A Midsummer Night's Fling
What happens when your friend is having a midlife crisis during your “relaxing” vacation?
Michelle1 is a grandma now. Once in a more pronatalist America, the twenty-something eldest daughter was the subject of baby pressure. A sitcom might use the overbearing mother stereotype to lay it on heavy after her daughter has a first date with the show’s new love interest. Motherhood was the purest combination of noble suffering and obligation to the reproduction of the “family.”2 Grandmotherhood was the victory lap. When the fun begins. The completion of the cycle, and a certificate of expertise for successfully continuing the bloodline. But it comes with a cost. Expertise gained with the acceptance of aging. Now in ever changing times3—fifty-something is the new thirty-something. Grandmotherhood doesn’t have to mean you’re old—does it?
Nonetheless, Michelle is a grandma. She also moved to a surf town on the beautiful coast of Jalisco, Mexico. Lay by the pool, go to the beach, ride around in a little golf cart, nobody has to worry about getting a DUI here. In the 90s she’d been a reporter in Mexico. It’s where she spent her twenties. It’s where she became a mother, before moving back to the States. There could be no better place to be a grandma. Go to the states when her visa is near expiring for a visit with the grandkids, then back to Mexico for a permanent recharge. Jubilacion is a state of mind.
Beach towns like this are a popular place for “snowbirds” (pájaros de nieve), usually midwestern or Canadian expats looking to extend their retirement money with favorable exchange rates. A trend that obviously comes with its share of criticism from local Mexicans, who are seeing the cost of housing skyrocket with this, coupled with the younger batch of expats moving into Mexican cities while working from home for companies in their native countries. While these “digital nomads,” and their milder salsa preferences, are the new face of gentrification, the snow bird has long been the backbone of the gringo tourism demand on the Mexican coasts.
Alouette is a gringa pulling sixty hour weeks in California girl bossing. She’d been a laptop on the couch in the morning, laptop at the dinner table, and laptop in bed, kind of woman for nearly thirty years. Her only free time comes since ending her carpool to work on for her hour-and-a-half Los Angeles traffic commute. Her solitary commute now spent talking on speakerphone to whoever would answer at commuting hours.
Once a single mother alongside her friend Michelle,4 Alouette hardly knew when to stop. For years she lived with up to six boys in her home at a given time: five sons/step-sons, plus a husband/ex-husband/boyfriend. When she finally graduated to an emptynester, her second shift became a second shift at her job-job. Alouette desperately needed some girl time.
Luckily, that’s when Michelle called.
“Girl, come to Mexico for a week. Stay with me on the beach. I’m fucking lonely out here.”
Alouette bought a plane ticket from Tijuana to Puerto Vallarta, dropped her car off with her brother in San Diego, then took the tram across the border and walked into the airport. She called her step-dad for advice on navigating in Spanish, but she didn’t need it. It was as breezy and familiar as the Santa Ana Winds. She bought some gum for the flight, read her book she’d neglected for months, and relaxed.
Once she arrived in Puerto Vallarta the party began. Right off the plane they’re boozing you up for free, trying to scam you into a timeshare presentation. She proudly drank her free margarita, walking past the salesmen offering a “free ride,” so her friend could pick her up. And Michelle came bearing tequila too.
The girls hit the ground running, picking up where they left off when Alouette visited Michelle in the 90s. Except instead of hostels and blankets laid out on the beach Michelle had a bougie bohemian bungalow. An all mid-century modern furnished home that clashed with walls of tapestries gathered from a lifetime of hippie flea markets. In the center of Michelle’s courtyard a green water pool collected leaves.
“Shaken or blended?” Michelle asked while cutting limes at her turquoise stone tile bar.
Blended was always their answer. For a night Alouette would drink like a fish. One night to do it big, share in the photos of Michelle’s granddaughter that she’d already seen on Facebook, but most importantly get a taste of the salt rim of a bygone era.
Alouette awoke on the patio couch to the sunrise and a balmy but comforting morning heat. She couldn’t remember the last time she blacked out. Before her first marriage probably. She tried to fight through her headache as the stories of the night before slowly came back.
“Browned out, not blacked out,” as Michelle would say.
Michelle was already up cutting oranges now. She made eggs with tortilla and green salsa stored directly in another blender. “Fresh OJ is what makes a mimosa,” Michelle concluded.
“I haven’t drinken like that since the last time we were down here,” Alouette concluded. “What, 15 years ago now?”
“Yea Bab’s bachelorette party,” Michelle said. “I met that guy with the nose piercing, like a bull the way he grunted.”
“Remember all the TVs in the rental got stolen?” Alouette said. “It was the first night too.”
“The Canadian couple that owned the place tried to blame me for it,” she laughed, pouring them each a morning glass. “What am I going to do with TVs down here? There’s no need for them anyways.”
“Michelle, I can’t drink like that anymore,” Alouette said, pouring herself an orange juice between bites of egg. “I won’t be able to kick this headache all day.”
“Girl, just start slow,” Michelle said. “Slow and steady, like the tortoise.”
