The Book of Unknown Americans(39)

“Why?” my mom asked.

I seized up. Why? It wasn’t like we had heat either. What was I going to say? Just because I wanted to see Maribel? Because I’d bought her a present about a month ago, a red scarf that had cost me basically all of my allowance and that I’d wrapped in tissue paper and had been keeping under my bed for her, and now that I was grounded, I didn’t know how I was going to get it to her?

“We should invite everyone over,” I said. “The whole building. More body heat will warm everyone up.”

“Genius,” Enrique said sarcastically.

“It’s true,” I said. “It’s thermodynamics and radiation. They’ve proved it.”

But when Sra. Rivera called again at noon, concerned because the apartment was getting colder by the minute, my mom told them to stop by. Then she hung up and dialed Nelia and Quisqueya and told them to spread the word. She pulled out every candle we owned and lit match after match until the wicks were all burning with tiny flames. “It’s pretty like this, don’t you think?” she said, and I had to admit, it did look nice. Before she could brew another pot of coffee, people were knocking on our door, wishing us Merry Christmas and gripping bottles of rum in their gloved hands.

Everyone kept their coats and hats on. Quisqueya was wearing her fur hat on her head, which I always thought made her look Russian. Micho brought his camera, roaming around the apartment snapping pictures of everyone who was already there—Benny flashing the peace sign; Nelia sitting cross-legged on the couch, nursing a beer that my dad had given her; Quisqueya sitting next to her, pretending like she wasn’t interested in having her photo taken. When the Riveras showed up, Micho bunched the three of them together in front of our door and made them pose while he snapped a shot. Maribel stared right at the camera, but she didn’t smile, so I went up behind Micho, waving my arms and making goofy faces to see if she would react. When she cracked a grin, Micho said, “There we go! That was a good one.”

Not long after, José Mercado and his wife, Ynez, showed up, her gripping his elbow while he hobbled with his walker.

“Gustavo had to work,” Benny told my dad, even though my dad hadn’t asked. “Movie theater might be the only place that’s open on Christmas Day.”

“Hollywood doesn’t believe in God,” my dad said.

Benny laughed. “But God sure believes in Hollywood. Have you seen those women? Megan Fox? And the mouth on Angelina Jolie? God is in the details, man!”

My dad raised his beer. “?Salud!”

“Despicable,” Quisqueya said.

Even our landlord, Fito Mosquito (that’s what I called him), stopped by long enough to poke his head in the front door and announce that Delmarva, the energy company, was on their way to fix the heat. “Don’t blame me!” he said.

“Don’t worry,” Micho shouted. “We won’t blame you. We’ll just deduct it from our rent checks this month!”

Fito wagged his finger, and a few people laughed.

Micho said, “We’re just teasing you, man. Come on inside.”

The radiators didn’t kick back on until late that night, but with all the people packed into our apartment that afternoon, it started to feel a little more like Christmas. Everyone shivering and laughing and drinking and talking. When we ran out of coffee, my mom mixed up huge pots of hot cocoa that she made from heavy cream and some chocolate bars she’d found in the back of a cabinet and melted down. Sr. Rivera asked if she had cinnamon sticks to put in the cups to make it Mexican style, and my mom found a jar of powdered cinnamon in a cabinet that she sprinkled into the pot.

“Are you happy now?” she joked. “It always has to be the Mexican way. México, México. As if the rest of us don’t exist.”

“?Viva México!” Micho shouted from the corner of the room.

“?México!” Arturo said.

“?Panamá!” my dad said.

“?Presente!” my mom said, and everyone laughed.

“?Nicaragua!” Benny shouted. “?Presente!”

“?Puerto Rico!” José said.

“?Presente!” Ynez and Nelia chimed at the same time.

“?Venezuela!” shouted Quisqueya. “?Presente!”

“?Paraguay!” said Fito. “?Presente!”

Then “Feliz Navidad” came on the radio.

“This goddamn song again!” my dad said.

“Oh, come on!” my mom said. She started singing along and swishing her hips while my dad eyed her skeptically.

“What?” she said. “You don’t want to dance with me? Fine. Benny, ven.”

And Benny took my mom by the hand, spinning her around.

Ynez and José joined in, José leaning on his walker while he rocked back and forth, and Micho pulled Nelia up off the couch into a twirl. Almost everyone in the room started singing along and eventually my dad put his drink down and cut in on Benny and my mom, sliding his arm around her waist.

“Now this is more like it!” my dad yelled above the noise. “This is like the Christmases I knew!”

I took the dancing as the opening I’d been waiting for and stole Maribel away so that I could give her my present. We sat at the end of the hallway outside my bedroom where no one could see us, and I handed her the square lumpy package I had wrapped.