Mean Girls, Miami, and Me

There are five planets in retrograde

I’m back in Miami, doing too much but never enough. I choke on a Publix popcorn chicken. I kiss a tree with the rental car. Tío Lance is back. We drink wine and listen to his stories and everyone eats standing up at the kitchen island. We all talk over each other and somehow it works. Mateo keeps asking me if Tío Lance is his brother. He’s having the time of his life. Everyone adores him and we play hide and seek over and over. Everything I do is for him.

I’m listening to this episode of The Expanded podcast while I drive around to a few (two) Art Basel events. The first was hosted by Merrill Lynch, at PAMM, showcasing a Cuban artist, José Parlá, and his “Homecoming” exhibition. I drink champagne and mingle with friends and coworkers of my father and enjoy the sushi bar, and the art, mostly alone. I love walking around the museum at night in my heels.

I am obsessed with José Parlá because back in 2021 he got COVID in New York, ended up in a coma for four months, and woke up believing he owned a string of luxury hotels. As the nurses slowly began to bring him watercolors (given that he’s a well known artist, NOT a real estate mogul) he wanted nothing to do with the art. Slowly, his mind returned and so did his life. This exhibition, in our hometown, marks a return to Miami and to himself. What a story. What a life.

Back in the car, back to the episode. Martha Beck is discussing how culture affects our true nature. “Most of us when we encounter parts of culture that don’t feel right to us, we sell out our true nature… we follow culture away from nature. To get back to integrity we have to get our heads out of our culture enough to feel our nature.”

Maps reroutes me through NW 7th Street, where Marcello and I first lived together, four years ago. I used to drive up and down 7th in the early days of my pregnancy, tutoring the son of a famous Cuban singer and his nephew. I remember gripping the wheel, pushing down waves of nausea with saltines, unsure what would become of me, of my life, of the tiny life growing inside me. At the same time, José Parlá was in his coma, running imaginary high-end hotels.

When I get home, Mateo tells me he misses me so much when I leave. I don’t attend any other nighttime event. I’m hyper-aware of his emotions and I know it’s not easy for him to be away from his father. We’re a package deal.

Later in the week, I attend a “hot girl yoga” event at my friend’s house in the beach. We met in Costa Rica as young models and now we’re both hot moms. I ran into her in June at the launch of the second issue of The Miami Native, where she happened to be having dinner at BeyBey. A writer herself, she loved my Mom Talk essay.

Charlotte with my magazine

At the event we are gifted Alo yoga sets, a pilates mat, jewelry, supplements, and David protein bars. A beautiful model from New York flew in to lead the class, and she has to ask the girls to get off their phones during Shavasana. Some reunions feel serendipitous, as if the universe conspired to make them happen. Others? Not so much.

Me with Charlotte’s protein bars

I’m reminded that growth is not inevitable, by the girl who peaked in high school. The way the past clings to her like a piece of toilet paper from a public restroom. And she wears it selectively, of course. Ten years ago, we were friends. I wonder if she remembers that one night, over pasta, she told me she’s always been mean, even as a little girl. Insecurity that deep sets in like a stain.

When people tell you who they are, believe them. The mean girls always do. They make it a personality quirk — and they rarely have sisters. There’s something I’ve noticed: certain women without sisters often betray without understanding the karmic boomerang of their actions.

Miami is a city of petty betrayals, built on the backs of those who fled bigger, heavier ones. It’s Sunday. I’m at my father’s house talking to his father, about Cuba. About Watergate. About INSANE historical events he was heavily involved in. He begins to cry “it was such a betrayal, for the second time.” He wants to leave, I ask him to stay.

I want to tell his story. One day, I will. Some betrayals linger forever, others fade before they land. It’s Miami — we’re all on edge. The city’s sinking, it’s a free for all. Hot and sticky, like the people who call it home.