“Well, being wise and being practical aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I just nodded.
“You’re getting pretty good at not rolling your eyes at me. It shows restraint.” I could hear my father laughing from the other room.
“Mom,” I said, “I don’t think you’re ever going to make a very good bullshitter.”
She grinned at me and handed me the pie. “Have a good time. Give my love to Dante’s parents.”
“Mom, they don’t need your love,” I said as I headed out the door. “What they need is your apple pie.”
I could hear my mother’s laughter as I shut the door softly and headed toward Dante’s house.
* * *
On the short drive to Dante’s house, I was smiling—I was smiling.
* * *
Mrs. Quintana answered the door. I felt a little shy and a little stupid as I stood there, holding an apple pie. “Hi,” I said. “My mom sends her love and this apple pie.”
God, Mrs. Quintana could win a smiling contest.
She took the pie from my hands. And all I could think of was that I hadn’t dropped the pie and it was safely in the hands of an experienced pie handler. I followed her into the dining room, where Mr. Quintana was placing a big plate loaded with tacos.
“I made my world-famous tacos.” He grinned at me.
Dante walked into the room, wearing a pink shirt with a little alligator on it. I tried not to notice how the pink against his fair skin almost made him glow. God, he was handsome. Dante. Shit. God. “And I made the rice.”
“You cook? Who knew.”
“Well, I only know how to make rice and warm up leftovers.”
That sweet look on his face. Dante could be humble.
* * *
I gotta say, Mr. Quintana can make some mean tacos. And Dante’s Mexican rice was pretty much to die for. Not quite as fluffy as my mom’s, but still. Dante and I had a whopping five tacos each, Mr. Quintana had four, and Mrs. Quintana apologized for eating three. “I generally only eat two, but I’m eating for two. And he’s kicking up a storm.”
Dante’s eyes lit up. “Is he kicking right now?”
“He sure is.” She motioned toward him. “Feel.”
Dante was up in half a second and stood next to his mom. She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “See?”
Dante didn’t utter a word—then, finally, he said, “Oh, Mom, that’s incredible. Oh my God, that’s, that’s life. You have all that life inside you. Oh, Mom.” After a while he pulled his hand away slowly and kissed his mother on the cheek. “You know, Mom, when I fight you, I don’t really mean it.”
“I know. Well, except the shoe thing.”
“Yeah”—he smiled—“except the shoe thing.”
“Speaking of which—Ari, I’m making you the shoe police. Dante’s only allowed to go barefoot at White Sands.”
“I think I can handle that.”
“You’re taking her side?”
“Don’t answer that question,” Mr. Quintana said. “There is no right answer.”
Dante gave his dad a snarky look. “Dad thinks he’s Switzerland. He’s always going for neutrality.”
“No. I’m going for survival.”
That made me laugh.
“Well, I’ve waited long enough to have a slice of Lilly’s apple pie. We’ll eat some pie and we can talk about how both of you are going to behave during your camping trip.”
Oh God, I thought I was going to die. She wasn’t going to talk about sex. I mean, the truth was, that was all I was thinking about, which just goes to show that I was just like every other seventeen-year-old guy on the planet. I sat there frozen. Good thing Mrs. Quintana was busy cutting the apple pie and serving it up on plates. Otherwise she might have noticed the I want to hide under the table look on my face.
“No smoking pot and no drinking beer. You got that?”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about you, Ari. This little lecture is mostly intended for my Dante.”
“Mom, it’s not as if I can score pot at the drop of a hat.”
“I don’t know about that, Dante; you’re very resourceful.”
“Oh, Mom, don’t tell me you and Dad didn’t ever smoke pot or drink beer when you were underage.”
“What your father did and what I did when he and I were underage is, one, none of your business, and two, irrelevant to your situation. I’m a parent, and you may want to believe that all I want to do is control you, but you’d be wrong about that. I just don’t want you two to get into any trouble. You have enough to deal with already. And you know what I mean, so let’s not push it.” She kissed Dante on the forehead as she placed a piece of pie in front of him.
Mr. Quintana blew a kiss at Mrs. Quintana.
“You see,” Dante said. “See how he blew her a kiss. That means he’s telling her Good job, honey. And then he wants to believe he’s Switzerland.” He made a face, then stuck his fork in his piece of pie and when he tasted it, before he’d even finished swallowing, his eyes opened as wide as I’d ever seen them. “Oh my God, this is the best fucking piece of apple pie I’ve ever tasted.”
Mrs. Quintana put her head down and shook her head. “I am about to wash your mouth out with soap. I know you love that word, just as you know I hate it. You have an extensive vocabulary, and I’m sure you can find other words to replace it.”
“I have looked for other words. They pale in comparison.”
“Do you see my look of disapproval? I may not be able to stop you from using that word when you’re not in my presence, but don’t use that word in front of me. Ever.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. Truly. I am.” He pointed the fork toward his piece of pie. “Taste.”
She shot Dante one of her famous looks, then tasted the apple pie. “Oh my God, Ari, where did your mother learn how to bake?”
“I don’t know. She’s always been amazing in the kitchen.”
“Is she as good in the classroom as she is in the kitchen?”
“I have a feeling she is.”
Mrs. Quintana nodded as she went for another bite. “I get that feeling too,” she said. “And I can almost forgive you for using that word.”
Dante had this victorious look on his face.
“Don’t get cocky. I said ‘almost.’ ”
And then I noticed Mr. Quintana was serving himself seconds of my mother’s pie.
“Sam, did you even taste it? Or did you just inhale it?”
“Oh, I tasted it, all right. The rest of you can go ahead and talk. I’m busy bonding with Lilly’s apple pie.”
Dante smiled at me. “Thank God for your mom’s pie. It took my mom out of lecture mode.”
“You can’t ever quit while you’re ahead, can you, Dante?” Mrs. Quintana couldn’t quite keep herself from laughing.
* * *
We did get another brief lecture from Mrs. Quintana—but I didn’t mind. She cared. And it also helped me understand where Dante got his stubbornness. From his mother, of course. When she’d finished, she kissed us both on the cheek. Then she looked at me. “Dante will never stop trying to out-stubborn me. He’ll never succeed. But that’s not going to stop him from trying. And tell Lilly she’s a genius—and I’ll return her pie plate tomorrow.” Which meant our mothers were going to discuss their sons while we were gone.