Chapter 25
After that disastrous confrontation between Haydée, me, and Mateo, I had to rush to get ready for the filming of tonight’s one-on-one. Now, my tía and I easily work around each other in her compact but efficient kitchen.
We chat easily while chopping peppers and shredding chicken. For us, it’s routine.
She reaches around me for the ancho seasoning with nails painted soft pink for the show. She looks good, wearing an apron over a silky blue shirt and matching pants. Her dyed red hair curls expertly around her face.
I smile as she offers me a spoonful of broth to taste. One of my earliest memories of cooking with her here was when I was barely up to her waist. She called to me saying, “Try this, mija, this is what it should taste like.”
“Perfecto,” I tell her. This is how I learned to cook. Not through recipes, but through taste and hands-on experience. This familiar routine of cooking together brings me peace. A peace that is interrupted by the sound of the crew in the dining room setting up for tonight’s taping.
I hear Parker’s voice and can’t help but lean my head out the kitchen to peer down the hall. I watch as she sets up shots around the rectangular table with Sayed, the lighting director.
Mateo stands outside of their group, paying attention in a way that makes my heart sink. Did he give up his career for me? Would he be better suited for a different job? Has he been stifled? Did he hold back on his dreams to support mine? I think of the work he’s done to invent the equipment we have yet to roll out in our gym. Has he squeezed his true calling into that studio? Is that his one creative outlet for his dreams? I can’t stand the thought.
Parker turns from her crew to Mateo. “I was surprised when I came onto this floor to see bikes outside of apartments, a little book library, and kids running around.” She waves at the apartment. “And to come here and find this beautiful and bright place.”
What did she think, that we live in hotel rooms up here?
He nods. “This entire floor with its large windows and balconies was designed for my familia and long-term employees, like our head chef and concierge. The bikes are Eduardo’s sons. They ride them in the hallway, but don’t tell Tío.”
She puts her fingers to her lips as if swearing secrecy. She looks around. “This is your childhood home?”
He shrugs. “Partly. We moved into this three-bedroom after my parents died. Yolanda and Haydée shared a room. But Yolanda and I moved back into our parents’ three-bedroom down the hall after we turned eighteen.”
“You live together?”
Although Parker’s questions seem intrusive and nosey, I’m not surprised by them. If I’ve learned anything about the woman, it’s that she’s genuinely fascinated by people.
Mateo shakes his head. “We had it redesigned about ten years ago, splitting it into two separate places.”
They lock gazes for a heartbeat. Parker clears her throat, bites her lower lip.
Ay. Shaken by what I’m seeing, I fade back into the kitchen. I expected the spark of lust—have seen it before—but not the thread of deep affection. Most shockingly, it wasn’t only on Mateo’s part.
* * *
Although Easton arrivedright before dinner and we’ve already chatted and shown him the apartment, when it’s time to film, Parker has him knock on the door as if he’s just arrived so that I can greet him.
I open the door with a smile on my face. Buzz. Zap. How is it possible that seeing him produces that kind of reaction when I’ve literally shut the door on him two seconds ago?
He’s wearing jeans, tan boat shoes, and a blue pullover that makes his ocean-blue eyes stand out. So does the fact that he’s gotten tanner since coming to the island.
“Hola,” I say, stepping aside so he can enter.
His eyes swoop over my dress as if seeing it for the first time. “Hola,” he repeats softly, handing me a plastic container of peanut butter cookies he didn’t have a moment before. He must’ve left them in the hall so he could surprise me.
I open the lid and sniff. I’m sure my eyebrows go up. “Did you…” I feel silly, but they smell fresh… “Did you bake these?”
The moment the question is out of my mouth, I blush like an idiota. When would Easton Blake have an opportunity to make cookies for my family? It’s not like the man isn’t juggling two full-time jobs right now. Then again, so am I, and I cooked a whole meal.
“Sí,” he says. “You inspired me with your reimagining of traditional Latin foods into healthier versions.”
And now he’s bringing up my focus on healthy Latin foods. Ay. This is the Easton I knew. And I know Parker didn’t tell him do this, because she specifically forbade us from setting anything up—except for the front door scene, to give the audience a sense of entering with him. “You created a cookie recipe?”
Nearly at the end of foyer, he turns back to me. I can feel the camera operator standing behind me, but even he barely registers.
My entire world shrinks to the molecules lining the air between me and Easton.
“Actually, I created a lighter cookie from my nan’s recipe. She passed when I was six, but not before teaching me to make her peanut butter cookies. Making them was the one thing my father and I would do together.”
Aw, I am going to cry. We haven’t spoken of his father, but I know he was very ill when Easton was here. I swallow the moisture in the back of my throat.
He turns without another word and enters my aunt’s home.
