Chapter Seventy-Four
“Hey, I’m willing to try almost anything once so long as it doesn’t end with me in prison or dead,” I joke with Diego when he asks if I’d like to try mate .
His deep chuckle has easily become one of my favourite things in the last few days. It’s hearty and comforting.
He prepares the dried leaves with hot water, allowing them to float to the top before handing it to me. “It’s got an acquired flavour, so don’t feel bad if you don’t like it. The act of pouring and sharing mate is considered a gesture of love and dedication.”
Rafael had told me about mate once when he was talking about his childhood. He said that mate is considered an integral part of Argentinian life. Sharing it with people is like a ceremony. It’s tied to feelings of friendship and is shared with both friends and strangers.
It’s sweet that something so seemingly simple as sharing a beverage with someone has such a profound meaning to an entire culture.
“ Gracias , Diego.” I thank him, wrapping my hands around the clay mug, the heat warming my palms.
Rafael runs a hand down my arm, eliciting sparks of awareness over my skin as he squeezes my elbow. “The straw has a filter, that way you don’t drink the leaves.”
I nod, breathing in a deep whiff of the earthy, almost grassy scent before pressing the warm metal straw to my lips and taking a sip. My eyes widen, and my cheeks pull taut, lips puckering. I swallow it down despite the bitter, almost astringent taste coating my mouth.
His family is seated around the dining table with us, sucking their lips into their mouths, and before I can even say anything, they burst into laughter.
“It’s a little bitter,” I admit, my shoulders quaking with suppressed laughter, heat blooming over the apples of my cheeks.
Rafael tugs on my hair tie, pulling it out and putting it around his wrist. He sinks his fingers into the base of my scalp, rubbing gently and then applying firmer pressure that makes me melt into the chair.
“You purr like a cat,” Catalina remarks with a knowing grin, shuffling the deck of cards. She hands them to Diego to pass out to each of us and grabs a plate of vigilante from the stove and sets it in the centre of the table. The smell of sweet butter lingers in the air, making my mouth water.
I’ve learned that in Argentina, it’s common to eat dinner at nine or ten at night, so having a pastry, or facturas, around five or six with mate or cortadito is what I’ve grown used to these last few nights.
“Speaking of cats, how’s Mrs. Purrito doing?” Carlos asks, and the smirk he’s wearing tells me there’s a story behind that cat that I haven’t heard yet.
I perch on the edge of my chair, trying to look like I know what the hell I’m doing as I stare at the cards in my hand. Spoiler alert I don’t.
“She’s with Nakoa and Jelani, so I imagine she’s laughing maniacally while rubbing her ass on J’s pillow since he’s allergic to cats,” Rafael says, dropping his hand from my head to pick up his cards.
It takes everything in me not to pout at the loss of contact.
“If he’s allergic, why would he agree to watch her?” Catalina asks. She’s the picture of calmness as she arranges her cards. Something tells me she’s three steps ahead of everyone else. As the mother of two boys, I suppose she had to be.
“Because it’s Jelani. It’s not that he has a hard time saying no, because he doesn’t.
It’s that he genuinely doesn’t want to say no, and it wasn’t until we got here that Nakoa texted to give me an update on her and also let me know that they shouldn’t watch her again because J would never tell me, but he’s been sneezing every two minutes and has had three nose bleeds so far.
I feel like shit about it,” he grumbles, and the regret in his tone has a dagger jabbing straight through the centre of my heart.
Diego waves a hand through the air, dismissing the thought just as quickly as it came. “Oh stop. You didn’t know.”
“He’s right. How about we tell Elise how you came to have Mrs. Purrito in the first place?” Carlos asks, and I sigh because it’s what I’ve been waiting for this whole time.
Rafael groans, sorting through his cards. He doesn’t bother lifting his head as he says, “You can tell her yourself because I know you’re dying to.”
Carlos’s smile stretches wide across his handsome face, twin dimples shining brightly as he relays a story about the time he hadn’t heard from Rafael in weeks, but knew he was alive because he’d been watching his games.
“I figured I’d get his attention one way or another, and this little cutie,” he says, showing me a picture of a mud-covered Ragdoll kitten on his phone, “was just the right accomplice.”
“Don’t forget Elise’s father,” Rafa grumbles, grabbing a card from the middle of the table.
My brows knit in confusion. “I’m sorry, did you say my father ?”
“He sure did. I got a hold of your dad and asked him if he’d help me with my plan to get Rafa’s attention.
” My brows are at my hairline, and I’m hanging onto every word spoken from Carlos’s mouth.
“He picked Mrs. Purrito up from the shelter and brought her to the pitch for me. Let her loose after the game was over and made his team captain chase the little thing around on live TV. As soon as she was in his arms, he had a whole slew of cameras and mics in his face pressuring him on whether or not he was keeping her, and of course he had to. Who wants that bad publicity, right?”
My mouth hangs open, and I have to make the conscious effort to shut it, waiting for Rafael to confirm this is all true.
