This is a nightmare, and it’s playing out in my living room—they’re shouting in two different languages, this nightmare I cannot wake up from or kick out of my house or make stop.

“Dios mío!” someone is saying. “Rosie, this is your fault. You’re the one who acts like it’s okay to sleep with someone before marriage.”

“What?! Don’t you dare blame me. Mami lets him get away with everything—he’s never been held accountable.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—that is not true,” I try to argue over the noise, pointing a finger at Camila, who’s lobbing insults at Rosaria, who clearly wants to argue but also wants to eat.

“I cannot believe you.” Ana turns her dark, judgy gaze back to me. “That poor girl. No wonder she wants nothing to do with you.”

“Hey!” I throw my hands up. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of her since the night we met. I am not the one refusing to go out—she is. I am not the one who ghosted—she is. I am not the one who snuck out of the hotel room without a word—she is.”

I’m breathless now, worked into a snit, confessing all my sins and worries and truths to my sisters, who have gone radio silent, that last declaration lingering in the air.

I am not the one who snuck out of the hotel room without a word—she is.

Awesome.

“What the hell is her problem? Are you not good enough for her?”

My sisters flip on a dime, their new rant an attack on True’s character, defending my honor and bachelor eligibility.

“You are a professional baseball player!” Cami proclaims. “Women line up to date you—screw this girl! You don’t need her!”

“Yeah!” Rosie concurs. “You were Chicago’s most eligible bachelor last year—she can go screw herself.”

Mariana sputters. “She. Sounds. Hideous.”

“She’s not though—not at all.” My voice is quiet, forcing the girls to listen. “Just scared and embarrassed.”

Eventually, their heads begin a slow nod around the room, like the wave fans do at the baseball stadium, one head at a time bobbing in acquiesce to my words.

“Some people do that, you know—run when things get too real,” Ana says thoughtfully. “I’ve bailed on a few guys who were really decent, all because I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings.”

“Same,” Mariana puts in. “Now I feel bad.”

Jeez, I can’t believe these people. “Five seconds ago you were ready to tear her hair out,” I remind them.

“We really need to help you find her,” Gloria says, her lust for all things social-media-related driving her plea.

“I can’t let you anywhere near her, including her inbox.”

Especially her inbox because written words are forever and easily sent to the media.

“We’ll behave.” Ana is giving me puppy dog eyes, complete with a pouty bottom lip.

“Please! Please, give us her name. Please, hermano, we’ll be good.”

Good? When have they ever been good?

Still, I do need help considering I’ve managed to fuck this up on my own. And no one has better success with this spy shit than the Espinoza girls.

Seven

True

Unknown: Hey True, this is Mateo Espinoza. I don’t know if you remember me, but we…hooked up at your brother’s wedding, and I don’t know if you’re purposely avoiding me or just can’t find a way to get ahold of me? But I wanted you to have my number just in case.

I stare at the message I woke up to this morning, reading it over and over and over throughout the day, along with the subsequent messages that followed a few moments later, Mateo’s word vomit a sure sign that he’s been thinking about me a lot in the past ten—no, eleven—weeks.

Mateo: In case you were wondering how I got ahold of you…my sisters did some digging. They’re nosey and always in my business. And I know Buzz said you didn’t want me to have your info, but he’s full of shit sometimes so I couldn’t be sure??? I’ve been holding on to your number for a few weeks and had to be sure, you know? Fuck, True—I really thought we had a connection, not sure why you blocked me on FB. I wasn’t trying to smash and dash, I hope you know that.

Mateo: I would like to see you.

I would like to see you.

I would like to see you.

My heart beats a billion beats per minute, as if I’ve just run and crossed the finish line of a marathon—and if I wasn’t lying in bed staring at the ceiling, my legs would go weak, and I might even collapse.

I couldn’t be more surprised if I woke up pregnant.

Ha ha.

Tonight we’re having dinner at Buzz and Hollis’s house as a family because we haven’t seen each other in a few weeks, my parents coming down from their place two hours west.

I choose carefully what I’m going to wear, Tripp sticking his head in every so often, then at last to let me know his girlfriend, Chandler, has arrived.