“She asked us to be godparents at her 15 años? She doesn’t even like me"
“She does like you. Maybe she was a little jealous that you were with me when she was a child, but she is a young woman now and she gets it.”
“I have to work Saturday and then go to a party for 15 year-olds? I hate this. Do you know how much I’ve been working and how little time to myself I’ve had since we got back from vacation? Do we have to go to the mass too? I thought we were just going to the party.”
“Yes, our names are on the invitation as the godparents so we have to go to the mass, at 4:00, and we have to sit next to her.”
So to me, sit next to her meant that we sit in the pew on either side of her and that was that. And everything in Mexico starts late; so I thought.
I had told a client that I would be available in the office from 10:30 until 2:00. He showed up at 1:45 and by 2:30 I started powering down my computer and explained that I needed to go to church and we’d have to continue our discussion on Monday. In the meantime, I’d try to find some properties that meet his criteria.
Shortly after I got home, Rod ran off to pick up the Quinceañera (Karla, the teenager of honor) and, having eaten nothing but a granola bar all day, I slammed down some prepared hash browns and headed to the San Antonio church on my own.
I saw Rod’s car by the church when I arrived and half expected to see him and the family waiting outside. It was only a couple minutes after 4:00. Instead, the patio was empty and I could hear singing from inside the church. The mass had begun.
I waked in and looked for Rod and Karla in the pews. To my dismay, I saw Karla, decked out in a beautiful gown¸ seated in the place of honor directly in front of the alter. Rod was seated to her left and an EMPTY CHAIR was on her right. In a rush of horror, I realized that the empty chair was mine.
I brushed past Rod and with an annoyed glance he pointed to the empty chair.
During the entire Mass I kept a peripheral eye on Rod, so he could signal me; sit, stand, kneel, etc., all the time praying that the priest was not going to ask me something in Spanish to which I would have to respond. He didn’t, so I didn’t. All was good. But I would have dressed better if I’d known that I was going to be (nearly) center stage.