He’s lazy with his response, simply saying, “At least she’s stopped tearing my shit apart since then. I threatened to have her declawed, and that seemed to tame her.”
I gasp, smacking his shoulder without considering what his parents might think, but his mum, who’s seated on his other side, is smacking him in the back of the head at the same time as me. I huff a laugh but ask, “How could you?”
He rubs his shoulder, shooting me a playful grin before turning that same expression on his mum. “I wouldn’t. I swear, but she took the threat seriously, and that was all I’d hoped for. I’m not about to chop her toes off. That’s fucked up.”
“Agreed,” Carlos says across the table, lifting his cards to his face.
“You ready to lose again, Carlos?” Diego asks with a smirk that somehow manages to be both charming and a little intimidating. He effectively steers the conversation back to the game that I’ve just barely figured out how to play by watching them the last few minutes.
Carlos rolls his eyes so hard I’m worried they might get stuck. “Please, Papá. You got lucky last time,” he taunts.
“Ah, but luck is just preparation meeting opportunity, hijo ,” he says.
I nudge his shoulder. “He’s got you there, Carlos.”
He shoots me a betrayed, mock-outraged look and says, “ Et tu , Elise? My own future sister-in-law?”
My cheeks heat at the insinuation, but Diego cuts in. “It’s not siding. Elise is just appreciating greatness when she sees it,” he says, patting Carlos on the back.
Rafael snorts, taking a loud sip of his mate as he finishes his mug, slurping the last of the liquid. “You’re talking a big game, Carlos. Let’s see if you can even manage a meld this round.”
“It’s not about winning,” Catalina chides. “It’s about spending time with family.”
“Eh, winning makes it better,” Rafael says, sounding uninterested in the game.
The game continues, and I’m completely lost within two rounds.
Rafael keeps trying to give me tips, but they mostly consist of vague advice like which cards not to throw away.
He doesn’t bother explaining why, and I’ll enjoy teaching him a lesson about throwing his highly competitive girlfriend to the wolves like this.
Next time we come to visit, I’m spending months prior learning the rules of all these games so I can really play.
Halfway through the game, Carlos suddenly slaps his cards down on the table. “ ?Chinchón! ” he yells, throwing his arms up in victory.
The way his dad raises an eyebrow says everything. “Good, hijo . But let’s see if you can do that again.”
Carlos is practically beaming, clearly riding the high of his big moment, while Rafael mutters something under his breath. I bite back a laugh. I love it when he gets like this. When Rafael is annoyed and grumpy, all he wants later are cuddles. He’s a lot like me on my period.
By the time we get to the last round, it’s tense. Diego is sitting there, cool as ever, and Carlos looks like he’s ready to burst a blood vessel, which is hysterical considering he’s generally so calm and sweet. Apparently, he’s got a mean streak when it comes to card games.
Catalina and I have already accepted our fates as losers.
Carlos slaps a card down with way too much force. “Papá, you’re going down this time.”
“Patience, hijo ,” Diego says smoothly, drawing a card from the pile. He looks at it, smiles, and then, in a move that feels almost theatrical, lays down his entire hand.
“ ?Terminé! ” he announces, throwing his hands up like he’s just won a championship.
Carlos’s groan is almost a growl as he throws his cards onto the table. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Rafael lights up for the first time in the past half hour, laughing so hard he nearly spits out his drink. “And he does it again! You really thought you had him?”
“ Cállate , Rafa,” Diego mutters, glaring at him.
I rest a hand on Carlos’s shoulder, trying not to laugh at how serious he looks. “It’s just a game.”
“No,” Carlos says dramatically, looking around the table. “It’s not just a game. It’s about pride. Legacy.” He points at his dad. “You’re ruthless, Papá. Ruthless.”
Diego shrugs, gathering the cards with a little flourish. “That’s why I’m the head of this family, Carlito. A true Chinchonero never lets his guard down.”
Catalina gives Carlos a comforting look, but I can see the smile tugging at her lips. “There’s always next time, mi amor .”
Carlos shakes his head, muttering, “Next time, I’m taking you down, Papá.”
Diego just grins and winks. “I’ll be waiting.”
The table erupts into laughter again, and I can’t help but smile. This family, they’re competitive and chaotic, but they’re also kind of perfect.
There’s a strange combination of sadness and nostalgic joy that curls inside me.
It’s families like this that make the ache so much worse, reminding me how much I miss my maman and Rachelle, but it’s also beautiful to know I get to be a part of this world with them too.
The rest of the night goes on similarly, with Rafael and Diego poking fun at Carlos while he gives it back to them ten-fold after taking a few minutes to sulk.
Catalina and I wind up on the back patio, going through pictures of Rafael and Carlos as children and drinking a much less bitter version of mate that she served to me cold inside some sort of gourd with orange essence.
The flavour has definitely grown on me, and I’m thankful for that because I want to share these special pieces of their culture with them.
It makes me feel like Rafa and I really belong not only with each other but to one another. It’s something I’ve never experienced before but can’t get enough of now that I have.