Chapter 23
Pupusa Pranks
Holly
Mateo holds the door open for me as we enter the restaurant.
It’s not really a sit-down restaurant, but it doesn’t give off a fast-food feel either.
It’s as if they’ve combined into this homey space that smells like salsa and grilled meat.
My stomach rumbles, already craving whatever we’re going to eat, especially if it tastes as good as it smells in here.
I turn to Mateo, gesturing for him to lead the way. His smile is wide and he’s vibrating with excitement. “I’m so pumped for you to try a pupusa. It’s going to be life-changing.”
His joy is infectious, and I find myself matching his grin. “Well then, let’s go! I always love life-changing food.”
Mateo tugs me toward the counter, our fingers intertwined, a feeling I’m getting addicted to.
He reaches the counter and peruses the menu. It’s written in Spanish, with very small English translations under just a few items. I’m overwhelmed by the options. I reach into my purse, ready to utilize Google translate, when Mateo's hand blocks my view of the screen.
Mateo’s eyes meet mine. “Do you trust me, mi vida? Can I order for you?”
I’m touched by his simple questions. Once again, Mateo is proving he’s better than any man I’ve ever met, simply because he asked instead of assuming.
“Yes. You can order for me.”
He winks and drops his hand from my phone, which I tuck away. I squeeze his hand and tug him a little closer to me. He turns to me and I take a step closer.
“Thank you for asking and not assuming,” I whisper.
Confusion flicks across his face before understanding lights his eyes. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. Goosebumps travel in a wave up my arm as my cheeks heat.
“Mi amor, you’re a strong, independent woman. I’m sorry any man ever treated you as less.”
I can’t take the heated look in his eyes for a moment more or else I risk throwing myself into his arms and begging him to kiss me.
I duck my head, and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
I clear my throat and glance at the menu.
We’re having a moment in public, which is exactly what I want the press to see.
I even called my favorite journalist, who I usually hire for Alex, and she sent a photographer here for this exact reason. I want the press to think this is real.
But that’s not what I want with Mateo.
I want it to be real.
I pull my hand out of his and he slowly lets it go, his fingers trailing across mine. I don’t look, afraid to show how he’s making me feel and complicating this even more. Mateo starts talking to the young man behind the counter, ordering our food in fluent Spanish.
Why is that so attractive?
I take a step away and urge my cheeks to cool it. I search for an escape.
There’s a condiments bar at the end of the counter and I walk over, hoping there’s something there to keep me occupied. Salsas of varying colors, chopped cilantro, and lime slices greet me. I grab a small plastic container and put a few lime wedges inside.
Mateo’s walking toward me, but I focus on my task. “What are you getting those for?”
The question surprises me, and although I knew he was walking toward me, I still jolt. My hand shakes and I steady it, barely saving my lime slices from death by dirty floor.
“Doesn’t lime juice make Mexican food taste better? At least that’s what google told me.”
Mateo laughs. “Google’s not wrong, but this is salvadorena food, mi amor. They’ll give you everything you need on your plate. This is for the tacos they serve, not our pupusas. Let’s go find a table.”
I already have the limes and though I feel the fool, I don’t want to look it, so I carry them with me.
Mateo sits down and the fake leather squeaks as he adjusts himself.
I place my limes on the table and sit across from him.
Luckily, the leather doesn’t squeak for me as I get comfortable, saving me from further humiliation.
Mateo pulls over the small caddy of hot sauces and twists each bottle, inspecting the labels. “Oh man, this hot sauce is fantastic.” He points to one that’s a bright orange and has a red label.
I shudder. Definitely not going near that bottle.
My nose wrinkles. “How can you say it’s delicious when you can’t taste anything because your taste buds are on fire?”
Seriously, how does anyone eat anything with hot sauce?
He gasps, placing his hand on his heart dramatically. I’ll never tell him, but I love when he pretends to be dramatic. It’s adorable.
Yes, men can be adorable.
“Don’t tell me you can’t handle spicy food, Holly.”
I shake my head and fold my arms. “I’m a no-spice girl, thank you very much. I want to taste the flavors of the foods without tainting it with fire.”
“But the flavor from the peppers,” he exclaims, acting out a classic chef’s kiss meme.
I shrug. “I can never taste it because I’m washing away the heat so I don’t die.”
He leans across the table, a wicked grin on his face. “It’s a good thing I didn’t order you a jalapeno pupusa then.”
I lean away and wrinkle my nose. “They have such a thing?”
Mateo nods. “Yes, they have those and they’re delicious, but not my favorite. Anything you can combine with cheese can go in a pupusa. That’s why they’re amazing.”
I fold my hands, not quite sure what to do with them, so I opt to place them on the table. “What combination is your favorite?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
He smirks before pushing away the hot sauce caddy and leaning back in his seat.
“Actually, salvadorenos don’t really use hot sauce.
There is one that’s common, but it’s more like a medium salsa.
I think they only have these in the restaurant because they serve tacos and other foods, and hot sauces are expected these days.
But really, true salvadorenos don’t do hot sauce.
Most are even worse at handling spice than Americans. ”
I’m confused. “Wait, so do you like hot sauce?”
“There is one—it’s called Marie Sharp’s. I found it in college. It’s delicious and from Belize. But I really don’t use hot sauce much. If I put it on a pupusa, Mami would haunt me for the rest of my life.”
He chuckles, rubbing the scruff on his jaw as his eyes glaze over. I’d bet five bucks he’s thinking of his mom and her home cooking. Canela seems like a sweet woman, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a feisty side, seeing as I’ve met Cruz.
The conversation dies between us. Mateo seems lost in thought, and I’m not sure how to kick-start our discussion. My salvation comes with the delivery of our food. The teenager from the front counter sets down a large plate in front of me, and a matching one in front of Mateo.
