Chapter Twenty-Two
Alma woke up refreshed and excited about the day. She couldn’t wait to celebrate her first Fiesta de San Isidro, Patron Saint of Farmers and Laborers.
She rolled over and watched Jaime sleep. He was naked. She wanted to climb on top of him for another round but held off. Last night, their sex had been so emotionally intense.
But she was struggling. She loved him. This entire vacation was so natural and intense. He had been great, perfect even. So why was she doubting this could work? Could she ever trust him again?
She snuck out of bed, took a shower, and got dressed. Jaime did as well, and they were off to the town for another adventure.
The vibrant colors of the Fiesta de San Isidro adorned the streets of Jalisco, turning the town into a mural of life and celebration.
Papel picado fluttered in the breeze, the scent of tamales and conchas filled the air, and the rhythmic beat of mariachi music echoed through the cobblestone streets.
It was a day where the community came together to celebrate Isidore the Laborer, the patron saint of farmers, a day where hearts were light and spirits high.
And Alma was so grateful for farmers who toiled in the agave fields like Gabriela did. Slicing those pinas was hard work. Her wrists ached from assisting yesterday.
But she had kind of loved the work. Wouldn’t it be cool to spend more than just a day at the farm and harvest her own agave?
It was truly an art form, and spending the time cultivating the crops made her love her spirit, and her job, even more.
Maybe she could make a yearly pilgrimage here to work on a farm…
But being in Gabriela’s distillery had inspired another idea in Alma.
What if…she started a brand of tequila? She could buy directly from the barrel from Gabriela.
Could she imagine it? Curating the mixture, deciding what flavors to highlight, picking the recipes to use to showcase her spirit.
It would be like Christmas every day! She’d even have a blast picking out the bottles to sell the liquor in.
Though Alma knew better than to judge a book by its cover or a tequila by its bottle, sometimes she couldn’t help herself.
Some of the containers were so, so beautiful, as was the artwork for the labels.
She loved the hand-painted ones from Mexico and the ones that resembled skulls.
What kind of tequila would she like to sell?
At first, she thought a classic anejo, though recently she had been on a cristalino kick.
She loved that cristalino looked like a blanco but actually was an anejo.
It was fun to introduce some patrons who normally wouldn’t try stronger tequilas to new types, especially for the women who were hesitant to try anything strong.
Turning them on to a whole new world of taste was exhilarating.
Ahh, it was very exciting, but the truth was that having a tequila line wasn’t cheap. She was successful with her business but didn’t have that kind of capital.
But Jaime did.
And he seemed to really love tequila. He didn’t know much about tequila when he first reappeared into her life, but Alma could tell he’d really begun to appreciate it.
What if she asked him? It could give him an excuse to move up to Marin.
No. No. That was a supremely bad idea. The worst. They shouldn’t mix business with pleasure until they were fully committed to each other.
She looked over at Jaime, his eyes taking in the town. He was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen. He truly looked like a movie star. Women stopped and stared at him. It was no wonder that he had been so successful as an influencer.
Her relationship with Jaime would end soon as he left to go back to San Diego.
She moved through the crowd with Jaime by her side and focused again on the saints. Of all the saints, San Isidro was her favorite.
Jaime took a bite out of a concha he grabbed from a stand.
“This is so good. Want a taste?”
She nodded and he moved the flaky pastry to her mouth. She took a bite—it was so fluffy and decadent and sweet. “Oh, that is great. We need a good panadería in Marin. We have a few but not like this.”
“There are a bunch in San Diego. One next to Julieta’s restaurant is incredible.”
Alma didn’t respond to that comment. Of course there were great panaderías in San Diego. Why wouldn’t there be good bakeries in a border town?
Jaime had explained that Enrique’s girlfriend, Carolina, had moved from Santa Maria to San Diego.
In all fairness to her, that hadn’t been so straightforward.
She was from a super traditional family and supposedly they freaked out when she was stranded in a storm with Enrique and couldn’t go home for the night, so she gave them the farm she’d purchased and moved and started another.
She had even broken up with Enrique before she moved down there.
