Chapter 35
Shay
My grandmother always joked that good men existed; it just so happened they all lived on the movie screen. I disagreed. I had personal experience with those movie stars, sort of, and it turned out all men were alike—awful. Some just had fatter wallets.
Normally I loved our Sunday dinners, but lately they felt like love’s battlefield, and Mima was trying to dissect my current relationship.
Mom was late for dinner again, and that left the conversation wide open for Mima to be her nosy self, asking about my love life—or lack thereof.
Sam and I had been dating for the past nine months.
At least, that was what I’d been telling everyone.
Sam, my boyfriend, was indeed made up. I’d just been hoping it would be enough to get Mima to stop grilling me about my dating life.
Her crown roast sizzled as she set it on the dining room table.
After that, she brought out the mashed potatoes and green bean casserole.
Leave it to Mima to cook a whole feast for a simple Sunday dinner for three.
Steam rose from the meal, and the aromas of perfectly cooked foods filled the space as my stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“I don’t understand why we haven’t met him if you two have been dating for so long,” she argued, setting down a tossed salad. “You haven’t even given us a name.”
“I told you, Mima—I don’t want to bring him around if it’s not serious. Plus, it’s only been nine months.”
“That’s long enough to know if you’re into someone.
People have children in nine months’ time.
If they are able to bake up a whole human, you should be able to make up your mind about a man.
If it is not serious by now, it’s not going to be serious.
Besides”—she scooped up a big spoonful of her mashed potatoes (too much for me, but I’d definitely eat it all) and plopped it down on my plate—“I don’t think he’s the one for you. ”
I laughed. “How would you even know? I hardly talk about him.”
“Exactly. If someone’s the one for you, you can’t help but feel ecstatic about it. You want to talk about them all the time. It spills out of you like lava, warming you from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head—which makes me believe this isn’t the one. There’s no passion behind it.”
It was weird how Mima believed in love so much when love hadn’t been the greatest for her. Even after all the heartache she’d been through with my grandfather, she still believed in happily ever afters. I wasn’t sure if that was idiotic or powerful. Maybe a mixture of both.
“Maybe that stuff is for the fairy tales, Mima. Maybe all that heart-skipping and flowery stuff is just for the storybooks.”
“You can’t believe that. You are, after all, the one who is going to break this family’s love curse.”
Here we go again.
The Martínez family curse.
There is no amount of pressure like the pressure from a grandmother who is convinced you’re the one brought into this world to break the generational curse set upon your family decades before.
I didn’t want to believe in her generational-curse speeches, but I swore they sometimes held some truth. We Martínez women had experienced bad luck in the romance department for ages.
I could hear my mother in my ear at all times.
Every time I got let down by the opposite sex, I heard her whisperings: “Never has there been good men in our family history, mi amor. We women are cursed to love sons of bitches. My grandfather was a son of a bitch. Your grandfather was a son of a bitch. Your father was a son of a bitch. We’re better off alone. ”
Then I’d hear Mima and her hopefulness slipping in: “I pray to God each day that you are the one to end this curse set upon us Martínez women. You are our savior.”
Again—no pressure.
Before I could respond, Mom came rushing through the front door, humming loudly and spinning in circles. “I’m in love, I’m in love, and I want the whole world to know it!” she exclaimed.
Her words confused the heck out of me.
My mom? In love?
What in the world . . . ?
She took a seat at the table, still humming a song as she read a message on her phone. The message had her giggling like a schoolgirl. She kept snickering to herself as she went to text someone back.
“See, that’s the kind of excitement you should be having about this mystery boy, Shay!” Mima exclaimed, tossing her hands up in celebration. “You know who made you excited?”
Don’t say Landon Harrison. Don’t say Landon Harrison . . .
“Landon Harrison.” She beamed with a sparkle in her eyes.
If there was anyone who Mima loved almost as much as she loved me, it was Landon Harrison.
Or Landon Pace, as he went by in the public eye nowadays.
Since day one, my grandmother had been his biggest fan.
But if there was anything Mima took seriously, it was her loyalty.
When Landon and I went our separate ways, she cut ties with him, too, in order to show her love and support for me.
When it came to choosing sides, my grandmother would always choose mine.
Still, that didn’t mean she didn’t occasionally bring up Landon and remind me that he was a wonderful boy.
