Chapter 13 #2
As annoying as they can be, I cannot imagine life without them.
In fact, I’m sleeping on a bunk bed in the basement tonight only so I don’t have to go back to Omaha.
Alone. The rest of the extra rooms are occupied by aunts, uncles, and other family members.
Abuela, who came all the way from Colombia, gets the master suite.
“Have you heard from Hunter?” Hudson’s voice is tight.
“Not at all. He froze me out. It’s like he wants to forget about us—I mean, Cobbiton—completely.” I thought we were best friends, so I never understood why he stopped answering my calls and messages. The summer after graduation, he went dark.
“Wipe this place off the map,” Hudson says as if offended.
“What did this town ever do to you?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer but does say, “I’m a public figure. If Hunter wanted to pretend we’re a family, he could find me easily enough.”
“But he hasn’t.” For some reason, I speak the answer so he doesn’t have to.
Hudson shakes his head slowly and with disdain, as if he’s bypassed the pain that his brother may have caused and is stuck in anger … or is it disgust? Disappointment?
A shiver ripples through me because I’ve never wanted to admit it, but Hunter hurt me, too.
Broke my heart, even after I told him he had it.
But the distance between the brothers isn’t right.
Hunter said they never knew their father, and I remember when their mom left town the day the twins turned eighteen—and frequently for week-long stretches before that.
I want to do something to reunite the siblings. But what … how?
Abuela taps my ankle with her cane and in Spanish, says, “I see you found your young man.”
“Who? Hudson Roboveitchek?” Having cut into my thoughts, it takes me a moment to translate what she’s implying. I silently pray that she’s forgotten about the “Chosen One” dream.
She arches an eyebrow. “I never liked his twin.”
Shocked that she recalls the brothers and thankful she’s speaking Spanish, I reply, “Also, he’s not my young man.”
I understand Spanish better than I speak it, but for the last three years, Chuck has been using me to practice because he wants to impress Marisol.
I don’t think she cares what language he speaks.
In fact, if polled, she’d probably vote that he talk less.
But he’s been trying to mold himself into her perfect man.
To my surprise, she finally caved and now they’re engaged.
Switching to English, I ask, “Are you having a nice time, Abuela?”
Following my lead, she answers, “Celebrating that your parents didn’t get a divorce? Absolutely! I didn’t think they’d last a week. It was irritated at first sight. Dulcemaria wanted to wring his neck. To his credit, Eduardo didn’t strangle her.”
Hudson chuckles.
“Edward is my dad, but around here, the Colombian side of the family calls him by the traditional name. Dulcemaria is Mami, but she’s not exactly sweet, given that’s the translation of dulce.” Why am I explaining this?
A sad thought coasts into my mind. It is the kind of thing I would’ve said to Hunter, but learned not to because he’d just tease me or brush off my comments.
Hudson holds up his empty plate. “Mrs. Smith makes great cookies.”
“The Torres women are good cooks and bakers, but above all feisty,” she says, mostly to Hudson, then quickly relays a classic story of their wedding reception food fight.
His lips quirk. “I’ve noticed.”
She taps him with her cane. “But you seem well built. Like you can handle Leah.”
“Oh, we’re—” I wave my finger between us. However, before I can clarify that Hudson and I aren’t a couple, and as far as I know, there aren’t any other Torres women available in his age category, someone clinks a piece of silverware on a glass and the PA system buzzes.
My dad taps the microphone and in his deep voice says, “Testing. Testing.”
Mami nudges him with her elbow. “We already tested it, Eduardo.”
“Dulce …” His tone is measured.
She rolls her eyes. I’m well-versed in their push and pull. Mami pushes until Dad pushes back and then they pull each other into an embrace, prompting us kids to leave the room. The passion runs deep between those two.
Mami jokes that they would’ve had ten kids if she weren’t so worried late at night during storms. She’d pray for hours, begging God not to let him fall off an electric pole or get shocked and asking that he made it home safely.
If there’s anything I know about my parents, it’s that they love each other deeply and express as much as they take turns giving a toast, roasting each other, and then gazing into each other’s eyes with so much love my head feels like it might explode.
It gets as sappy as a Hallmark movie and everyone claps and cheers.
But they’re not done. They talk about each of us kids—adults now—starting with Dani. When they get to me, I’m guessing they’re going to say something embarrassing about how I’m single and if anyone has a friend or brother …
Instead, Dad says, “We have a special announcement that we couldn’t be more excited to share with you.”
I may now live in Omaha but am here tonight. Did they forget about me? What about their third daughter?
Mami takes the mic. “We are pleased to share with everyone that our darling Leah Maria and Hudson Robo—”
Dad finishes for her with a commendable pronunciation of “Roboveitchek.”
Still standing next to me, he blinks slowly, unsure whether he was just called to the front of the classroom and if he was, he forgot his essay.
My stomach swoops and my attention returns to where my parents stand because whatever they want to share involves us.
“Please congratulate Hudson and Leah! They’re getting married.”
“We are?” we both say at the same time as everyone erupts into boisterous cheering.