Read Cinco de Mayhem for Free Online

leaving the creepy trumpet player’s head at an unnatural tilt. His right eye seemed to stare at me from all angles. I turned away, both from him and from Flori, so I wouldn’t appear to be eavesdropping. I couldn’t help hearing Flori’s side of the conversation, though, and her offers to help. I could also guess Linda’s responses.
    When Flori put the phone back in its cradle, I said, “She says she doesn’t want any help?”
    Flori’s snort confirmed my guess. “She’s always been like this. Stubborn. The most stubborn of my three daughters. I don’t understand it.”
    I hid my smile from my stubborn friend. “She needs time,” I said, in the tritest of parenting advice. How many times had I heard those words in regard to Celia’s tortured hairstyles, gloomy artwork, and sullen moods?
    Flori repositioned a few mannequin arms intotai-chi poses. “We’ll have to work behind the scenes,” she said. “And keep your phone on. Linda says she’s resting but promises she’ll call you back. Maybe you can convince her. Kids never listen to their mothers.”
    I knew that. I kept my phone close, checking it in the grocery store, where I imagined I heard it ring in the deli and again in the chips aisle. I stared at its supposedly smart screen as I waited in my car outside Celia’s school. I wished that Linda would call, and that I hadn’t shown so much snack-food restraint back at the store. Chips increasingly seemed like a stress-management necessity.
    â€œWhat’s up, Mom? Waiting for your boyfriend to text?” my daughter teased, plopping in the front seat. Black and red paint dotted Celia’s once-white T-shirt. Her shoes had enough paint drops to pass as modern art. Then there was her hair. A shock of orange fell across her left cheek, bumping against her nose. This color was no art mishap. The pumpkin orange was semipermanent and an intentional dye-job disaster.
    As her mom, I preferred her natural color, a rich espresso brown. I also preferred her silky, straight locks to the chopped, tortured, and tangled style she’d taken up around the time Manny and I separated.
    I smiled at my daughter. The “give her time” advisors were probably right, and no matter what, I loved Celia wholeheartedly.
    â€œI’m not waiting to hear from Jake,” I said, feeling lucky that Celia had accepted him. His charm and his bulldog, Winston, had won her over. The turning point came when Jake and Winstondropped by for a walk, and Winston allowed Celia’s kitten, Hugo, to ride on his back. Since then the dog and kitten have been unlikely pals, as have Celia and Jake.
    â€œAnd anyway,” I said, starting the car. “He’s not my ‘boyfriend.’ We’re friends.”
    â€œRight, Mom. Sure,” Celia said with a devious grin. “Is that why you’re kicking me out of the house Friday?”
    â€œI’m not kicking you out,” I said. “You already had those plans with Sky and Rosa.” Sky, Cass’s son, was like an older brother to Celia. They’d been close as twins since they met, and I never worried about them getting into trouble. That is, unless Celia instigated it. Rosa, Linda’s granddaughter, was as responsible as Linda, but without her worries. Celia loved staying at her house. However, part of me wished she’d come home, both because I loved my daughter and because I might want chaperone limits on my date night.
    I craned over my right shoulder to maneuver the Subaru into a tight three-point turn. That’s when I saw Celia wave, a flick of her fingers, followed by a crack in her ennui mask. A boy with orange spikes in his hair and skinny, chain-draped black pants waved back, grinning widely.
    â€œWho’s that?” I asked.
    Celia dropped her hand as if she’d grabbed a hot pan. “No one.”
    No one, eh? My maternal warning bells