Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (26 page)

Theo smiled at Star, and fell to one knee. He slapped his hand over his heart and with all his soul, belted out Lola Beltran’s
Mexican angsty love ballad, “Paloma Negra.”

“
Ya… me canso… de llorar… y no amanece…
”

The mariachis, who had paused for the commotion, now followed Theo’s drunken, wailing cue and began to accompany him. Theo’s
head tottered as he went on with the powerful tearjerker of a song. A small crowd gathered and laughed with endearment, including
Theo’s cousins Frank and Victor, who had just arrived. When the sodden solo concluded, the audience clapped as Theo’s cousins
bowed for him and then carried him off to the car, heckling him all the way.

“Let me guess,” Harrison said to Star. “Former flame?”

L
arry had two habits when nervous: tapping the wedding ring on his finger against any surface hard enough to make an annoying
noise and bouncing his leg up and down on the ball of his foot. He did both while at his work desk, holding the handset, waiting
for Ofie to answer the phone at home. He had the most frightening, exciting, urgent news to share, but couldn’t unless she
lifted the receiver.

His wife’s breakthrough had only been recent, but the rise in her confidence rivaled years of counseling sessions. Together
with Anjelica, they invaded the house one room at a time and pitched everything, except the furniture and window coverings.
Ofie collected all her handmade horrors, dumped them in U-Haul boxes, and dropped them off at Goodwill. Just yesterday the
Fuentes family chose a light beige paint to christen the walls of their newly unblemished house. To all of them, the empty
abode signified a clean slate.

However, Ofie’s crochet addiction fascinated Larry. For all practical purposes, that shouldn’t have been the case. He couldn’t
tell the difference between one yarn and the next, but he knew that his wife was on to something big. Big as in
The Guinness Book of World Records
big!

Earlier that day, he had Googled “speed crochet” and discovered it was an actual term for a subculture of those like Ofie,
who were the Dale Earnhardt Jr.’s of the craft scene. Not only that, but there was one site that advertised a Speed Crochet
race at the upcoming CraftOlympics—the same one that Ofie and Star were making those centerpieces for. From what he witnessed,
Ofie could smoke the competition. Larry thought of this and his heart raced as he attempted another call home.

But Ofie couldn’t answer at the moment because she was busy with another call.

“Mrs. Fuentes? This is Nurse Cannarella from Cactus Runner Elementary. Your daughter is ill with a sour stomach. She’s fine,
but needs to skip after-school dance class today.”

Ofie pointed her finger to the mobile handset, as if the nurse could see her. “So help me, if it’s Turkey Chunk Pie day, we’re
suing,” she mumbled as she darted to the laundry room to put a new load in the washer and dryer. Since leaving her crafts
in the dust, Ofie had become a whole new woman—a domestic diva in training who saved her passion for yarn for after her family
went to sleep.

She shoved her blanket supplies in her tote, stumbled into her fuzzy slippers, grabbed her keys, and bolted for the garage.
The phone rang again. Ofie screeched to a halt, turned, and slid across the kitchen floor for the cordless handset. It was
Larry and he was in a panic.

“Honey, it’s me, where have you been?”

“Sorry! I’m on my way out the door to get Anjelica. She’s sick with a sour stomach. Can it wait?”

“A sour stomach at school? It better not be Turkey Chunk Pie day again!” Larry threatened. “Anyway, mi amor, listen: I Googled
speed crochet.”

“Speed crochet?” Ofie asked, confused. “Is that a drug?”

“It’s for people who crochet lightning fast, like you. There’s a contest at the CraftOlympics thing. You should try it.”

Ofie dismissed the idea. “Please don’t remind me about that. It’s still a raw spot in my heart. Oh! Your mom sent me another
bouquet of gladiolas and another apology letter. She’s been so nice to me since all of this.”

“I’m not done, mujer! Hush for a second, please,” he said, raising his voice. “The grand prize is free yarn for a year, a
national TV spot—AND a free room makeover from one of those fancy HGTV shows!”

Ofie took a deep breath.

“Ofie? You there, sweetie?”

“I can’t do it. I’ve given up crafts and I’m sure as heck not going to the CraftOlympics after all that’s happened. What if
Star or Chloe are there without me? I won’t be able to handle that, Larry, I won’t.”

“We’ll go with you.” Larry paused, then spoke his next words in a gentle tone. “It’s up to you, mi amor. You have a talent
and you belong in that contest. I believe in you.”

