents. It was, to Olga, his main character flaw. So she said nothing, kept her thoughts to herself. At the end of the day, what did it matter who her brother wanted to fuck?

“???Wepa!!!” Prieto called out as he came into the house. “Nothing like coming back to a home full of fam!”

Olga could feel the energy of the place collectively shift, the center of gravity now firmly fixed on her brother. The king returned to his castle. Mabel showed him her favors, Lourdes walking him through the assembly line; her brother doled out hugs and kisses as he greeted each family member in turn. The first time she saw him work a room at a campaign event, she thought of times like this, here with their family—how effortless it was for him to make everyone feel special, how he seduced attention from a crowd.

“?Oye!” Tía Lola shouted. “What am I? Chopped liver? Come give Titi a kiss!”

Prieto and Olga’s father, Mabel would always say, were the only men Tía Lola ever glanced at twice.

Olga’s brother bounded into the kitchen, kissed her head, and wrapped their aunt in a big embrace, dancing her around as he did so. From under his arm he presented her with a package.

“Tía, I picked up some steaks. You season them, I’ll grill?”

“Bueno, bueno, ?bendito!”



* * *



OLGA SAT WITH a beer in their little backyard, watching her brother stoke the charcoal into flames. Impossibly, two more cousins were already out there, hard at work bagging candied almonds into little turquoise net sacks. These, Olga knew, were to go at each guest’s place setting. The sight of them made her remember the linen napkins, tucked in a corner of her office, awaiting their debut on Mabel’s big day. The recollection curled the corners of her mouth upwards.

“Oh shit,” Prieto said. “When I see my sister smile like that, I know she’s up to no good. What are you scheming now?”