Alma didn’t want the thought of San Diego’s sunshine, surf, and sand to be an option. She was a Northern California girl—fog and ferries were more her scene.
Jaime finished his concha. “So, who was this saint guy anyway?”
Alma loved to talk about her favorite saint. “Oh, you haven’t heard of him?”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t know any of them.” He wadded up his concha napkin and tossed it in the trash. “Except…Saint Francis. He blessed animals. Didn’t this guy do that too?”
Alma was not going to shame Jaime for his lack of knowledge on saints.
Not all Mexicans were Catholic, but Jaime technically was, though she wasn’t sure if he had ever been confirmed, which meant if they were ever to get married, he would need to take care of that if she wanted to be wed in the church.
Not that they would ever get married. She was so ridiculous. They weren’t even technically a couple.
“Well. Saint Isidore was the patron saint of farmers and laborers. It is said that he gave some of his last grain to starving pigeons. The townspeople were upset since they wanted that grain, but then a miracle happened, and the bag of grain was refilled.”
Jaime smirked. “I’m sure he was a great guy and loved animals. But I don’t believe in that miracle foolishness.”
“Well, I do.” She had to believe in something. Why not have faith?
But sometimes it was hard to believe in what she couldn’t see, feel, taste.
“So, what was his story?”
“He was married. His wife, Santa María de la Cabeza, was awesome also. Supposedly they had a son who fell into a deep well, but after his parents’ prayers, the water rose, and the son was saved. After that, the parents moved out into separate homes and took a vow of celibacy.”
Jaime’s face contorted. “There is nothing at all cool about that. They were married. They couldn’t have sex, and they lived in separate houses? So, the boy had to go to two separate homes? Believe me, from my experience, that sucks.”
“You have a point. That does seem awful.” Alma was so lucky that her parents were still married, and she’d never had to experience what Jaime had gone through.
She was certain that was one of many reasons he was so hesitant to get into a relationship.
When they were younger, it was more like a first-serious-relationship type deal, and now if they got back together, it would be more like a forever relationship.
How could she expect Jaime to believe in them making a long-lasting commitment if he hadn’t seen that work?
“That is why I don’t like so much of this Catholic nonsense.
They don’t allow gay people to wed, the priests can’t be married, and there is rampant sexual abuse.
I was born Catholic, but I’ll never practice it.
Today was cool, because it’s a fun festival and we’re honoring farmers, but I’m not into organized religion.
Ramón is going to all these crazy Catholic marriage classes for Julieta. I would never do that.”
Tell me how you really feel.
“Alrighty then. I get it. You make good points. I’d like to get married in a Catholic church, just because I love the ritual and the tradition, and I want to make my parents happy. And Carlos has completely left the church, so I guess it’s up to me to fulfill that fantasy for my parents.”
Jaime stopped and tilted his head toward Alma. “Why did Carlos leave the church?”
“Oh, same reasons you said. Didn’t accept gay people, abuse, rigidity. All those things. I don’t blame him.”
“He’s a smart man.” Jaime grinned. “I like that brother of yours.”
Jaime became silent. Alma appreciated that he spoke his mind and had valid reasons for his opinions. If it worked out between them, would she be able to abandon her dream of marrying in the church? Would her parents give her their blessing?
Well luckily, or unfortunately, depending on how she looked at it, a Catholic wedding wasn’t even on the table for them.
Alma told Jaime a few more stories about Saint Isidore. There was an ease between them, a connection that felt as natural as the river flowing through Jalisco.
As the evening approached, the crowd gathered around the main square for the highlight of the festival—the crowning of the queen of the fiesta. Alma and Jaime found a spot near the front, their shoulders brushing, their hands occasionally touching, sending sparks of electricity between them.
The queen was crowned amidst cheers and applause, and as the first notes of a romantic ballad filled the air, Jaime turned to Alma.
“Would you dance with me?” he asked, his hand extended toward her.
Alma’s heart raced. They had been dancing a lot lately.
Back in college, their dancing had consisted of grinding to some old-school hip hop.
Jaime had always been the life of the party, and she had been the shy, more studious type.
But she was having a blast on this trip, and she had to admit, this was way more romantic than a trip with Zoila.