Chapter 14
HUDSON
I start to protest, wanting to explain that there must’ve been a misunderstanding. They think Leah and I are getting married?
She scowls at me, giving me the sense that nothing was lost in translation and that I ought to play the game if I know what’s good for me. When it comes to life off the ice, I’ve failed abysmally at that.
But why would she go along with the suggestion that we’re getting married?
I expect her to come at me with verbal bullets flying, push me into the pool, and then start a food fight like at Mami and Papi’s reception as if this is somehow my fault. But maybe she doesn’t want to ruin her parents’ anniversary party.
Instead of telling the crowd of family and friends circling us that there was a mistake, she accepts their congratulations.
A near-constant stream of people wish us well.
The uncles light up cigars, placing one in my hand.
I already hear debates about whether we should have a spring or fall ceremony like her parents.
Abuela tells me, in Spanish, that we remind her of Dulcemaria and Eduardo.
She also says something about me being the “Chosen One,” but I second-guess myself.
I probably didn’t translate that well. I once told my Spanish professor that she smelled like a drunk liver.
To be clear, that’s not what I meant, nor am I familiar with that particular odor.
“I take that as a compliment,” I manage to say to Abuela.
Somehow, over the animated chatter and cheers, Leah overheard the exchange. “You understood what my grandmother said?”
While I accept congratulations kisses on both cheeks from a woman with hair nearly as big as the state of Texas, I say, “Had to take Spanish in college, then I worked on a construction crew.”
“You worked while in college?” Her brow wrinkles as if that information does not compute.
“It didn’t pay for itself.”
“What about scholarships?”
“Are you arguing with me right now?”
She shakes her head as if snapping herself out of it and her aunt starts offering her wedding night advice, in Spanish. I do my best to close my ears.
I have no idea what just happened, but I’ll play the game … for now.
When the guys on the team break through the wall of family members, there are whistles and claps on the back.
Pierre says, “You moved fast, Robo.”
Jack pulls me in for a bro hug and in a deep voice, says, “You take good care of her. She’s one of ours.”
I’m puzzled by what he means until Chuck points at his own eyes with two fingers and then flips direction, pointing at me as if to say that he’s watching me.
Message received, loud and clear. If anyone with the last name Roboveitchek hurts her again, they will pay.
But that’s not going to happen because she’s not mine.
We’ll clear it up later. Somehow. Though with all the excitement surrounding the announcement, backing out seems like it’ll cause more harm than good.
As everyone’s attention turns to the dancefloor, Leah and I finally have a moment alone, though not really because she’s holding an infant who is quietly sleeping in her arms. The kind of warmth that comes from sitting in front of a crackling fire on a cold night comes over me.
Seeing her so comfortable and affectionate with the baby makes my heart do a strange little pitter-patter that I’m afraid she can hear.
“What is that?”
“A baby?” she answers, appalled.
“I meant, what was that?” But it’s not clear whether I mean what happened inside my chest or during the party in general when her parents announced that we’re getting married.
“Oh, you mean my mother and father played a practical joke on me, their lone single daughter. Ha ha. So not funny.” At odds with how sweet she looks with the snuggly baby, she shakes her head. “It’s on. They’ll pay for this.”
“I didn’t get the sense they were joking.”
“What else could it have been?”
“I don’t have a reasonable answer for that.”
With a storm in her eyes, she says, “You were in on this, huh?”
I hold up my hands, innocent. “Honest to goodness, no. I’ve had a few concussions over the years and thought I’d briefly lost consciousness or entered an alternate dimension where you tolerated me.”
“Not funny.” Leah loosens her hand from under the infant and pokes me in the chest. “What do you know about this?”
I level with her. “Not a thing. If anyone is going to be asking questions, it should be me.” No sooner do I speak than a chill works through me as I realize something critical.
During Mr. and Mrs. Smith’s speech, when attention turned to Leah and me, there were numerous cell phones lifted, lights glowing, recording the events in real-time …
which means they’ll likely make their way to the internet.
What will this mean for my career? If I deny it, people will think I’m a jerk and Chuck will break my legs, rendering me useless as a goalie.
If I accept it, Leah will assassinate me.
My cheeks puff on an exhale.
Her shoulders lift and lower as she breathes out. “This is cringy. I am so sorry. It’s my family. They have zero boundaries. And Abuela claims you’re the ‘Chosen One.’ What does that even mean?” she rambles on, fretting.
And just like that, the storm blows past. A switch flipped and she let down her guard.
Interestingly, when I watched her interacting with family and friends, she was warm and, dare I say, friendly.
Not all flames and arrows like when talking to me.
By some act of mercy, I’m now getting her softer side.
She says, “You’re smiling as if amused. There’s nothing funny about this.”
“Trying to figure you out, Leah Maria Smith. I think you’re más dulce than you let on.”
She turns abruptly, disturbing the baby whose little face smooshes up as if ready to explode with tears. I slide my finger into her tiny hand and she squeezes hard and then instantly dozes off again.
Leah looks from the baby to me, perplexed. “I was ready for her to scream bloody murder. Is that some kind of baby whisperer move?”
Instinct, actually, but I don’t say that. However, now we’re both stuck here because the little one’s grip is strong and I don’t want anyone to scream for any reason. Especially now that we have a moment alone to talk.
“So …?” I say.
“So …” she repeats.
“Would you call this a pickle?” I ask.
“A real big deal.”
“Did you say dill?” I chuckle.
“No.”
“I think you did.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
I can’t help but think of Abuela commenting that the relationship we’re celebrating between Edward and Dulcemaria started with irritation at first sight. The older woman approaches, leaning on her cane.
“Practicing?” she asks, looking from her granddaughter to the baby to me.
“Oh, uh, no. Abuela, will you please find my mother? We need to chat.”
