Ava, whose mother had been born in Barbados, was the tallest and naturally tan, with hazel eyes. Jasmine had golden-brown skin, dark brown eyes, and thick wavy hair she usually straightened for roles. Michelle, whose father was Italian, had light brown eyes, a warm beige complexion, and straight hair. Jasmine, Ava, and Michelle were all brunettes, but that was where the similarities ended. All of the grandkids were biracial, and Jasmine had often thought the range of skin tones on the refrigerator could’ve been used as a makeup foundation palette. The fridge was littered with photos of Esperanza and Willie Rodriguez’s twelve grandchildren in various phases of childhood-never mind that all of them were adults now-held in place by a lifetime’s collection of magnets from around the world. “That’s also a good picture,” Esperanza protested. “My most recent is from sophomore year of high school when I still had braces and bangs.” “Just be glad you have an up-to-date photo on the fridge,” her other cousin Michelle chimed in with an exaggerated shiver from over by the coffeepot. Either way, it was unflattering and incredibly rude.Īnd on newsstands and refrigerators everywhere, for all to see. Pairing that headline-DUMPED!-with that photo-bleary-eyed and frizzy-haired-made it seem like McIntyre had left her because she looked a mess, or she looked a mess because McIntyre had left her. A paparazzo had snapped the photo on a rare rainy day in Los Angeles as Jasmine was leaving the salon where she got her eyebrows threaded. Jasmine ignored the dig about her skincare routine and peered more closely at the magazine cover. You look beautiful, although you really should moisturize more.” Abuela patted Jasmine’s cheek.

“I look like a deer in headlights watching a lifetime of breakups flash before its eyes.”

“A good picture?” Jasmine jabbed a finger at it. She dried her hands on a dish towel and joined Jasmine at the fridge. “Porque it is a good picture!” Over by the sink, Abuela Esperanza’s voice spiked with indignation. “We told Abuela to take it down, but she said it was a good picture of you,” her cousin Ava said from behind her.

But no, here was one of those blasted covers, stuck to the fridge with magnets shaped like a pan of paella and the Puerto Rican flag. “Who put this here?” Jasmine demanded, slapping her hand over the words, as if that could make them disappear, as if the whole embarrassing ordeal could be concealed so easily.Īvoiding the tabloids with her face on them had been hard enough in places like Target and the airport, but she thought she’d be safe in her grandmother’s kitchen in the Bronx. All caps, of course, and below it: Exclusive details from soap star Jasmine Lin’s humiliating breakup with rock star playboy McIntyre. The word glared at Jasmine in bright yellow letters, emblazoned directly beneath a picture of her own face.

You had me at hola by alexis daria