Chapter Fifteen #3
“Gracias,” I said, smiling at the server. When she walked away, I brought the straw to my lips and took a sip, humming loudly in the back of my throat as if it would distract from the tension emanating between the siblings.
Camila’s arms were crossed over her chest, and she stared across the table at her brother, her brows low.
But Alex didn’t appear irritated; more pensive, jaw hard as his gaze remained fixed on the NBA game playing on the televisions near the bar.
What had Camila been about to say? At least I’m not pining over someone who’s made it clear she’s not…
what? Ready to make it serious? Willing to move to be closer to you?
Camila had to have been speaking about Caitlin, but I couldn’t be absolutely certain of that fact because I had refused to ask any questions about her relationship with Alex.
I’d tried so hard not to ask him about Caitlin, and he’d never spoken about her with me aside from random comments here and there.
But if he had, or if I had asked more questions, perhaps I wouldn’t be in my own head over them.
Over him. Perhaps if I wasn’t trying to be a good, trustworthy friend to both of them, maintaining boundaries wouldn’t be so difficult.
“So that’s a michelada?”
Camila’s voice interrupted the silence, drawing my and Alex’s attention.
Sliding the glass across the tabletop toward her, I said, “Try it.”
Carefully holding the accoutrements aside, Camila lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. When she rolled her eyes back, I laughed.
“Okay, that’s delicious. Salty and spicy and cold. I want one.” Raising her hand, she flashed a grin at the server. “May I have one, too?”
We laughed and joked for another hour, and I soaked up the time spent not just with Alex, but with his sister, too. Camila was wonderful, and I so badly wanted to be her friend. But would Caitlin believe I was crossing a line?
I offered to drive the siblings back to their hotel, and Alex didn’t complain when Camila called shotgun and jumped into the passenger seat when he held open the door.
He simply sighed and sat in the back…where I inconveniently met his gaze anytime I glanced in my rearview mirror.
When we arrived at the resort, I had just put my car into park when Camila leaned over the center console and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.
“You’re just as cool as I knew you would be. And so much prettier in person.” She pulled back, arching her brow. “Would you feel comfortable exchanging numbers? I’d love to keep in touch.”
Before I had a chance to respond, Camila scooped up my phone and held it to my face to unlock the screen. Then with practiced speed, she programmed her phone number into my contacts. With an impish smile, she handed it back to me.
Snorting softly, I sent her number a text with a simple, “Hey, it’s Sofia!”
When her phone buzzed, Camila glanced at it and squealed.
“I’m so happy to have met you. I need more badass Latina friends.
Will you converse with me in Spanish?” When I frowned, Camila lifted her shoulder.
“Of the three of us, my Spanish is the worst. I think it’s because I’m the youngest and got less one-on-one time with our parents. ”
“You just don’t remember your verbs,” Alex pointed out from the back seat.
“As if your Spanish is any better.” Camila turned back to me, her brows furrowed. “Has he spoken to you in Spanish?”
I shook my head and glanced at Alex in the rearview mirror. “He has not.”
He pressed his lips together for a second. “My Spanish may not be as bad as Camila’s, but it’s not much better. And I didn’t want to embarrass myself when I know it was your first language.”
Oh. My heart sank as I took in Alex’s, and to a lesser extent Camila’s, embarrassment. I wasn’t sure what to say to make them feel better, but I had to try.
“Being a Latino is hard, isn’t it? When we first moved to Arizona from Puerto Rico, I was teased in kindergarten because I spoke English with an accent.
My English was great—my parents made sure of it—but because I had a Spanish accent, I was mocked.
Sometimes by my teacher, who claimed not to understand me.
” Camila scoffed, and I smirked at her disgruntled expression.
“I’ve watched both of my parents, but especially my father, deal with academic prejudice because they have accents.
Fellow professors and researchers that doubted my father’s credentials because they assumed he wasn’t English speaking.
” I turned in my seat so I could meet Alex’s eyes directly.
