“Okay, mujer, so the food was good. I get that, but tell me what you did.” “Well, like I was saying, I was sitting there eating my food when I noticed that I didn’t recognize anyone at the party. Then they announced la quinceañera and a pencil-thin girl with blond cornrows came out. I almost choked on the piece of tortilla in my mouth. It wasn’t Cruzita Mora!” “And…,” Paca whispered forcefully, “I got up to use the bathroom, where I took a look at the invitation. This place is so huge,” she gestured toward all of Fort Mason. “I don’t believe it,” I said, looking at Paca and then at my sister. “Two quinces on the exact same day at Fort Mason by two rival taquerías.” “I’m sure Ambrosio did it on purpose,” my sister added, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Paca turned back to me with a desperate look in her eyes. “But what am I going to do about the gift I left at Ambrosio’s party?” Just then a loud commotion coming from the entrance made all eyes turn. A girl with a high-pitched voice was cursing loudly about the balloons. It was Cruzita’s grand entrance. She was in a white hoop gown decorated with bows, pearls, sequins, and a sparkling tulle overlay. With the haughty confidence of an only child, she stormed across the room in tears. Her tías trailed after her like a hive, fussing over her makeup and tousled tendrils, while she whacked at her gangly boyfriend with her silver scepter to get out of her way.