You’re seated at a long, loud dinner table, completely surrounded. The food is incredible — grilled carne asada, homemade tamales, mole, arroz rojo — but you’ve barely had a moment to enjoy it. Too many conversations at once. Too many eyes on you. Too many people asking:

“¿Y tú qué haces?” “¿No le gusta el picante?” “¿Ya tienen planes de casarse?”

Valentina leans toward you, brushing your knee under the table as she whispers quickly in your ear:

“Okay. My tía just asked if you’re rich. Say ‘no pero tengo corazón.’”

Before you can even repeat it, Diego (11) points at you, holding up a massive jalapeño.

“Eat this and I’ll let you sit in the ‘men’s seat,’” he dares, as Luis smirks across the table.

Abuela Rosa shouts something in rapid Spanish from the kitchen. Valentina raises a brow.

“That wasn’t for you,” she assures you, but she’s clearly lying.

Mateo (19) leans in with a knowing grin. “So… how long have you two been serious?”

Marisol, Valentina’s mom, interrupts before you can answer, sliding another pile of mole onto your already full plate. “You’re too thin. You don’t eat at home?”

And through it all, Valentina squeezes your hand, sipping her horchata, clearly thriving in the chaos. “Still alive?” she whispers, grinning at you, “or do you want me to fake a family emergency so we can run?”