Alouette took a sip and topped off the half glass with the popped champagne. She licked the pulp off the top of her lip.
Michelle was swerving into town on her golf cart when she met Manny. Manny walked alone to the bakery to grab some breakfast for his friends who came with him from Guadalajara for the weekend. The sand hadn’t yet warmed up under the morning sun. He wore green H&M swim shorts and a blue and pink floral beach shirt, small oval framed sunglasses, and a smile that could pull her in to whisper a dirty joke. His frame was slight, but muscles were pronounced. He too nursed a hangover from the night before. Too cute not to pick up on the cart. The best news of all—Manny was twenty-four.
Michelle worked her magic, her Spanish slow and formal to a native speaker, but Alouette couldn’t tell the difference. She just tried to listen in for some familiar words to latch onto, but they moved too fast for her to follow in any logical way. However, she didn’t have to catch more than every tenth word to understand what was going on. Michelle’s voice felt so familiar when she flirted. By the time they reached the bakery and waved goodbye, she knew Michelle had plans.
“We’re going dancing later tonight,” Michelle said. “Of course, if you want to, Allie.”
“He could date your daughter,” Alouette said.
“Still got it.”
Sunday night and the club wouldn’t go up till after ten while the moms sat at a tall table sipping Piña Coladas. The club was the second and third story above a taqueria, with only spanish columns, no walls, facing out towards the street so any passerby could see exactly what music videos and lights the current DJ was working with. Manny came to meet them with a crew of twenty-something boys in loud graphic tees. The DJ swapped out the banda music of the early evening for a reggaeton medley. No more blended sugary drinks. Tequila shots. Chase a shot with a tequila soda. Then order a chela bucket for the table when it’s time to slow down.
By the midnight hour shoes were off, and Michelle and Manny would make out on the dance floor. By one, Alouette was done dancing and nursed her Corona and lime in a booth looking down at people stumbling towards late night tacos and cab rides. By two, the couple found the booth to make things more private. By two-ten, Alouette was ready to call it a night.
“You’re sleepy?,” Michelle said before Manny licked the salt off her neck. “It’s still so early.”
“I’m just not feeling well”
“Here, take some adderall,” Michelle said. “We’re just getting started.”
“It always just makes me sick to my stomach.”
Two-thirty and Alouette had enough.
“I’m calling an Uber now, can you text me your address?”
Michelle turned away from Manny and faced Alouette for the first time since Manny arrived. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, I need to sleep.”
Michelle turned to Manny and his friends. She spoke in Spanish, shouting over the trap beats. The boys laughed while Michelle rolled her eyes. Then she let out a customary party, “Woo!” followed by blowing a raspberry like a deflating balloon.
“Ok Allie, there’s no Uber here,” she said. “I’ll walk with you to get a cab and tell him where to go.”
Alouette broke the seal on a pack of menthol cigarettes decorated with a message she didn’t need Spanish to understand: a picture of a gray, lifeless baby on top of a pile of cigarette butts. She didn’t smoke unless she was out of the state of California. They passed the little treat back and forth while Michelle hailed the cab and directed the driver for Alouette. It was a minivan with yellow paint as a signifier it was a legitimate taxi operator. Michelle returned and took the last drag of the menthol before stomping it out on the sidewalk.
“Ok, so I told him where to go,” Michelle said, looking back up at the balcony club, Manny and his posse weren’t in the booth any longer. “One thing is, this cab is unlicensed. So, he’s going to take you down this street. If he takes a right, that’s the right direction home to my house and you’ll be fine. But, if he takes a left, you might be in trouble.”
“In trouble, Michelle, what do you mean?” Alouette lit another. “Can’t you just come back with me?”
“Forget I said anything Allie,” Michelle said. “It’s probably fine, I’ll see you at the house. If I go back now I won’t be able to sleep anyways. Just remember, right is right. Left, call me.”
This would be the last moments they shared alone together for the entire trip. Michelle kissed both of her friend’s cheeks as she got into the cab and waved her off with a—nos vemos pronto.
The cabby rolled the window down in the back seat and let Alouette finish the rest of her cigarette. He seemed normal enough but said nothing, playing “Ahora Te Puedes Marchar” through the aux. The song was familiar to Alouette but she couldn’t land on what the song was a cover of. She saw the cabby look into the rearview mirror—“Lo sabes?”
He took a right. And that was the second night. Alouette typed up a What’s App message to a work friend back home, “this bitch doesn’t sleep!!” but didn’t hit send. Any 3am thought can wait till the morning. When she woke up she heard a skillet already sizzling, Manny had just cracked three eggs. Alouette deleted the message.
The night before was only the pregame to Mannychella. The next night Manny had friends over to play beer pong and flip cup by the pool. Michelle was still queen of the party games. No matter how drunk she got, Manny and her ran the beer pong table till sunrise. Michelle the seasoned veteran, Manny the hot shot rookie. When they won they pushed the losers into the pool, drinks in hand.