On my plate are three large circular pancake looking things.
They look like a thick tortilla, with a crispy golden crust on the tops.
There’s a cabbage mixture next to the pupusas, and a small bowl with a red sauce next to the cabbage.
I look around for utensils, only to notice there are none on the table. “Um, do we get utensils?”
Mateo’s jaw drops. “Holly, if a salvadoreno heard you asking for a fork, they’d either laugh at you or turn you over to la mara.”
I feel so out of my depths here. “What’s la mara?”
He leans across the table and dramatically whispers, “The gangs.”
My eyebrows arch and I try to school my features while still totally confused and intimidated by what I’m learning about Mateo’s heritage.
Mateo holds his serious face for a moment before laughing.
“Chill, Holly. Salvadorenos are super sweet and kind. They would never do that. But really, though, if you asked for a fork, they’d tell you no.
You’ll be burning your fingers from melted cheese and grease and they’ll look at you and say, 'Bro échale ganas pues,' which means get it together or suck it up.”
I look from him down to my food and back. “I’m supposed to eat this without a fork? With my fingers?
He smiles softly and nods. “Yes.”
I glance at my plate and the pupusa with cheese crusted on the edges, the red salsa, and the cabbage. How in the world am I supposed to eat this with my hands? My breath hitches as my chest constricts. I don’t know why, but this culture shock feels too overwhelming.
“Holly.” Mateo’s soft voice catches my attention. I look into his eyes that look at me as if I’m not a hot mess express. “You may have married a salvadoreno, but you don’t have to eat like one.” He lifts a napkin with a fork and knife out from under the table and places it next to my plate.
I gasp. “Were you just going to let me burn my fingers for fun?”
He smiles wickedly. “Didn’t you know you married a prankster? Hasn’t Reina told you stories about me getting us into trouble growing up?”
Now that I think about it, I was expecting a lot more pranks since we got married.
A memory of Reina recounting a prank she needs to get revenge for flits through my memory.
Something about water getting dumped on her when Alex had lost his memory and was staying in Bolt.
We’ve fallen into such a comfortable routine that I’ve forgotten about Mateo’s prankster status.
“Why haven’t you pulled any pranks on me yet?” I ask.
I slice into my pupusa, adding a small amount of cabbage to the top before spearing it and dipping it into the sauce. Mateo watches as I take my first bite.
I close my eyes in wonder at the flavor combination that I’m instantly wondering how I survived without before this moment.
The vinegar of the cabbage pairs perfectly with the piping hot cheese and bean mixture in the pupusa.
The sauce gives a depth of flavor, and it isn’t spicy. It’s exactly like a mild salsa.
This is one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten.
“Mateo, this is heavenly,” I say as I cut another piece.
It’s as if I told him he won a million dollars. His eyes are crinkled, his dimple is on full display, and his smile takes my breath away.
“To answer your question, I usually prank people who I know can handle it, like Reina. I’m not sure how pranking you during our first week of marriage would have gone, but I figured I should start with my best foot forward, not the impulsive one that gets me into trouble.”
I shove another slice of pupusa, drowning in cabbage, in my mouth and mumble, “Makes sense.”
Mateo pours the salsa over the top of his pupusas and spreads the cabbage over the top. He takes the top pupusa and tears off a chunk, making sure the cabbage stays on before putting it in his mouth. “You know, I like seeing you this way.”
This time, I finish chewing before responding. “What way?”
“Chill and relaxed.”
My anxiety from a minute ago is gone, and I realize Mateo has put me at ease.
I don’t feel the need to sit up straight and eat like a “well-bred lady,” as my mom used to say.
There’s this weight lifted at being in public and not fearing the return of Mr. Toadflax, as Mateo has so lovingly termed Jorge.
“I’m starting to feel like I can relax since they granted me the temporary restraining order and the sheriff is supposed to serve Jorge the papers tomorrow. It feels freeing to be out in public again.”
Mateo nods. “I’m very happy about that too, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”
I tilt my head to the side. “What were you talking about, then?”
Mateo drops the piece of pupusa in his hand back to his plate and rests his arms on the table.
His hazel eyes meet mine, and I peruse his face freely, memorizing his warm smile and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.
“Right now, you’re not worried about impressing me or anyone.
You talk with your mouth full and it makes you seem real. ”
I frown. “Do I not seem real most of the time?”
Mateo’s head tilts back as he laughs. “Holly, you wear business pant-suits. You look like a boss every day. You look like you can take on the world, and I fully believe you could if you wanted to. But I like seeing you in these moments, where you don’t put on the confident front.
Where you get to be yourself and enjoy food without worrying about who is watching you eat. This feels like the real you.”
We gaze into each other’s eyes. I’m not sure if it’s been five seconds or two minutes since he finished talking, but I can’t look away. This moment feels special.
Words have abandoned me, so I don’t respond. I just relish the feelings I shouldn’t be feeling if I’m not going to fall in love with this man and his sincere words.
My stomach grumbles, having only eaten a single pupusa and craving more. The noise breaks apart our staring contest. I drop my gaze and focus on cutting the next bite of deliciousness, only for Mateo’s greasy fingers to land on mine, stilling my butter knife.
“All I meant was I’m glad you’re on this date with me, and I’m glad you like pupusas.
I like doing casual things like this with you.
” His smile is soft and his eyes capture mine.
What would it be like to have eyes that constantly show happiness and wrinkles at the corner of my eyes from constant smiling?
Mateo lets go and tears apart the pupusa on his plate.
It only takes a moment before I drop my fork and knife, picking up the piping hot pupusa with my fingers.
“Thanks for bringing me here, Mateo.”
He winks. “Anytime, Holly.”