Rio — Three Little Birds, Three Little Words

I made it to Rio—seven hours before the wedding.

As soon as the plane landed, I tried to get on Wi-Fi. But clearly, the universe wasn’t done testing my trust muscle. In the briefest moment of stillness, I realized I would have to locate Mr. International through sheer echolocation.

Without an Irish tray spilling (real ones know), finding him in an open airport felt tricky. I even walked right past him—and the hilarious poster he made to greet me. Maybe I was right to consider running the other way.

But then he hugged me. I miss that moment right now.

And with a six-hour countdown to the wedding, the only Brazil I experienced was the soundtrack of the cast of Rio singing us to sleep.

Morning came fast.

Mr. International asked, “How’s your Portuguese?” Before I could remember how to say “tudo bem,” the door swung open.

That idealized version of meeting his family at least a day before the wedding? Yeah, my flight schedule laughed at that. Here comes: aunt number one, aunt number two, and cousin.

And I understood exactly nothing.

All my Love Is Blind: Brazil marathons and my pocket dictionary did absolutely nothing for me here. I looked at Mr. International with pure terror. He smiled and said, “Have fun.” Then the door shut—leaving me on the wrong side of it.

Next thing I knew, I was piled into a car and dropped at a salon where I had no way to explain what I wanted for hair and makeup without miming. Talk about being an easygoing client.

I fully felt like I had stepped into the barbershop scene from Coming to America—smiling at whatever was said, convinced no one knew I was the queen that I am.

What I could understand clearly was the family’s unbelievable generosity in sharing this sacred moment with me. I felt immediately welcomed—even if I didn’t yet know what “bem-vinda” meant.

We finally arrived at the wedding. I still hadn’t met the bride, Mr. International’s sister, or his mother. And once again, he was swept away from me, this time to fulfill his role as ring man.

Then the first song began: Can You Feel the Love Tonight.

And even though I couldn’t understand every word or ask anyone to translate, one thing was unmistakable about this wedding. Love. Pure, all-encompassing, wordless love.

When Mr. International walked down the aisle holding two puppies—yes, puppies—to deliver the rings, I didn’t need language. I had my tears.

Then came my first Brazilian party. And all I can say is: wow. Wow. One more time—wow. Hard to believe Project X was made in America.

I danced the night away, using movement to communicate with his mother, who immediately told me to call her sogra, and with my new cuñada, the bride. I loved them instantly.

And then came my favorite part of the entire wedding: the school-bus ride home. We all piled into a bus that doubled as a wedding shuttle, still buzzing from the night, laughing and overflowing with joy.

Packed inside, I felt a strong sense of family already. But then it became official.

Mr. International’s mom had been practicing English for me. And rest assured, the one phrase she had mastered came out loud and proud as she entered the bus:

“Fuck you, Hudson.”

The two people who understood English gasped. But don’t worry—I got everyone else’s attention with a perfectly timed, razor-sharp:

“Vai se foder.”

And that one landed.

After a full day of barely being able to form a Portuguese sentence, everyone was astounded that the one phrase I delivered effortlessly was Portuguese “fuck you.”

Maybe it was luck that I had studied that one…

But I think the real luck is this:

I gained a Portuguese sogra who, like me, knows exactly which words matter most.