Model Ricans

Blanke Rayder III

Blanke looks at his parents. Then looks at me. "Your parents are split up, so maybe you're wishing they were still together?"

Hold my hand up immediately. "No. That's not it. Both are much happier now that they have separated and found people who make them genuinely smile, please don't assume." Holy crap. Did I just say all of that out loud? What is wrong with me? What kind of dinner guest am I? I sounded exactly like ungrateful Desiree, ugh.

Blanke covers his mouth with his hand, and then says he's sorry repeatedly. "I didn't mean to project on you, I promise."

I nod, realizing Blanke understands psychology like Tia. And then I add, "The fights were part of the backdrop of Vieques, along with the bioluminescence of the turquoise waters. At least, that's my poetic memory of it. Two people boxing each other even though they are in paradise. I never could understand back then how my parents could infuse so much toxic energy into such a gorgeous place. In Thailand and India, I only remember happiness, but maybe when you're a little kid happiness is the default. Like Blanke's younger siblings. And you two are still together because you actually like each other. It's lovely."

Blanke's mom smiles warmly. She is clearly transfixed. "Your honesty, your candidness — it's refreshing." She takes my hand. "Please, come outside, we like to eat on the patio this time of year."

I am held up on a pedestal at the table. Everyone is so connected. I can feel it. Is it this house? They never moved away from this house. Would I also be so blissfully happy if my parents and I stayed in Thailand? But that's not the life for children of traveling expats. I vaguely remember other kids at the schools I befriended in the two different locations. Always just passing through. I would attach to a friend and then one of us would disappear. Like Desiree now. Just gone.

Interrupting my sad thoughts of my best friend, Blanke's father is still holding a spatula and bangs it on the grill. "Hope you like hamburgers!"

I say, almost too quickly, "Oh yeah, absolutely, I feel like I can't ever get enough meat." Ooh. Sounds so weird coming from a Lesbian household with no penises. Just hoping they don't ask about my parents— I'm doing so well.

"Great! We also have sausages and hot dogs, although I'll be going for the steak, I'm never allowed to eat steak, the cholesterol, but tonight we're celebrating Blanke meeting such a lovely young lady."

Blanke's mother hands me a cold glass of water with crushed ice. "Blanke tells us you are applying to colleges? That's so exciting! Where do you want to go?"

Pause. Never talked with other adults besides Valeria and Tia about college. Are they interested? Why would they ask if they weren't interested? Speak, Marga. Speak. "I would really like to go to Harvard. If I don't get in, my second choice is John's Hopkins. My...uh, aunt wants me to get into Stanford, but I told her it's better to stay on the East Coast... for politics." For some reason I am choosing politics over med school around Blanke's family. Maybe I don't really know what I want even though I thought I did.

"Ah! Ivy League bound! And politics! Wow, Blanke, you discovered an ambitious one."

"What can I say? I saw her in her car, and she was shining brighter than the stoplights that kept stopping us and forcing us to stare at each other."

"You were staring more than I was," I say. Ugh. Shy. Take a bite of hamburger.

Blanke and his parents all laugh at the same time. They're all just so darn happy, almost like there is a sitcom laugh track embedded in this hamburger somewhere. "What is it that attracts you to politics?"

Chew slowly and swallow before answering. "I want to shape policy so more regular people like myself have more opportunities to advance their economic prospects."

Blanke's parents exchange a look. Blanke's mother says with a smile, "When you say 'regular people,' like yourself, how do you mean?"

The table is full of new, white faces, some are cherubic with ketchup or bbq sauce smeared on their fat cheeks, all expectant, waiting for my answer. "I mean...people who don't have money to apply for college or pay college tuition, that's what I mean."

Blanke's parents say in unison, "Oh, yes, uh-huh, we know what you mean."

"In fact," continues Blanke's father, "our family supports mission trips to third-world countries."

Grab glass of water. Drink it to cover disgust at the mention of "third-world countries." If I were Desiree, I would correct him, and say "third world" is offensive, but I know it's not worth bringing up now, especially since I'm the only one who thinks this way, it's not like everyone would know this, it's not common knowledge, not even in the Orlando Sentinel, it's just something an expat brat would know. Better to segue the subject to, "Blanke told me he's been to Puerto Rico once. On a mission trip."

"Oh yes! That was such an eye-opening experience for all of us," says Blanke's mother, nodding her head and smiling, not even registering that I paused. "It's such a beautiful country."

Pause again. Oh no, please, not another American who thinks Puerto Rico is a foreign country. Again I grab my glass of water to drink, but there is no water left. Blanke reads my body language and saves me. "Mom, Puerto Rico is part of the U.S., it's not a country."

"Yes, I know, Blanke, how would I not know that? I'm the one who got all of us Passports, not realizing we didn't need them, so silly of me, you would think I would know that by now."

Uh-oh. Blanke is siding with me and not his mother. I didn't come to dinner to alienate Blanke from his family. Wait. Why am I here? Do I want his family to adopt me? Yes. I want to be adopted by a regular, Norman Rockwell family. Blanke's father steps in. "So, how do your parents – or your aunt, is it? How do they feel about you going so far away to college?"

Shit. The question I was avoiding, but not doing a very good job because I'm the one who mentioned Tia earlier. So stupid! Lie. Need to lie so they don't keep putting me into some kind of minority box. "They are excited."

"Dear," says Blanke Rayder III's father, looking uncomfortably and directly into my eyes, "We understand completely how difficult it is to afford college. We have four kids we've been saving for since they were born, and their grandparents have trusts for each of them. Prices just keep rising, so we understand what you're going through."

Blanke shakes his head and puts his fork on the table. "I'm not going back to college."

A beat. Wait. What's going on here? What am I missing?

Blanke's father smiles and cuts his steak without breaking his gaze from me. "Your inventions are amazing, son, believe me – no one supports you more than we do. But you don't have to leave college to work on your inventions. Life is not so black and white."

This is the first time I am hearing about Blanke dropping out of college. I tuck this bit of information in a fold of my brain to contemplate later, but my mind has already tuned out Blanke's father, and is already flipping and flopping the idea of dating a guy whose future does not include a college degree. How would that fit into my plan of earning a medical degree? After the first four years, med school, then residencies that will take who knows how long. Oh wait. But maybe now I'm switching to politics so that's only four years but then maybe law school. How many years is law school?

As if Blanke can hear my thoughts, he says, "Steve Jobs and Bill Gates both dropped out before building Apple and Microsoft, respectively. Our generation is different from our parents. Technology is going to change everything."