The Accidental Native by J.L. Torres

know, I’m trying to do my best,” she said, looking out the window, still holding to the door handle. “But I’m really getting tired of your hurt-child drama.”
    â€œOh, really?”
    â€œYes,” she said turning around, facing me directly. “Grow up, René. People make mistakes, everyone has to move on.”
    With that, she seized her purse and bolted out of the car.

Nine
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    It’s a given that a single guy in a relationship must at some time introduce the girlfriend to the parents. At the point when we were quasi-living together (an arrangement involving personal toothbrushes and a few articles of clothing burrowed away in one drawer in each other’s apartments), Erin and I decided to “share our happiness” (her words) with family. We didn’t think much of it. Erin’s folks were liberal New Englanders who only gave me a hard time for being a Yankee fan. Dinner at her folks was pleasant, full of good conversation and excellent wine. We both thought we had jumped over the biggest hurdle, because I had always bragged about how open-minded my parents were. And despite their political liberalism, Erin worried that her parents might harbor issues with her dating a Puerto Rican. She and I both knew progressive politics don’t always immune people from fear of difference. So, we were both very happy when Erin’s dad welcomed me to the family. Actually, it was scary for me because I realized that the meet-the-parents visit was this significant moment in a relationship full of expectations. But it was still a promising event. And we both kind of assumed that if the McMahons were on board, the Faltos would be a piece of bizcocho.
    I told my parents that I would be bringing Erin to Thanksgiving dinner, or La Cena, as it traditionally known in my family. I spoke to Mami, and the silence on the phone was deafening.
    â€œWho’s that?” Mami asked, finally.
    â€œErin, you know, the girl I’m seeing.”
    More silence, then, “Ay, Rennie, you know La Cena is a family thing.”
    â€œMami, I’m serious about Erin. I think you and Papi should meet her.”
    â€œYou planning to marry this girl?”
    â€œI don’t know—maybe. We haven’t broached that topic yet.”
    â€œWell, when you decide, then you can bring her to La Cena.”
    â€œJeez. What’s with the formality? It’s Thanksgiving dinner, for God’s sakes.”
    â€œI don’t feel comfortable with strangers in my house, Rennie.”
    â€œShe’s not a stranger to me.”
    â€œBut she is to me.”
    â€œWell, I’m bringing her or I won’t go. Mami, I’ve been over to Erin’s parents’ house, and they welcomed me with open arms. I can’t believe you’re acting this way.”
    She sighed into the phone. “This girl isn’t Puerto Rican, is she?”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with it?”
    â€œIs she Latina, at least?”
    â€œNo, Mami. She’s American, like the rest of us.”
    â€œDon’t get politically stupid on me, okay. You know what I mean.”
    â€œLook, I’m just calling to tell you I’m bringing her along. You got a problem with that or not?”
    After a few seconds of hesitation, she conceded. I hung up the phone in shock. Where was my liberal, open-minded mother, who talked freely with me about drugs, alternative sexual lifestyles, sex and STDs, and other topics most parents would prefer to avoid?
    She must have disappeared into the ethnic meal she always prepared for La Cena. A Puerto Rican Thanksgiving is a hybrid of American and Boricua culinary tastes: a turkey covered with pepper and spices to approximate its otherwise bland taste as much as possible to lechón, or roast pig; it is accompanied by arroz con gandules, or pigeon peas in yellow rice; candied yams; pasteles, that is, Puerto Rican style-tamales in banana leaves; and potato