“She’s dancing with Eduardo.”
“Mrs. Torres, would you like to sit down?” I stand up and gesture to my seat.
“I’m fine admiring the view.”
I follow her gaze to Jack, who’s doing what very well may be a paso doble with Ella.
She says, “Ah, to be young again. Though I don’t know what they put in the water here in Cobbiton. Everyone is larger than life. That young man could pick me up, toss me over his shoulder, and—”
“Abuela!” Leah whisper shouts.
“I know, I know. He’s happily married, but in my day—”
Leah abruptly gets up and gestures for her grandmother to sit down and take the baby.
I laugh inside because these Torres women are rather extraordinary.
Leah says something in rapid-fire Spanish and all I hear are the words for chosen one again.
Looking at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, Abuela says, “I had a dream and sometimes when you know, you know.”
The song changes and Mr. and Mrs. Smith approach. Leah grabs me by the arm and all but drags me across the lawn to meet them.
“I’d rather we held hands.” Wait. Where did that thought come from? We’re not actually engaged.
“Don’t indulge them.”
“But you were—”
Stopping abruptly in front of her parents, she flings her hands in the air. “Mother. Father. Explain yourselves,” then as an afterthought, she adds, “Please.”
Mrs. Smith cups her daughter’s face. “Mijita, I am so happy for you both.” She stretches her other hand to me but only reaches my shoulder.
“This is your anniversary party. Not our engagement because we’re not—anything.”
I’ve never been in a situation like this before, so I’m at a loss for what to say, but don’t disagree with Leah. Admittedly, the whole thing is ludicrous.
“Maybe you just don’t realize it yet,” Mrs. Smith says.
“There’s nothing to realize because—” She moves her hands rapidly as if trying to use them to speak.
Mrs. Smith smiles. “Perhaps it was meant to be.”
“Have you been drinking? Don’t tell me abuela smuggled in aguardiente. Or is it rum? That got you last time.”
“Your mother is stone-cold sober,” Mr. Smith says.
“Dad, you can’t possibly be going along with this?”
“We just want what’s best for you.”
Leah looks sharply at me, defying me not to speak up.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Smith, Mrs. Smith, with all due respect—”
“Please, call me Mami Maria.”
Brow furrowed, Leah shakes her head. “Mother, you don’t have Nathan, Grant, or Marisol call you a special name.”
“It’s new. Plus, Marisol will be calling me Mrs. Smith until she admits that Charles is the perfect man for her.”
Leah rolls her eyes and paces in a circle as if trying to walk this off. “Okay. Listen. We are in reality.” She waves her hand between herself and me. Then to her parents, she says, “Clearly, the two of you have entered another dimension and floated off into the ether.”
“Mijita, English, please.”
“You’re the one who isn’t making sense. Why are you trying to marry us off? Is there something you’re not telling us?” Fear flits across her features.
To my surprise, Mrs. Smith wraps all of us in a big group hug. I’m a head taller, but feel several body parts pressing against mine, squeezing tight. The Smith-Torres family knows how to hug. It’s like I just powered up with renewed life force like in one of Hunter’s video games.
Jabbering a mile a minute and still talking with her hands, Leah says, “Please tell me you’re not sick. Are you sick, Mami? Papi? Did you get a test done and hear bad results? Is an asteroid going to hit Earth and this is our last night on the planet?”
Drawing back, Leah’s parents and I all look at her as if her brain is melting out of her ears.
Mami Maria and Senor Smith—I’m sticking with formalities with him until told otherwise—exchange a guilty look.
Tipping her head from side to side, Mrs. Smith frowns. “We miss children. They’re fun.”
“Daniella, Valentina, Charles, and I are your children. Your adult children. Are we not fun?”
Sadness fills Mr. Smith’s eyes. “You grew up. Moved away. Got serious.”
“Speak for yourself,” Chuck hollers as he bounces by on a pogo stick and then splashes into the pool.
“Of course, he’s listening. Is everyone at this party eavesdropping?” Leah presses her hands to her head.
A round of answers from those nearby vary from “Yes” to “No” to “It’s our duty.”
There’s nothing for me to do other than chuckle.
“I’ll move back home,” Leah says.
“Please do. At your earliest convenience. Tonight. Grant told me about your apartment in el barrio,” Mrs. Smith says like it’s a dirty word.
“My apartment isn’t … well, it is.”
“Valentina said you started taking a self-defense class,” Mr. Smith says.
My eyes widen in horror. “Where do you live?” I ask, trying to recall sketchy neighborhoods in Omaha, of which I can only come up with one … where I once found Hunter skulking when I was driving back from a late game when the Knights arena was still in Omaha.
“So you want more kids and think I’m going to produce some with him? Four of us spanning nine years wasn’t enough? Plus Tinker. You literally own a toy store in town. Let’s not forget about your grandchildren Diego, Alexa, Theo, and Joaquin. Plus, Valentina.”
“What?” Mrs. Smith’s eyes go wide.
After Leah accidentally reveals Valentina is expecting, Mr. Smith streaks across the lawn and wraps his daughter in a hug. Mrs. Smith hurriedly follows after him. Tinker frolics among the guests as if realizing the party is really heating up.
Leah calls, “I’m not marrying him.”
Hearing her voice, the dog bounds over to us.
“I guess they’ve already moved on,” I say, somewhat relieved, but also feeling like the party balloons lost some air.
She shakes her head. “I’m not marrying you.”
Right then, the dog lets out a loud and stinky toot. It cannot be helped; we both double over with laughter.
I don’t expect Leah to marry me. However, like the welcome party from the team, things worked out well enough. Though I still haven’t located the results of whatever Mikey was doing with that permanent marker. That’s all to say that I’m well aware circumstances can change … fast.