“The last time I heard you sound excited about a relationship was when you were seeing that sweet, sweet boy. You should give him a call,” Mima offered.
She said it as if I’d even have that man’s number. If I did have Landon’s number, it would’ve been at the top of my blocked list.
“It’s been over a decade, Mima. I don’t know that man anymore,” I replied.
“That’s a shame.” She pouted. “You were so happy with him.”
I was a teenager—what did I know about true happiness? My frontal lobe wasn’t even developed.
“Speaking of happy . . .” I cleared my throat. “We should probably talk about Mom’s new love.” I needed the attention to move on from me to someone else, and who better than the lovesick puppy that was my mother? Maybe she was in charge of breaking the Martínez curse, not me.
“Yes. What is this love you are going on and on about?” Mima asked, making Mom a plate.
Mom held her phone up, displaying a photograph, still grinning cheek to cheek. “I just rescued a puppy,” she stated.
A puppy.
She rescued a dog.
It was actually a case of puppy love.
“I’m picking her up from the Humane Society tomorrow, and oh my gosh, I just adore the pup so much. I mean look!” She swiped to show more pictures of the most adorable dog ever. I leaned in closer, much more intrigued by the dog than I ever would be by a stupid man.
Mima snatched the phone from Mom’s hand, and she shook her head in deep disappointment. “You mean to tell me you came spinning into my apartment over a dog?”
“Not just a dog, Mamá,” Mom squeaked. “The dog. Her name is Bella, and she’s just the most adorable thing in the world.”
“Oh, great.” Mima groaned, rolling her eyes. “Another vagina in the family.”
I snickered a little under my breath.
“What is wrong with you ladies? When are you going to settle down and bring a man over for dinner! I am getting sick of eating each week with you two dopeheads. And plus, I’m getting up there in age and would like to attend your weddings someday!”
“What did you think I meant when I said I was in love?” Mom questioned. “That I was bringing a guy around?” She cringed in disgust.
“Is that so crazy?” Mima asked.
“Um, a little. There is no way a guy is more exciting than a puppy. What could a guy give me that a puppy couldn’t? Love, comfort, snuggles—”
“Orgasms,” Mima said, causing me to spit out my wine in shock.
“Mima!”
“What?! It’s true. You went out to get a puppy because you were probably getting sick of being home alone, right, Camila?”
“Well, yes.”
“You know what could make you feel even less alone at home? A big, strong man. Plus, he can dick you down, which is a win-win.”
Oh my gosh, my grandmother was talking about orgasms and being dicked down. This conversation just took a very odd turn.
“Where did you learn that phrase?!” I gasped.
She shrugged. “A few twenty-year-olds were talking in the coffee shop about some guys they were dicking down.”
Mom groaned and rubbed her forehead. “Please stop saying ‘dicked down,’ Mom.”
“Why? We are all grown-ups here. I’m sure we have all been dicked down a time or two.”
“Mima,” I said, trying to stifle my chuckles, “are we really talking about orgasms at Sunday dinner?”
Mom’s phone dinged, and she eagerly went to respond. Her cheeks turned rosy, and she turned her back toward us for a moment as she began typing back.
“Sorry, it was the Humane Society. They said I can pick up Bella tonight if I come when I’m done here!” she exclaimed.
“See? Don’t you miss that, Shannon Sofia?” Mima asked, gesturing toward my mother. “Even though your mother is showcasing that excitement over a mutt, it’s still thrilling. Something that makes your heart race faster and faster.”
“I’m not into heart attacks,” I replied.
Mima frowned. “When did you become so unromantic? You used to live for good love stories. You still write love stories, but you’re telling me that you don’t believe in love anymore?”
“I can write love stories and not believe in the concept, Mima. I doubt Melissa Mathison and Steven Spielberg believed in E.T., but they did a great job creating that film. Besides, my relationship is fine.”
“Fine,” Mima huffed, waving her hand toward me in dismissal. “No one wants to be fine in a relationship. You want to be alive.”
“Maybe we should drop this conversation,” I offered. I didn’t want to talk about my dating life anymore, and luckily, Mom was quick to go on and on about Bella.
On the way out, Mima packed me up some leftovers and placed her hands on my cheeks. “I hope you know that my worry and concern for your romantic life comes from a place of love, Shannon Sofia. I fear that if you keep down this road of hardness with your heart, soon it will turn to stone.”