Chapter 40 #2
“Meu filho!” My mother appears, apron dusted with flour, hair escaping its pins, cheeks flushed from the stove.
She’s crossing the space in three strides, arms open.
The smell of her—rosewater and butter—hits before her hands do.
She presses her palms to my face, voice breaking on a laugh that’s half sob. “You’re thinner. Always thinner.”
Her hug is all warmth and pressure. I breathe in home, the stew simmering, the faint tang of dish soap, the citrus from a bowl of oranges on the counter, and it fills every empty corner of me.
“Hey, Mama,” I sigh. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too, my baby. You’ve stayed away too long,” she murmurs, then lets me go, holding me at arm’s length to look me over again.
I check the room for my father. “Dad in the yard?”
She nods. He isn’t one for cooking, and he usually spends the beginning of family gatherings in the yard, finding something random to do.
“He’s fixing the crib for the baby.” Like I said.
He’s a solitary man, but adores his family with everything he is.
Where my mom is a homemaker and feeder, my dad likes to make things and sit in the quiet with his family.
Not something that happens often when we’re all together, though.
When she lets go, her gaze shifts past my shoulder. Liv stands at the threshold, shoes still on. The hallway light catches on the edge of her smile.
My mother’s face brightens immediately. “Ah,” she says, voice laced with affection. “This must be Olivia.”
Liv startles a little, her hand fluttering in a shy half-wave. “Hi, Mrs. Oliviera.”
“Sofia,” my mom corrects gently, already reaching for her. She pulls Liv into a hug that leaves flour smudges on her sleeve. “You’re so beautiful. Come, come in. You must be freezing.”
The noise swells again the deeper into the house we move, my mother instantly distracted by the stove—my sisters calling from the dining room, their husbands chatting in the living room, kids chasing one another across the hall.
Carina, the middle sister, appears from the kitchen, spotting me immediately. “He’s home!” she announces, and before I can blink, her daughters, my twin nieces Eva and Clara, barrel into my legs, shrieking my name.
Their small hands are sticky with something sugary; they smell like syrup and shampoo. I crouch, laughing, letting them climb me. “You’re both getting so big. Carina, what are you feeding them?”
“We’re strong girls, Uncle Jay,” they reply in unison, matching dark eyes and hair that look so like my sister.
“Stronger than me, that’s for sure.” Both climb off me, eyes now locked on the new person as they run toward Liv.
A symphony of ‘who are you, I like your hair, do you want to play Barbies with us’ rushes around her.
Liv’s head ping-pongs back and forth between each twin, unable to utter a single syllable.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Jay?” Carina smiles.
“I saw them canoodling outside,” teases Bea, who, for the record, used to be my favorite.
We’re closest in age, we spent the most time together in this house, but now she’s on my shit list. “I’m going to guess they’re dating, or you know.
..” She doesn’t say anything, but her eyebrows wiggle suggestively.
Yep, definitely off my Christmas card list.
“Beatriz,” my mom says in warning, and the smell of garlic and butter trails behind her. “Stop tormenting your brother and go tell your father dinner is almost ready.”
Bea grumbles something unintelligible but slips out the back door.
“For the record, she’s holding her own with those two already.
” Carina nods toward Liv and the girls, where they’re all laughing, real, deep belly laughs.
The twins are eating it up like she’s their new favorite person.
For someone who looked ready to bolt on the porch only minutes ago, she fits right in.
The air in my lungs feels full of her. Of that magic she often has during a storm, the same kind invisibly swirling around her, now clearly charming my nieces, too.
Looking around the room, I spot ‘the husbands’ Luis, Mateo, and Rafa, spread across the couch, half-watching the chaos unfold.
I lift my hand in greeting and see my newest nephew, Nico—Bea and Rafa’s baby—sleeping in the crook of Rafa’s arm, tiny fists curled against his chest. Rafa lifts his free hand in a quiet wave, careful not to wake him.
The older kids, Luisa, Tomas, and Marco, don’t bother looking up from whatever activity they’re doing together in front of the TV, but that’s okay; there are lots of us here, and we’ve got tonight and tomorrow to catch up and introduce everyone.
Walking outside, I find Bea and my father, hoping I can steal two minutes alone with him before we’re all whisked inside for dinner. Dad’s crouched by the old crib, a screwdriver between his fingers and his glasses sliding down his nose.
“Still can’t let anyone else fix things, huh?” I say, leaning against the back porch.
He doesn’t look up right away, just makes one last twist of the screw before sitting back on his heels. “If I don’t, who will? You know your sisters. They call a professional when a lightbulb flickers.”
I huff a laugh, stepping closer. Bea huffs and walks toward the door behind me. “Maybe you can get him to come inside, he’s insistent he’s almost finished.”
She leaves, and I walk closer to my dad.
We stand there for a beat, the sky above us a deep, bruised blue. Somewhere down the street, a dog barks, and the lake hums with crickets.
Dad doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t have to. “Something on your mind, filho?”
I draw a breath, and it burns a little going down. “Yeah.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “I got an email last week. A job interview in California.”
His brow lifts just slightly. “Big one?”
“Pretty big.” My throat tightens. “Full-time staff photographer with the Valkyries.”
“That’s no small thing,” he says, straightening up. “So why aren’t you excited?”
It’s the question I’ve been battling with since I got the email confirming the interview. “I don’t want to screw it up.” I also don’t know if I’m good enough for it, but I swallow those words, choosing to battle them by myself.
He hums as he assesses me. “Screwing up is half the fun, you know us Oliviera men like to fix things. Something I’ve learned over my years is that fear usually shows up right before the good stuff. You don’t flinch away from it, filho. You step into it.”
I swallow, but the pressure doesn’t ease—not when my mind goes somewhere completely different from California and cameras and interviews.
Dad’s gaze flicks to my face, and it’s like he knows. “You’re thinking about something else,” he says quietly. “Or someone. The girl your mother told me you brought today?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. His brows lift, knowing, soft rather than teasing.
“You care about this job,” he continues, “but that isn’t the only thing making you nervous tonight.”
I let out a breath. “She doesn’t know yet.”
“Mm.” He nods, thoughtful. “Big things feel bigger when someone matters, when they’re brought into your world, too.”
I don’t trust myself to respond. Instead, I glance up through the room to find Liv again. She’s standing between my mother and Isabel now, her coat gone, sleeves rolled up, a bowl of something already in her hands, laughing at something Isabel says.
It doesn’t feel like I’ve brought her into my world.
Instead, it’s as though she was meant to be here all along.
In the blur of sound, scent, and familiar warmth, I realize I’ve never loved this house more than I do in this exact moment, because for the first time, it feels like the future I want isn’t just something I imagine.
It’s right there in front of me, laughing in my mother’s kitchen like she’s always belonged.