“And yet if you do learn English, if you do assimilate, you’re made to feel less than.
As if you have no pride in being Puerto Rican or Mexican or Chilean or whatever.
As if your family didn’t do what they needed to do to stay safe.
As if Spanish isn’t a colonizer language anyway. ”
“Exactly,” Camila declared, throwing her hands in the air.
Alex held my gaze but didn’t speak.
“Don’t get me started on how our skin is either not dark enough to be a Latino…
or it’s too dark. It’s not fair. We’re expected to meet everyone’s arbitrary definitions of Latinidad, and it’s not possible.
” I shook my head and sighed. “Being a Latina or Latino or Latine shouldn’t be tied to what language we speak or how brown we are.
Or how far removed we are from our ancestral homes.
A person’s Latinidad should be personal and however they choose to define it.
As far as I’m concerned, you two are as Puerto Rican as I am, whether you speak perfect Spanish or not. ”
Camila’s deep exhale drew my attention to her.
She had tipped her head against the headrest and was staring at the roof of the car.
“Thank you for saying that. Growing up as a kid with a Latino last name but tenuous connections to the culture was…isolating. I mean, it’s obvious I’m not white, but then to also not meet the expectations others have of what a Latina is supposed to be was alienating.
I don’t know about you, Alex, but I didn’t start to feel comfortable in my own skin as a Puerto Rican until I was in college. ”
“Mine was much more recent,” he murmured, rubbing his hand along his jaw.
His sister nodded. “And little things remind me of how much I still don’t know. Like, I don’t even dance salsa well. But I want to learn. The music is in my blood, so shouldn’t I innately know how to do it?”
“Maybe,” I said. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached out to grab her hand. “Have you ever experienced a Puerto Rican Christmas?”
Ay dios, why would I ask such a thing? I could not fathom where the words came from, and my heart shot to my throat like a rocket. And a quick glance at Camila revealed her looking at me with eyes wide.
“I mean, just our family Christmases. Mom usually made pastelón for dinner, although sometimes it was hard to find decent or ripe plátanos where they were stationed.” Camila turned to look at Alex.
“And we ate microwave popcorn while we watched It’s a Wonderful Life.
That was my favorite part of the night.”
“Mine, too,” Alex whispered.
“Did you open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?” I asked.
“Usually morning.” Camila shrugged. “Dad mentioned that the family in Puerto Rico celebrated on Christmas Eve, and sometimes they wished us a merry Christmas over speakerphone.”
“We used to celebrate with family over the phone, too.” I darted a quick glance at Alex, who continued to watch me with an unreadable expression. Steeling my spine, I ventured forward. “Would you like to celebrate Christmas with my family?”
They went silent, and I clamped my jaw tight as my gaze pinged between the siblings.
I hope I hadn’t overstepped. Did they think I was overeager and weird for extending such a random invitation?
For all I knew, Caitlin and Alex already had plans to spend the holidays together.
I hadn’t spoken to my friend since the week prior, and even then it was just nonsense texts with memes and random pictures from our days.
“Sofia.” Camila turned in the passenger seat until she faced me directly. Her velvet brown eyes were glassy as she stared at me. “That is the sweetest invitation. Alex said your parents are pretty great.”
Alex nodded in the back seat.
Camila reached out to grab my hand. “Are you sure? You just met me.”
“I’m positive. My parents would be thrilled to celebrate Nochebuena with you and introduce you to some of my family’s traditions.” I glanced at Alex over my shoulder. “Plus, your number is in my phone now, so we’re practically besties already.”
Camila chuckled. “I have to talk with Elena and Jenn”—her nose wrinkled—“and Sam, I suppose, but if I can come, I would love to. What do you think, Alex?”
“I think…” Alex cleared his throat and turned his gaze to the window. “Spending Nochebuena with the Mendozas sounds amazing.”
Then he turned to look at me, his dimple flashing for a quick second. It was long enough to suck the air from my lungs.