Maria smiled and looked down at her dress. "I think I'll go home and change first. These shoes are killing my feet, mi amor."
The heat of the late afternoon sun penetrated through the windows of his pickup truck onto his skin. The glaring sun bore down as he watched the government offices slowly give way to the endless sea of suburban tract houses stretching out before him.
Juan rolled down his window.
“Ay! Roll your window up,” Maria chided him, half-heartedly swatting his arm. “It’s burning up outside. Use the air conditioner.”
Juan ignored her demand. “Do you ever miss our old town in Mexico?”
“What kind of question is that?” Maria fixed him with a shocked look. “You’re an American now! This is our home.”
Juan waved his left hand out the window dismissively, “Ah, look at this,” he said. The streets were lined with chain stores and strip malls. The further they drove from the city’s center, the more the buildings became dilapidated. It seemed like there were more vagrants these days, and litter clung to chain link fences that enclosed yards filled with broken cars.
“I miss cooking with Mama,” Maria said softly.
"Estamos aqui," Juan noted, pulling past the low stone wall into the driveway of his house. “We’re here.”
Maria slipped out of the truck and made her way inside.
Juan headed for the garage. We're here. This is our home now. Even though they had lived in this house for almost ten years, the moment's gravity bore down on him. This is America, and I’m an American.
“Have a beer while I get changed,” Maria offered. “I’ll drive tonight.”
“Hurry up,” Juan called after her. “We don’t want to be late for the party.”