Chapter 21 #2
Wow. Such riveting subjects. So controversial. I wonder what the odds are this leads to more than two minutes of conversation. They should ask their thoughts about World War II or ask for the title of their favorite book. Something important.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and there’s a text from Chris:
Am coming home ahead of schedule. Can you pick me up at the airport tomorrow?
Is he serious? Me, the rejected fiancée, is supposed to give him a ride home.
This is some kind of cosmic joke, happening simply because I’ve stepped inside a church for the first time in years.
Instead of striking me dead, God is playing a joke on me because what so many people say is true: He has a sense of humor.
I reply:
You can’t be serious. Why don’t you ask Nadia?
Chris’s response is brief:
Didn’t I say we’d talk more when I got back? Please, Luci, otherwise I have to call my parents.
I snort-laugh. He has an army of friends. And we broke up. I text back:
Take rideshare like a normal person.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and will ignore any further buzzing.
Chris can buzz off. The one thing I will say about my experience with Ryan is that it’s taught me a lot about true love.
I don’t see why I should ever settle for less than a man who makes me feel like I’ll die without him.
If I do nothing else while she’s here, I want to make my mother feel the same.
It’s not until I’m at the back of the room where they keep the coffee machine that I spot him.
There’s Eddie, sitting at a table talking to an attractive forty-something woman.
He doesn’t see me when I wave, that’s how deep in conversation he is with the woman.
I shouldn’t be surprised Eddie is here since Abuelita would encourage him to attend if nothing else to support the parish.
I never thought he wanted to get married and this is a settling-down place to meet a possible mate.
It’s not fair of him to get the hopes up of all these desperate single women.
When they have their “bio” break, I sidle up to Eddie.
“What are you doing here?” My tone is light, but I’m working him with my accusatory eyes.
I’m not sure he’s buying it.
“What? I came after work. Didn’t have time to stop by the house.”
“Eddie, are you seriously looking to settle down?”
My second try at eyes dripping with accusation. This time I add crossed arms for emphasis.
“Of course! I’ve been looking all my life.” He shakes his head. “Well, at least half of it.”
“Huh.” I uncross my arms, trying to be a bit more accepting of this previously unknown-to-me information. “I didn’t know this. That last lady you were talking to seems nice.”
“She is. We’re having coffee next week.”
“A coffee date is a great way to begin. Low expectations. But you never know.”
My mother joins us. “Eddie! You’re here.”
“What do you mean? You told me about it,” he says, cocking his head. “You said I should come.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually listen to me.”
I turn to my mother, enjoying my new position of authority over her. “Did you find anyone?”
Without answering me, she turns once more to Eddie. “I asked Luci to screen these men for me since I make such poor choices.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” Eddie says.
There’s a moment that passes between them thick with unsaid words. Which makes sense, of course, because Eddie is of course thinking of his younger brother. And it must be difficult for him to accept anyone taking his place.
“Geneva.” A man with a nicely trimmed salt-and-pepper goatee approaches my mother. “Dinner next week?”
Mami flutters her eyelashes at him, smiles, and then looks over to me for approval. Softly, I shake my head and then lower it. Dinner has way too many implications.
“How about coffee? I’ll call you,” my mother says and then when he’s gone, turns to both me and Eddie. “He’s very nice. Owns a flower shop in San Jose. Cradle Catholic.”
I work hard not to roll my eyes. They actually answered that question. I can think of a million matters far more important.
Do you believe in true love?
How important is it to be honest?
How many books have you read?
What is your favorite period in history?
Do you think romance writers are hacks?
Those would be my questions.
“Is he divorced? Widowed?” I ask.
“Widowed, like me,” she says, forgetting all about Seb, which I find entirely hopeful even if a little misleading.
“I’m having coffee next week with my date,” Eddie says. “Let’s make sure we don’t go to the same place at the same time.”
“You have a date, Eddie?” my mother asks. “With whom?”
“Sandra Ortiz,” Eddie says. “Very nice woman.”
My mother snorts. “She’s divorced.”
“Um, so are you,” I whisper. I’d like to forget it too, but it doesn’t work that way.
“Anyway, it’s just coffee,” Eddie says with a shrug. “We will see how it goes.”
“Same,” my mother says. “I will also see how it goes.”
“But I remain hopeful,” Eddie says with a smile.
“As do I!” my mother says.
This conversation is prickling my spine because my mother’s words sound tinged with jealousy. This can’t be right. She’s probably involved in some odd kind of one-upmanship with Eddie. A competition. That would make sense as she’s always been the competitive type.
A woman interrupts. “Aren’t you Geneva Santana from Desperate Hearts?”
“Yes, I am.” My mother turns to her with a beaming smile. “You watched the show?”
“I loved it! Why did they kill you off? You’re such a good actress.”
My mother flips her hair. “Why, thank you, but you know how it is in Hollywood with aging women. Someone younger took my place.”
“That’s so unfair! My favorite storyline was when you were kidnapped by the cartel and Enrique found you. He died saving you!”
The woman breaks into tears and now my mother is comforting her, stroking her back.
I’ll never understand how real these characters become to their audience.
The storylines are so over the top and melodramatic.
But Abuelita says these people become like family, because she sees them every day in her own home.
They are characters you come to love like members of your family. She cares what happens to them.
I’m not sure what this means, but I know there’s something here for me to learn about story.