Tears filled Ofie’s large brown eyes. “What if I’m really not as good as you think and I get crushed up there? I thought you,
of all people, wanted to keep me away from that.”

“I can’t explain it, but I feel really good about this. Besides… if I’m right, we’d score new furniture.”

Ofie began to laugh along with her husband. “Okay. I’m game. If I lose, be ready to pay for a lifetime of therapy!”

A
fter picking up Anjelica from the nurse’s office, Ofie reached over from the driver’s side to feel her daughter’s forehead,
which was cool. “Honey, do you feel well enough for Mommy to make a quick stop at Maker’s Marketplace? If you don’t, I won’t
be upset.”

“Maker’s Marketplace? I thought you didn’t like that place anymore.”

As Ofie explained the contest to Anjelica, the clock on the dark blue dashboard screamed 3:22 p.m. Maker’s Marketplace closed
at four. Larry had mentioned final applications were due by then.

“Right on, Mom. Let’s do it,” Anjelica replied with a sweet but crooked smile.

“Thank you, sweetie. Whatever is meant to be, I won’t be sad if we don’t make it in time, but at least we can try,” Ofie said,
smiling back at her daughter. “Oh sniveling snickerdoodles! We don’t have much time!” The store was thirty miles away, so
Ofie made an executive decision to fly down the Loop 202 freeway for a shortcut across town.

Wrong idea. There would be no flying. More like crawling. Major construction blocked all but one lane.

“Oh, darn!” Ofie said as the car glided down the on ramp.

A road worker waved a flag in front of her to move to the far right.

“Crap!” Ofie said sharply when she learned the next few exits were closed. The Craftmobile was stuck in place as the traffic
trickled forward as fast as the last drop of glue from an empty bottle.

“Pray, Anjelica!” she ordered her daughter. Ofie envisioned herself waving the trophy over her head, just like Cha Cha DiGregorio
in
Grease
, when she won the dance-off with Danny Zuko. Ofie wanted this bad. No. She
needed
this.

She honked the horn three times as tears began to fall from her eyes. “Damn it, why now? Can’t anything nice happen for me?
Can someone up there give a lady a break?”

Ofie smacked the steering wheel with her fist. They were trapped in bumper-to-bumper gridlock, and now the gas light lit up.

“Are you praying, sweetie?” she asked, whipping her head around every which way for an escape.

“I am, Mom! Ew, my stomach is gurgling again.”

Three thirty-five. The Craftmobile finally reached an open exit, but now Ofie was faced with another dilemma: Pull over to
get gas, and eat up five minutes, or take a chance and go directly to Maker’s Marketplace. Ofie chose to skip the gas station,
because Maker’s Marketplace was so close. But if they ran out beforehand, that would be it.

“Shit! We’re not gonna make it. We’re gonna run out of gas. And my damn cell phone is out of juice, too. You’re sure you’re
praying, Anjelica?” she asked.

“I’m trying!” Anjelica said, clenching her hands together under her chin. “But every time I start, you swear and I have to
start all over!”

Ofie smacked her own head with her palm and relaxed her back. “I’m so sorry. You’re sick. I should take you home. I need to
be a good mother.” She chanted her recent mantra: “Family before crafts. Family before crafts. Family before crafts.”

“I’m fine! Please! Just keep driving. I see the sign right there!” Anjelica begged, pointing across the street.

“Swear on your new unpainted Skechers not to tell Nana Chata about this!”

“I won’t, Mom! Just hurry!”

They swerved into Maker’s Marketplace’s parking lot like Starsky and Hutch and ran inside. There, at the main cash register,
stood a long line of eager customers, all holding numbers to submit their contest applications for the convention.

Ofie sighed and took her place at the end of the queue that weaved around three marker posts.
This is a sign. I shouldn’t be here
, she thought.
What would Nana Chata think? She’d take back her apology and curse me to Davy Jones’ locker. Lord, give me a sign…

Ofie took a look-see at Anjelica, whose face appeared paler than the neutral paint they had just bought for the house. “Sweetie,
let’s go home. You’re sick. This is selfish of me. I refuse to travel down this path again.”

“I can take some of you over here,” offered a clerk with bright purple streaks in her hair, wearing a Maker’s Marketplace
golf shirt.

Anjelica ignored her comments and pointed to the new line. “I’m okay. I’ve seen you crochet. Dad’s right. I want you to win
so I can keep the trophy in my room. Do it for me, Mom!”