There is an instant upswell of noise as my family greets him. Already seated at the rectangular table, Haydée ignores Easton’s outstretched hand, rises up, and kisses him on both cheeks. She’s so bubbly and over-the-top. The camera operator swings around me and zooms in on her.
Is that what I’m supposed to be like? Díos. Not happening.
Easton disentangles himself from Haydée’s attentions, nods at Mateo, then bends down to kiss my tía on her cheek before offering Tío a firm handshake.
“Hola. Bienvenido. Eres mas alto en persona,” my tío says, welcoming Easton and announcing that he’s taller in person. My heart lightens at my uncle’s humor. He’s changed so much since his heart attack. Gone is the dark and moody man who refused to eat healthy. He’s been replaced by someone who recognizes his second chance. He might move more slowly and tire more easily, but he also smiles more readily.
Easton laughs. “I’ve also been told I’m handsomer.”
“Sí. You are,” my aunt says, and it’s all I can do to keep from pinching Easton. He looks much too pleased with himself.
Since we’ve all been instructed on the mechanics of the seating. My tío, his wooden bastón hooked over his seat, sits at the head of the table with my tía at the opposite end. Haydée sits next to Easton, and I sit across from them with Mateo.
I’m relieved Parker has put the brakes on her obvious push to get me and Easton closer together for scenes. After reading the comments online, I don’t want or need that kind of attention.
We all settle in. There’s a moment of awkward silence. Normally, this would be when my tío says grace, but he’s staring wide-eyed at the camera.
The silence stretches. Titi gently clears her throat. This seems to be the auditory reminder Tío Manuel needed. He sits up straighter, clasps his hands together, and lowers his head.
His prayer is short and heartfelt, thanking God for the gifts He’s given us, for gracing me with the skills to make the show, and ending with a soft thank-you to my papi for always being there to help guide the familia.
When he’s done, force of habit takes over, and everyone reaches for plates to pass around food.
“You thank your brother?” Easton asks my uncle as he accepts a dish from Haydée and scoops frijoles onto his plate.
“Claro,” my uncle says. “He was my twin.”
Of course I know this, but I suddenly realize my image of my father hasn’t changed for all these years. Papi likely would look very much like his brother now. Salt and pepper hair, soft jawline, and lines at the corners of his eyes.
Tío taps his heart. “I feel Angel here. He is never far from me, and I often have asked him for help over the years.”
“I like that,” Easton says, taking the bowl my uncle passes him. “A lot of times when someone dies, people don’t feel comfortable speaking about them. Or they speak about them as if they’re no longer part of us.” He swallows visibly. “I like your way better.”
“Verdad,” my tío says, leaning forward. “They are here. We should include them. They are interested in our happiness, in the continuation of their family. It’s true.” He adds the last as if Easton needed convincing, but Easton is nodding in agreement as he scoops some of the arroz con pollo onto his plate.
Until this moment, until Easton’s reaction, I’ve never thought about how my uncle has made a big effort to include my parents in everything we do.
In his way, my uncle has always made a space for my parents, always brought them into my life, made sure they were here. In fact, because of him and Titi, I’ve thought of my parents as unseen but not untouchable and not removed from us.
With emotion clogging my throat, I watch Easton chatting with my family. For someone who has no family of his own—something I remember from our night together—he fits in easily with mine. He smiles and my heart lifts. He teases my prima, and I find myself cheering. He fist-bumps Mateo, and I realize they could easily be friends.
I watch silently for a long time before the absolute truth hits me flat against my face. Ay. Díos. I’m not over him. I like him here. Worse. I want him here.
I realize I’ve drifted far from the conversation when I hear my uncle say, “Yolanda has been a champion of us, of this familia, for so long. She has held us together, even when she didn’t know she was doing so.”
My mouth works for two beats before I can find words. “It’s been all of us?—”
“No,” Haydée cuts me off. “It hasn’t.”
She draws in an unsteady breath, and I realize, to my utter shock, she’s holding back real emotion. What did I miss? “You are the one who thinks of us all, who makes sure to check on us before yourself. You have even shared your spotlight with La Vida, our familia, Mateo, and me. Everything you’re doing benefits all of us.”
I’m too surprised to respond and even more so when my uncle adds, “She saved my life, too, with her food.”
“Now I know that I’m living in an alternate reality,” I say before I can check myself. “I have to fight you every time I serve healthy food.”
“Sí,” he says, smiling widely. “That’s feedback. And why you’ve made those dishes even better.”
The table laughs. Even as we skip easily into more conversation, I realize that, no matter what happens, I’ll never forget this moment. My family’s support and appreciation proclaimed for the world to see. And Easton here, fitting in so easily, filling a space I hadn’t even known was empty until I saw it filled.
It all means so much.