“This is Glory,” Mari says, thrusting Gloria forward. “And Ana, Rosie, Camila.”

True greets them all good-naturedly, apparently a natural at navigating awkward situations and crisis management. Perhaps she should switch careers; instead of sports recruiting, she should be a publicist or a manager, or a—

“So what are you two talking about?” Mari slides her ass into the seat next to True, bracing her chin in her hands on the table.

The other four do the same, and soon, I’m squeezed into the corner of the booth with both my arms squished in front of me, relegated to the far pits of hell.

“None of your business!” I say with a scowl, unable to reach for my plate. “Go away! We were having a moment.”

“A moment?” Ana laughs. “Yeah right.” She snatches a slice off the silver platter, folds it, and takes a bite.

“That’s mine!” I scold in Spanish. “Ours, I mean—get your own damn pizza.”

“Sharing is caring,” Glory preaches, digging in.

“No, sharing is not caring. Caring is going away and leaving us in peace. I will give you an update later.”

“Don’t lie—you always say that then you never do.” Ana is chewing and talking at the same time. “True doesn’t mind, do you?”

“She’s not going to tell you to your face that she wants you to leave, Ana.”

God, could this be more uncomfortable? Could my sisters be more uncooperative?!

True laughs, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Oh my god, you sound so much like my brothers—it’s uncanny. I can’t right now.” She laughs again, a delicate snort coming out of her nose. “I honestly thought it was just our family, but nope. It’s not.”

I level her with a stare, still pressed into the corner of the booth with no room to move even an inch. “Could you not encourage them? They need to go. This is my date, not theirs.”

One of True’s brows goes up, and I’m beginning to learn that’s what she does when she wants to challenge me. “Oh? This is a date now? I thought we were just getting together to catch up and say hey.”

She’s mocking me; I can see it in her eyes.

“This is not the time, okay? Can we do this when we’re alone please?”

I will never live this down—never. Not when I’m fifty years old, not when I’m one hundred.

My sisters will never allow it.

Never.

“Anything you want to say, you can say in front of us—in fact, I will go first,” Camila announces to the table. “I, for example, have a UTI and just had to get medication from the doctor, so. There you go.”

Isn’t a UTI a urinary tract infection? Why the hell is she telling us this?

Jesus, I actually am in hell.

“Okay, me next,” Glory enthuses. “I drunk-texted one of my exes two nights ago at midnight and he came over and we hooked up in Mom and Dad’s basement. I did a booty call on him.” My youngest sister giggles, and I want to vomit in my mouth.

I did a booty call? Who says that?

“Glory, what the fuck?!”

Shit. I glance around, realizing my mistake; I rarely cuss in front of my sisters, parents, family—mi madre would kill me.

The girls do not seem to mind or notice, so busy are they regaling True with a barrage of too much information.

“Oh—I can do you one better, little sister.” Ana clears her throat.

“No,” I interrupt, begging. “Don’t. Please don’t. No one wants to hear it.”

But everyone wants to hear it, and they all shush me—True included—so Ana can speak.

“Well.” Ana leans in dramatically. “Since we can say what we have to say in front of everyone at this table…” She shoots me a pointed look, and I roll my eyes. “I have a date on Friday.” My sister pauses. “With two different guys.”

“Ana!” Camila shouts, horrified. “You do not!”

“I do.” Ana is laughing. “I’m sorry, but it’s a numbers game at this point. I have a fifty-fifty chance of having a good time with one of them, though in reality, it won’t be either of them.” She snatches up my water and takes a swig from the cup.

“I cannot believe you!” Rosie tosses a wadded-up napkin at her. “What happens if you’re running late? Who are these guys?”

“Calm down,” Ana tells us. “It’s no big deal. Men do it all the time. I met them on dating apps.”

I don’t even know what to say; this whole afternoon has taken a turn for the worse—it’s “escalated quickly” as some would say, my sisters completely hijacking the table and the date, which isn’t actually a date and may never be, thanks to them.

“Did it ever occur to you not to crash my date?” I ask them. “Like, did you consider that you may ruin this chance for me by coming over here and acting like assholes?”

Rosie’s head tilts to the side. “Who’s being an asshole? I’m not being an asshole. I haven’t even said my thing yet.”