Page 10 of Pride High 3: Yellow

They entered a spacious living room, which was filled with the pleasant powdery scent of a grandmother. A large carpet dominated the center of the floor, with a U-shaped couch that was covered in colorful pillows and busy fabrics. An older woman sat in the center while watching a large TV with the volume turned down. Information scrolled along the bottom of the screen as newscasters did a poor job of lip-synching to the record that played nearby.

“Ella Fitzgerald!” Silvia exclaimed in excitement.

“You’ve discovered my secret identity,” Mamani said, getting to her feet with the assistance of a cane. “Please don’t tell anyone. This is the only place I can unwind when I’m not on tour.”

Silvia laughed. “She’s an amazing singer. Are you a fan of jazz?”

“I certainly am,” Mamani admitted as she shuffled toward the record player. “Western musicians are often too predictable for me. Not enough improvisation and always the same beats. Jazz reminds me of the rich music I grew up with.” She lifted the tone arm, just as a song came to an end. “And today is all about making music together.” Mamani turned to them with an air of authority as she leaned on her cane and focused on Silvia in particular. “Love is in the air, but so is teen pregnancy. Have your parents spoken to you of such things?”

Silvia felt a surge of affection for the woman. She had only ever talked to her grandparents on the phone and could only hope that they were half as cool as Mamani. “That’s near the top of their worry list, so yes, I’ve had the talk.”

Mamani turned to Omar. “So has my grandson, but I wonder if he paid attention. You know how to use a condo?”

“A condom,” Omar corrected. “And yes, dad showed me how to put it on a banana. My only question is if I’m supposed to eat the banana before or after we have sex.”

Mamani’s face remained perfectly impassive as she swept at his feet with her cane. Omar barely managed to leap backward to avoid it. “Such a smart mouth,” she said evenly. “Have a seat, both of you, because you are spending Valentine’s Day with grandma.”

“What?” Omar cried. “No! I was only kidding. We have reservations. And movie tickets!”

“Then I will go with you,” Mamani said, but she had a twinkle in her eye as she turned to Silvia. “Or perhaps we should leave him at home and have a girls’ night out?”

“I honestly wouldn’t mind,” Silvia said. When she saw how crestfallen Omar became, she added, “although some other time, if you don’t mind. I’ve never had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day before. I’m looking forward to our date, but umm, nothing else is going to happen. I’m notthatexcited.”

Mamani nodded in approval. “I am pleased that your head remains attached to your shoulders.” She smiled broadly. “Such a beautiful pair you make. Come. Let me take a photo and then you can go have your special day together.”

She hobbled over to a side table to pick up a disposable camera. Omar had opinions about the best light in the room, and the direction they should face. Silvia felt like she was about to embark on a prom date instead of going up to his room.

“Do you think your mom is going to frame that photo as well?” Silvia teased as they went upstairs again. There was an eight-by-eleven-inch portrait of them in the living room that made her cringe each time she saw it. Even though they did make a striking couple.

“My mom gets a little over-excited sometimes,” Omar said, playing it off like he was any different. He stopped in front of his bedroom and slicked back his hair. Then he flashed a bashful smile and opened the door before stepping aside so she could see. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Silvia walked into his room and was thoroughly confused. The bed was lined with floating heart-shaped balloons, half a dozen on each side. The disturbed air made them bump into each other and sound like muted bongos. At the end of the bed, a small folding table had been set up and held a vase filled with a dozen red roses. Silvia stared for a moment, resisting the urge to laugh. Especially at how it all surrounded the bed, as if she would be laid to rest there. She imagined people having to push through the line of balloons just to pay their respects. She turned around for an explanation.

Omar was watching her with worry. Then his shoulders slumped and he sighed. “So this wasn’t my original plan,” he said. “I was hoping to get you a ton of roses. A dozen of a dozen, but you’d be surprised how expensive they are. I still wanted to go big though, so I upped the amount of balloons instead.”

Silvia turned to consider the scene again. “When I am ready to lose my virginity, please don’t decorate the bed.”

“That’s not what it’s supposed to be,” Omar said, hurrying forward. “I tried putting the balloons in one big group, but they kept getting tangled up, and I wanted you to see how many there really were. So I lined them up and uh… Crap. It does look like some sort of sacrificial altar.”

She watched him try to gather the balloons, which refused to behave. Just as he said, they kept getting tangled up until he was stuck somewhere in the middle of them all. Silvia laughed. She couldn’t hold back. And she wanted to sigh affectionately when he put on a hangdog expression and asked, “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Silvia assured him. “But next year, you don’t have to go big. A little gesture is enough.” She walked over to admire the roses. “These are lovely.”

“Yeah?” Omar asked with a grin.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I just feel so much for you that it’s hard to find a gift that can represent it enough.”

Silvia smiled in appreciation. “It really is the thought that counts.” She reached for the backpack she favored over a purse and pulled out a small box. “I hope.”

“You got me something?” Omar said, coming over to see. “I love it!”

“You haven’t even opened it yet!”

“Doesn’t matter. This is the nicest little black box I’ve ever seen.” He looked up in surprise. “Wait, is this a ring?”

Silvia snorted. “No.”