He was so sure about himself and what he wanted. While she . . . she’d felt lost. Like a boat unmoored in stormy waters.
“So, what are you saying? Are you considering fire college, like your brothers and dad?”
His words had been more accusation than question. An unfair reaction that had her throat tightening with unshed tears.
“I don’t know. Maybe? I’d make a good paramedic. But I’m also enjoying experimenting with healthy recipes for Papi, so I might be interested in studying nutrition.”
“Okay, can’t you do that online, from here?”
But where would “here” be? He hopped around from photo shoot to photo shoot.
She was trying to find the right path for herself. Aimlessly following her globe-trotting boyfriend around like a groupie, without having some purpose in her own right, didn’t feel like the right solution.
“Can’t you come home for the holidays?” she had asked, hoping it would help them reconnect. “Then we can—”
“No. How can you even ask me that? You know what my father said. I’m not coming back. Not until he apologizes. You promised to come with me. Are you giving up on me, too?”
Dios mío, how his words had stung. The unfairness had fractured her tender heart.
Going away for the summer was one thing. That, bueno, that was an adventure.
Going away for good like he wanted? That was incomprehensible.
He’d been unfair. Changing the game plan by applying for the apprenticeship without telling anyone. Accepting without even discussing it with her.
Yes, the apprenticeship had proven fortuitous for Alejandro. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, begrudge him what had been the opportunity of a lifetime.
For her, though, things had been different. And he wouldn’t or couldn’t understand.
What should have been a happy birthday morning call had ended with their first big fight. Unknowingly, the beginning of a long, drawn out, agonizing end that had left her heart battered and bruised.
“Are you done?” José nudged the platter of chicken she held aloft, pulling her back to the present. The memory of Alejandro’s terse disappointment as they hung up dissipated.
“Uh, yeah,” she mumbled. “Here you go.”
Her nephew took the platter, his skinny arms wobbling with the weight. On either side of him, her mom and Anamaría steadied it, waiting while the young boy grabbed a chicken leg. After serving herself, Anamaría’s mom passed the dish off to Carlos.
“Elena tells me that Alejandro will be home for a few months recovering.” Like a dog with a pernil bone, savoring the pork shoulder flavor and unwilling to let it go, Anamaría’s mom swung the conversation back to her current favorite topic. “Is that right?”
“Probably,” Anamaría answered.
“It was nice of you to go spend time with him today,” her mom continued gnawing.
“I didn’t spend time with him. I went because Señora Miranda was worried about infection setting in after his trip.”
“¿Se ve bien?”
Reaching for the amarillos—happily noting that the sweet plantains had been sautéed with a mist of olive oil instead of the usual pan-fried technique, per her heart-healthy suggestion—Anamaría forked a few slices on her plate and played dumb. “Does who look good? Señora Miranda? You saw her just the other day.”
“Ay, nena, don’t be silly. I’m asking about Alejandro. How does he look? Handsome, I’m sure.”
Anamaría swung her irritated gaze around the table at her knuckleheaded brothers. What happened to helping deflect their mami’s anticipated Cuban Inquisition like they had all agreed in their sibling text thread?
Clueless Carlos was occupied scooping off some of the giant-sized pile of congrí little Ramón had served himself, with Gina rushing him before the mix of black beans and rice toppled off their youngest’s plate. Enrique and her papi had their heads together, from the sounds of it swapping opinions about something that had gone down at one of the city’s fire stations. Luis and Sara were still busy canoodling like teenagers.
So much for bailing her out if needed. Fine.
Experience cautioned her to say as little as possible during her mom’s inquisition. Less chance of inadvertently mentioning something that could be misconstrued or used for ammunition later.
“Alejandro looks like a man foolish enough to climb up the side of a rocky waterfall, alone mind you, while chasing a silly bird. Only to slip and wind up breaking his tibia. Idiota.”
“¡No seas mala!” her mom chided.
“I’m not being mean. You asked. I told the truth. The fool’s lucky he didn’t break his neck instead.”
“¡Ay, nena, por favor!” Her mom made the sign of the cross, kissing her fingertips at the end. “I hope you did not put that idea in Elena’s mind. She worries enough about ese nene.”
“Only he’s not a boy anymore. He’s a grown-ass man—”
“Oye, what’s with that kind of language at our familia mesa?” Her mami scowled over the plate of amarillos as she berated Anamaría for breaking one of their family table rules.
“Bottom line, Alejandro’s an adult who should know better.” She hoped her lecture earlier today made him think twice in the future. Then again, he’d always been hardheaded.
“Bueno, I think you should—”
“Abuela, will you give me some amarillos, please?” Ramón asked his grandmother.
Anamaría could have kissed her nephew for the interruption, especially since her siblings were useless. She’d have to treat the cutie to a sundae at Dairy Queen off White Street after baseball practice this week.
Too bad, her mami was a woman on a mission. Forking a few slices of sweet plantain, she plunked them on her younger grandson’s dinner plate and went back to her henpecking. “I know Elena was comforted by your visit. You should stop by the Mirandas’ tomorrow. Check on Alejandro again. It will put Elena at ease to know her son is healing properly.”
Anamaría tucked her chin to hide the eye roll that would elicit another warning for bad manners. “Tomorrow’s Monday; I’m sure the orthopedist he plans to follow up with here has office hours. Alejandro should see a doctor, not a paramedic, if he’s concerned.”
“Sí, that may be so,” her mami pressed. “Pero sería más fácil si tú—”
“No, it would not be easier for me to do anything for him.” Anamaría’s harsh tone stopped the other conversations around them.
Coño, so much for keeping her cool and not giving any indication that Alejandro’s return affected her one way or another. Her mami would pounce on the slightest whiff of perceived interest or emotional attachment on Anamaría’s part. Like the meddling wasn’t bad enough already.
From his place at the head of the table, Papi arched a thick black brow in question. He didn’t voice a reprimand. He didn’t have to. Anamaría could hear his usual “your mami means well” advice in her head. Words he calmly repeated whenever she complained during their weekly papi-hija dates over lunch, ice cream, or café con leche. A tradition that had started when she was in elementary school and still continued.