Chapter 16 #2
I excused myself and headed toward my mom, who was fussing over the food. I jumped in to help, willing the heat in my face to cool. Before long, she was directing an assembly line of tías and cousins, serving plates one after the other. I felt someone hovering at my back—it was Elliott.
“Hey. You okay?” I asked. He looked lost, out of place.
“Can I help?” His voice was quiet, sincere enough that I almost reached for his hand. But the memory of the last time I’d reached for him stopped me. It always stopped me.
“We’re just about done, and my mom would murder me if I put you to work. Where are you sitting? I’ll bring you a plate.” I gestured toward the food, but his eyes stayed on mine.
“I’ll eat whatever you bring me,” he said, then pointed to a bench where Morgan was helping Chloe and Logan fill water balloons.
He was about to walk away when he stopped, staring at the cake sitting in its plastic container. I knew exactly what caught his attention.
“Your birthday isn’t for a few weeks,” he said. It was such a small thing—but it felt like everything.
I was so stunned I went quiet for a beat too long. His eyebrows rose. He waved a hand in front of my face, checking if I was still present.
“Yep. Yeah,” I said, at a complete loss for words.
His expression went flat. I was about to explain that my birthday didn’t matter, but my mom nudged me aside as she passed a plate. “Mija, help. Don’t just stand there.”
I shrugged helplessly at Elliott. He walked off with a strange look on his face.
The plates made their way to the picnic tables, and I finally sat with mine, plus Elliott’s and Morgan’s. We ate quietly, watching the kids abandon their food for the water balloon fight. Elliott dug in like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“What’s your favorite?” I bumped his shoulder with mine.
“The meat is so tender. Your mom always makes it just right.”
It was carne asada—our favorite. To this day, no one knew how my mom, a lifelong vegetarian, seasoned and cooked meat so perfectly.
“She’s magic. Everything she touches turns to gold,” I said through a mouthful of taco. I moaned at a particularly good bite, and Elliott chuckled.
“It’s like the Midas touch, but with food.
She’s the meat whisperer.” The words were out before I could stop them.
Elliott nearly spit out his taco, laughing so hard I covered my face.
For the rest of the meal, every time our eyes met, we both started laughing.
It was the most comfortable I’d felt with him in a long time—it made me forget why we were at war at all.
When mom finally took a break, she sat beside us with my tía close by.
From another table, someone called out, asking when I was getting married.
It was the running joke. I was the last single Miranda girl, the supposed old maid.
I never realized how deeply it affected me until after the Javi disaster.
“Hopefully soon. I’m not getting any younger,” my mom said, sliding the invisible blade right between my ribs. I blushed and kept my eyes on my plate.
“I need more grandkids,” she added, laughing loud and hearty. The blade twisted deeper.
“You’ll get there, mija!” one of my tíos yelled. “You just have to dress to impress—and maybe not have so much attitude.”
I swallowed a barbed remark. Mexican culture could be so backward sometimes. Women were expected to be subservient, and I never had been—and never would be—okay with that.
“I think if she has to hide who she is, she’s not going to end up with anyone worthy of her,” Elliott said, dead serious.
I almost choked. For a second, I thought I’d imagined it.
“To date, her wedding gowns have brought in more money to Ever After than all the other designers combined,” he added. “I’d say she’s pretty damn successful, and I don’t think whether she’s married or has babies should define her.”
My heart stopped. Time froze. No one expected him to say that. Least of all me. How did he see that those offhand comments ripped open my deepest insecurities?
I swallowed hard and avoided his gaze. My mom gave me an apologetic look, and I managed a sad smile. Later, when it was time to clean up, I grabbed a giant trash bag and started collecting empty plates. Before long, someone fell into step beside me—Julián.
“So, I know this might seem sudden,” he said, “but I’d like to take you out sometime. If that’s something you’d be interested in? And I’m asking for me, not because of your aunt,” he clarified quickly.
I stared at him, shock written all over my face. “Too soon?” he asked.
“No, no. Just… unexpected.”
“You must not know how beautiful you are.” He said it so genuinely that for once, I almost believed it.
I was still processing when he pulled out his phone. “Your tía gave me your number—I hope that’s okay. I’ll text you. Also, happy birthday.” He gave me a sweet smile before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on my cheek.
I was still standing there, jaw slightly open, when my phone buzzed in my back pocket.
Before I could react, the trash bag was gently pulled from my hands.
Elliott stepped in, tossing in a handful of plates—never breaking eye contact.
The tension in his shoulders said more than he ever would. He’d heard and seen..
“Sorry, how rude of me. Elliott, this is Julián. Julián, Elliott.”
Morgan made her way over, her eyes flicking between us like she could feel the mess brewing. “Hey, can I borrow you for a sec?” she asked me.
“Yeah. Excuse me, guys.”
“What was that about?” Morgan asked once we were in the kitchen.
“He asked me out,” I said flatly.
A flicker of understanding passed over her face, followed by a small, knowing smile. But a second later, she was bolting for the nearest bathroom and retching into the toilet. I rushed in after her, pulling her hair back as she heaved.
“Did something not sit right with you?”
“It’s been like this for days,” she said after spitting into the sink.
“For days?” I repeated.
Her wide, pleading eyes met mine.
“I’m pregnant,” she said, just as I blurted, “You’re pregnant.”