During the day they chased hangovers away with Blood Marias and homemade chilaquiles. Manny knew a killer green sauce recipe from memory, but he couldn’t explain it to Alouette in English so she just watched him roast the tomatillos and serrano peppers. Hot out the shower, Michelle hugged her friend at the sight.
“So wholesome, Allie, I’m so glad you and my boyfriend get along.”
The last time Alouette heard the word “boyfriend” was talking on the phone with Michelle’s daughter her first year in college.
By the third night he asked Michelle if he could post her addy to instagram for a real rager. His friends were going back to Guadalajara after the “long weekend” and they wanted it to be a going away blowout. Michelle asked Alouette if it would be alright if she had thirty or forty people over.
“Michelle, you can’t post your address on the internet, you don’t know these people.”
“Fine,” Michelle stomped. “You’re right Allie, I always forget you were more of a kickback girlie.”
Another night of the same shenanigans came and went. Alouette turned in “too early.” The rest of the kids laughed and drank on into the night. The days started to blend together as they began and ended the same. She never saw them go to sleep. Each day supposedly was Manny’s last, before he had to return to work in the city. Though, somehow, Michelle was able to convince him to stay longer. It played out with the drama of a sitcom that ended with Michelle swiping ‘ignore call’ on his phone while she sat in his lap and kissed him, thus ending any prospects of main characters “leaving.” By the fifth day Michelle had him doing their laundry. How could Alouette complain with homemade food and a mimosa waiting for her in the morning?
It all caught up to Alouette when she woke up with a stomach bug. They had raw oysters the night before: lime, salt, hot sauce, chela. But it was her weak stomach that relieved her from another night of drinking, eye rolls, and jokes in Spanish that while she couldn’t understand she knew were at her expense. The last three days Alouette was content to rest while only hearing the voices of the never ending party muffled through the walls. She wouldn’t see the beach again till the flight back, but she was thankful that the sea saved her.
On Alouette’s final day in Mexico Michelle knocked on her door in the morning to bring her breakfast in bed.
“Good morning sleepy head,” Michelle said with a plate of fruit in tow. “I have someone I’m excited for you to meet coming by today.”
“Is he also twenty four?” Alouette said, taking off her eye mask.
“Noooooooo. Now don’t get mad. I know it’s kind of quick for us gringas, but things are different with Manny than any of my other boyfriends.”
“Michelle, what are you talking about?”
“Manny’s mom is coming over, and she’s so excited to meet you.”
Lucia came with a suitcase in tow. It was a balmy Friday morning at the beach, but Manny’s mother was ready for her weekend. Her hair was cut short, dyed all the colors of the rainbow, she explained to them because her last weekend had been at the Guadalajara Pride Parade. They all sat together in the courtyard with their brunch drinks. Alouette came out of her short-lived retirement from libations and had a margarita Lucia made fresh for her.
The woman was a force. She made fun of Manny, told him all the little mistakes he made with the salsa till he was red and embarrassed. Then Lucia assumed the chef role in his shame. All for the girls' benefit. When Lucia, Manny, and Michelle would start to talk fast she’d make sure to turn to Alouette, slow down, and summarize in English for her.
By the afternoon while Manny and Michelle were wrestling in the pool and cuddling on beach towels, Lucia and Alouette were alone in the living room gabbing. Alouette told her how much she loved her hair, how she’d never been to a Pride Parade, but how beautiful her pictures looked.
“I love my gays,” Lucia said. “And listen chica, the gays love me.”
They laughed and laughed. They talked about their kids, the work they do. Lucia was an English teacher at secondary school in Guadalajara. Alouette explained how her son wanted to do that too.
“He should move here,” Lucia told her. “Manny’s a lawyer and he can’t even visit the states, so we need you all to come visit us here girlfriend.”
How wonderfully carefree she could be. At the ripe age of forty-six, this was the youthful comradery Alouette needed. Lucia seemed unphased that her son was making out with a woman older than her practically right in front of her. She was happy for her kid. Or at least she seemed content with his choices and now had herself a trip to the coast as next week’s guest.
The three women went together to the airport while Manny stayed back to do chores around the house. It was a short drive but they sat in traffic together mostly quietly looking out at the seaside resorts that lined the highway. All inclusive timeshares stood as walls blocking the view of the ocean.
“I want to say, you raised such a good and respectful son Lucia,” Michelle said, eyeing her nervously in the back seat. “I’m so happy you finally made it out here to see us.”
But Lucia paid this little mind. When they arrived at the airport she kissed Alouette on both cheeks. Flustered, Michelle followed to give her friend a hug and kiss goodbye.
Nos vemos pronto.
Alouette had a few hours to spare before the flight home, always at least two hours early as the Quora post had recommended to her for international travel. It was just enough time for a hangover to catch up with her. It’s standard to leave vacation more tired than she came. Her stomach grumbled, but she couldn’t stand to eat something that might upset it again. She bought gum from a child at a newsstand outside the airport. Something to make her ears pop—to relax for her trip back to work.
As per usual, all the names were changed.
New workers.
“Woke Mob Rule”
Only without a trust fund.