Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
I pull dishes from the cupboard, listening to Wyatt ramble on to Dad about the train museum we visited today. I hand him one plate at a time, and he sets them on the table.
“Wyatt has a friend coming to dinner,” Lindy says, handing me an extra plate.
My brows knit. I don’t know about any friend. It’s not like Lindy couldn’t have set something up, it’s just that she normally doesn’t. “A playdate? On a school night?”
“It’ll be fine,” Lindy says. “Wyatt will get to bed on time. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Okay. It’s just he’s had a long day. He’s going to be tired.”
“And then!” Wyatt bellows, wide awake, as if proving me wrong on purpose. “We saw the Big Boy! Well, just a picture of the Big Boy. But do you even know what the Big Boy is, Grandpa? Because I can tell you.”
“Trains might be the new banana cream pie,” Lindy whispers to me.
I smother a laugh. Maybe we’d be allowed to try another dessert every now and then if Wyatt became obsessed with trains.
Wyatt’s arms spread wide, showing Dad just how giant that train was. He’s not wrong. It was impressive.
“Wyatt,” Mom says. “Did you want to add the wafer cookies to your pudding?”
My nephew drops his arms. “Not yet. I don’t want them to be soggy for—” His head swivels, and he looks right at me. His lips purse. He’s been acting funny ever since he told his mother goodbye this morning. “My friend.”
“What’s that about?” I ask Lindy.
She shrugs and pops one of the vanilla wafers from the box into her mouth. “Who knows? He’s a goofball,” she says around her cookie.
Okay… she might be acting funny, too. I set the extra plate onto the table and peer at my sister. “He’s a—”
“Come on, Wyatt,” Lindy says, interrupting me. “Let’s get you washed up for dinner.”
I look at my mother and set one hand on my hip. “Lindy never sends him to wash up.” I send him, and most of the time, I get a very impatient groan.
Mom shrugs, but she doesn’t look at me. She just keeps mashing her boiled potatoes. “She is his mother, dear.”
Ouch. Why does that sting so much coming from Mom? She hasn’t said anything untrue. “I know that. You think I don’t know that? I do.” But the fact is, Lindy doesn’t normally set rules or boundaries. “I know something’s up. What’s going on?”
“Your nephew has a pal coming over. I’ve made meatloaf. Is it really all that mysterious?”
“A pal? Who’s coming to dinner, Mother?”
The doorbell rings, and Mom looks up from her pan of potatoes. “There he is. Go see for yourself.”
I peer at the table, set for six, and walk to the living room entrance.
Pulling in a tired breath—twenty-two kindergartners and a train museum would wear anyone out—I reach for the doorknob.
Well, Lindy invited this friend over, so Lindy is going to have to deal with him.
I’m taking a bath and drinking a dirty Diet Coke.
I pull open the door, peering downward where a five-year-old should be. But this friend isn’t five.
My gaze lifts to Lucca Cruz, standing in my doorway, looking stupidly cute. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers with a frightfully cheeky grin on his face. I force my eyeballs to stay inside my head and step toward him, forcing him back one tiny step.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yell, shooting a glance back into my house. If Wyatt sees him, there will be no hope for settling down tonight. “You can’t just show up at my house and bring me flowers and think I’ll—”
“I was invited,” he says in that annoying accent that might be the tiniest bit sexy.
“No, you were not. I told you no movie.”
“I didn’t say you invited me,” he says, pushing past me. I’m too stunned to stop the man from entering.
“What—what does that mean? Who, then?”
“Wyatt invited me,” he says, peering around my parents’ humble living room.
I almost choke on the ounce of saliva sliding down my throat. “No, he did not.”
“Yes,” he says with all the confidence of a six-year-old—or maybe just an extremely handsome Brazilian. “He did.”
“Lucca, I don’t know what you’re—”
“You’re here!” Wyatt says behind me. And he’s saying it like someone who knew Lucca Cruz would be coming by our house tonight.
What the—
“Hey,” Lindy says, following after Wyatt. “You made it.”
“You made it?” I say, and this time, I think my eyes are bugging out of my head. I stare at my sister like I could do bodily harm with just a look. “You knew he was coming?”