They shifted into the next lane, right behind a burly woman in a navy blue sweater covered in white pet hair. A greasy gray
bun sat atop her plump head. She could have passed for an elderly sumo wrestler. And she smelled foul and fried, like she’d
she just emerged from working the grill at a hamburger joint.

Anjelica motioned her index finger for her mom to come close. “Scary lady!” Anjelica whispered.

“
Very
scary lady,” Ofie giggled back.

Scary Lady turned around, one bushy eyebrow arched like a comic book villain. Her face revealed a road map of moles, half
of which sprouted coarse black and gray whiskers. She glared and then sucked her teeth when she saw the crochet hook and entry
form protruding from Ofie’s tote.

“Well, well, well. You again. The stealin’ señorita,” said Scary Lady.

“Huh?” Ofie and Anjelica asked in unison. “I would never steal anything!”

“You—the one who tried to swipe my new lawn chairs last summer. In broad daylight, right from my driveway! Thief!”

“Oh. Those… I thought they were bulk trash,” Ofie said as she recalled that afternoon. That was the same day she met Chloe
at La Pachanga. A wave of sadness swept over her. She yearned for her craftistas, and wanted more than anything to tell them
all about her new talent. Would they ever speak again? Ofie hoped so, but didn’t have the courage to break the ice.

“So now you wanna be a crochet champion? Don’t you have a quinceañera dress to sew for your little muchacha there?” Scary
Lady said with a sneer as she adjusted the heavy, stained canvas bag that hung across her torso.

“My husband and daughter seem to think I’m pretty fast. But I have a long way to go,” Ofie joked nervously. Treat others as
you want to be treated is what she always preached to Anjelica.

“I’m old school,” Scary Lady announced. “Disciplined. Have you heard of those weirdoes out there these days? Knittin’ and
crochetin’ bikinis and lingerie? I’d never wear one. Disgrace. Takes the class right out of it. What is this world coming
to?”

“I think that’s kinda cool,” Ofie muttered under her breath as she crouched down to tie Anjelica’s shoe. She squirmed when
she saw Scary Lady’s ashy cracked heels resting inside a stinky pair of Birkenstocks that, by the look of them, should have
been incinerated years ago.

“What’s yer SPM anyway? I’m at thirty-five DC’s. I’m sure I’m the fastest in the state. I won second place last year at the
CO. Lost to a freaky punk-rock girl from Japan. She’s a thirty-six. But I got great publicity out of it. I was on local TV
and got six months’ worth of free yarn from the Cat’s Meow Yarn Company. I was supposed to be pictured in their new brochure,
but for some reason they changed plans.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Ofie said as she scooted back to feel Anjelica’s forehead again.

“So? What
is
it?” Scary Lady asked. “What is yer SPM?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Ofie confessed.

“Stitches per minute!”

Ofie found this woman to be arrogant and snooty, but for Anjelica’s sake, she retained a sense of politeness. “I’m not familiar
with the jargon, but I only learned how to crochet a couple weeks ago, and I’ve finished a few dozen blankets since then.”

“And she only crochets at night!” Anjelica snapped, with a “take that” attitude.

Scary Lady roared with laughter, and the others in line turned to see. “Did you hear that, everyone? She made a few dozen
blankets in two weeks. Give this lady a ribbon!” She jabbed her hands on her hips and stuck her face in Ofie’s.

“What kind of yarn and what kind of stitches we talkin’ about?”

Ofie backed away from Scary Lady’s bad breath. “The regular stuff, but when I run out, I use kite string and twine. I only
know the double stitch—is that what it’s called?”

“Goody-goody for you. Don’t mean to offend, but you may as well get your lumpy jalapeño rump outta here, because I’m gettin’
that Numero Uno spot this time at the CO.”

“CO?” Ofie asked, again unfamiliar with her lingo.

“The CraftOlympics! Ding-dong, anyone home? I ain’t losin’ to no Japanese girl with pigtails and I sure as heck ain’t losin’
to a one-stitch newbie. Just some words of advice to save you some dough: This ain’t your place.”

Ofie had never been the type to fight back, but obviously this bully felt threatened, and that was a thick enough thread of
pride for Ofie to hang on to. Only two more people in line ahead of them and then she could take her baby home and pamper
her.

“Ugh, Mom… I’m not feeling too good,” Anjelica said, her eyelids drooping. “I think I have to throw up.”