Page 82 of Love and Other Chances

“Sounds good to me!” I chirp, much more enthusiastic now that I’ve had coffee.

We follow Lana’s plan (as one does if you know what’s good for you). We rotate taking showers while eating eggs, bagels, and fruit for breakfast. Once everyone is ready to go, we head out for the day.

When we get to theTodos Juntosoffice, Brooksooosandahhsover everything, despite the truth that it is a plain office. But various team photos line one whole wall, creating a mural of kids’ smiling faces.There are several action shots from games mixed in, and looking at the confident and determined expressions on the players’ faces makes me feel sentimental.

“This is just . . . really cool what you’re doing here,” Brooks says, voice thick with emotion. His gaze sweeps over the photos one last time before we head out to drive to Baltimore.

As Mateo drives, Brooks flips the conversation and drills Lana with questions about her law school experience. “I’ve been so lucky to be at Maryland Carey Law because I could focus on immigration law and get practical experience through the Chacón Center for Immigrant Justice,” she says, turned to face us in the back seat. “Even though I originally wanted to follow in my mom’s footsteps and go to UC Davis, I’m so grateful that God redirected me here.”

“His plans were always better,” Mateo says with a smile, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind Lana’s ear and running his fingers through the length.

“Yeah, I wonder which amazing best friend of yours encouraged you to loosen up on your original plan?” I tease.

“We’rebothfull of good advice for each other, huh?” Lana teases back, glancing knowingly between Brooks and me.

After we see the building that has served as Lana’s second home the past few years, we stand around discussing what to do next. The sun is shining brightly, but the air is still chilly.

“I vote for something indoors,” I say with a shiver.

“Hey, have you guys ever gone to this glow-in-the-dark splatter paint place?” Brooks asks Lana and Mateo, holding out his phone.

“We haven’t, but it looks fun,” Mateo replies. “Let’s do it.”

“Hold on, I’m not dressed for painting,” Lana says. “This is my favorite sweater.”

“Good point. This is alsomyfavorite sweater of Lana’s,” Mateo says with a grin. He pulls Lana toward him to kiss her.

“No sweaters will be harmed in the making of splatter art—they have full hazmat suits and goggles that you put on,” Brooks says, pointing to the description on the TripAdvisor listing.

“Ooo, and you get to choose your own music!” I add, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Please, Lana, please?”

We reserve a room online, and we make our way there. Brooks chooses a music playlist while we don our protective outfits and take a few “before” photos together.

“We look like we’re ready to tackle a pandemic,” Brooks says.

“I would absolutely be wearing a mask over my mouth and nose if we were walking into a pandemic,” Lana says. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure how much I trust having any part of my face exposed when I’m in the same room with the three of you plus paint.”

Mateo waggles his eyebrows at her. “You’ll have only yourself to blame for planting the idea in my mind.”

The employee shows us to our reserved room and shuts us in. There are four canvases on easels around the room. A central table holds squirt bottles filled with neon paint as well as cups of paint with brushes and syringes inside for more precise splatters. EDM music starts pumping through the speaker, and I’m immediately dancing as I choose my first paint color. The luminescent glow of the black lights adds to the upbeat ambiance as we begin squirting and flicking paint at our canvases.

I’m splashing bright colors at my canvas with abandon, and Brooks is essentially using every viral dance move as a means of throwing color on his. I’m laughing at his Soulja Boy moves when I hear a groan from Lana.

“Ugh, I ruined it. The purple was only supposed to be in this section,” Lana says. I can picture her furrowed brow beneath the giant goggles.

“It’s splatter paint, LaLa. You’re not supposed to have a plan,” I chide.

“Let it go, babe,” Mateo says as he flicks a giant splotch of purple paint onto Lana’s canvas. Her mouth drops open, and she aims a paint-laden paintbrush directly at Mateo, splattering his hazmat suit with neon paint.

His dimple pops as a boyish grin takes over his face, right before he gently splashes a few droplets of paint at Lana’s face, speckling her cheeks with glowing purple freckles. Before she can react, he swoops in to kiss her. She drags a paintbrush across his cheek in revenge, but I can see her smiling against Mateo’s lips.

“They’re so adorable,” Brooks stage-whispers in my ear. I boop his nose with neon blue paint before quickly kissing his lips.

“Spin me!” I demand as I pick up two squirt bottles at random. Brooks wastes no time in wrapping his arms around my waist, then rapidly whirls around as I squeeze the bottles. I’m laughing as he sets me back down to assess the effect.

“Well, that didn’t really get much paint on the canvas, but still a ten out of ten experience,” I say. The version of “Sky Full of Stars” that we listened to in the car on the way to the silent disco starts playing, and I’m suddenly too busy jump-dancing to worry about my painting. Brooks joins in, and Mateo and Lana aren’t far behind. It’s not long before paint makes an entrance to the dance party.

The music abruptly cuts off and an employee opens the door to let us know our hour is up. We jerk to a standstill as the employee side eyes our paint-covered hazmat suits. He gives us instructions to bring our paintings to the clean-up area before massively rolling his eyes as he leaves.

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