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For as long as she can remember, almost every Sunday has been spent the same way. It’s a habit that she knows she wouldn’t be able to break, even if she tried. It doesn’t matter that the family has already gathered earlier in the week, they’re all under the same roof again. The men are surrounding the TV in the family room watching TV and the women are in the kitchen preparing their usual Sunday dinner. It’s loud in the house, a clashing of football and music as each room vies to hear their entertainment of choice. Yolanda sits in the same chair she’s always sat in since childhood, hands covered in flour while her fingers work on the kneading the dough her abuela has made for tortillas.
When the song changes, there’s a loud cheer from her aunts as their bodies start moving in their chairs around the table. She starts laughing with her cousin as she places the dough into a container and grabs another handful to start kneading again.
“Majita, have you heard this before?”
“Do I have ears?” She answers her aunt sarcastically and her cousin continues to laugh. The two of them have always gotten into trouble since they were born and it’s still somewhat of a miracle the family hasn’t separated them when they’re together.
“Cállate, Carmen.” Her aunt tries to silence the laughter between the two, but all it does is make Yolie and Carmen start their own line of commentary.
“I mean, what was the process for him when he sat down to write this song? Did he just sit there and go, ‘Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby. Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby. I’m on fire.’?”
“Sounds like a winner to me. I think we have a chart topper, Yolie.”
“Whatever, that Pitbull just does something to me. He can move his body.”
“Yes, we know tía. Pitbull and Ray Liota, you’d just sit on their faces all day.”
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