But Lindy doesn’t even flinch. “Of course. Wyatt invited him.”
Wyatt trips his way over to Lucca. “I mean, it took you long enough. But that’s okay.
Just you wait for it. Grandma made meatloaf, and I made banana cream pie.
” He holds a fist out to Lucca, but I can tell my affectionate little guy would really like to wrap both arms around Lucca’s legs and hug him tight. “She forgot avocados, though.”
Lucca shakes his head. “Banana cream pie is one of the reasons I’m here.”
“But if you want, Grandma’ll go back to the store. She doesn’t mind!” Wyatt fusses. I know that tone. He’s getting himself worked up.
“Hey,” I say, bending down. “It’s okay. Lucca’s had avocado before. And I’m sure he’s added it to his diet since you told him he could be as good as Messi if he fueled right.”
Wyatt sniffs, running a hand beneath his nose. “And if you try. You gotta try, Lucca.”
I choke on a laugh. Did he just imply that Lucca doesn’t work hard? Man, I love this boy.
Lucca switches his gaze from Wyatt to me, brow furrowed. “Do I not look like I’m trying?”
“You haven’t been eating your avocado.” Wyatt shakes his head. “I can tell.” At least he isn’t sniffling anymore.
“So, you really did invite Lucca to dinner?” I say, looking from Wyatt to Lindy.
“I did.” Wyatt rocks on his heels. “We’re buds now. Plus, he’s never tried banana cream pie, and that’s just a darn shame.”
Lindy laughs. “You sound like Grandpa.”
Wyatt lifts one shoulder. “Well, it’s true.”
Standing, my heart attempts to pound right out of my chest. “Lucca’s here for dinner,” I say to Lindy, though Wyatt and Lucca are in the room and no doubt they’ve heard. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t think—”
“Where’s the chef?” Lucca says, interrupting my nonsense. “I’ve brought her some flowers.”
The chef? The flowers are for Mom.
My throat clenches. Of course they’re for Mom.
“Ah,” Lindy says—she’s not worried about my blubbering panic attack either. “That’s sweet of you. Right this way.”
“Right.” I nod. “This way.” I repeat her words. None of my own come to mind. I stand back, watching as Lindy, Wyatt, and Lucca all head toward the kitchen.
What. Is. Happening?
I told Lucca no movie. No dinner. We could be friendly, but that didn’t mean we’d be friends.
It certainly didn’t mean we’d be hanging out.
And now he’s here. For food. And who knows what else?
I mean, last time he was here, the man removed his shirt.
At a child’s party. He was just out there, pecs and biceps and abs—for anyone to see.
My breath hitches. I stand in the dim living room for another minute, my vision blurring into space, when a small, soft hand presses into mine. I blink, focusing my eyes, and peer down at Wyatt.
“Come on, Aunt Maggie. You’re missing Grandpa jumping up and down like that kid in line for Santa last year.”
I make it into the kitchen just in time for introductions. “Just a reminder,” Mom says. “Things were so hectic at the birthday party. I’m Wyatt’s grandma, Hailey.” She’s holding the bouquet Lucca brought. “And the super fan is my husband, Gordon.”
“But you can call them Grandma and Grandpa, if you want,” Wyatt says, and Lucca turns around to face us. “What would you call them in Brazil?”
“Portuguese,” I say, my throat tight.
“Yeah.” Wyatt gives one blond bobbing nod. “What would you call them in that?”
“Grandmother is Avó. Grandfather is Av?. But if you’re close and affectionate, like I was with my grandmother, you’d call her Vovó, and you’d call him” —he tilts his head to Dad, who is grinning like a ninny—“Vov?.”
“Aww,” Mom hums, looking like she’ll melt on the spot.
Is it so sweet that we should all turn to mush? He literally translated a word. Any bilingual person could have done that.
Even Dad is beaming over his translation, though.
“Maggie, sweetheart,” Mom says, but she’s still looking at Lucca. “Can you put these in a vase for me?” She holds the bouquet out toward me.
Two minutes in and that traffic-stopping smile has won them all over.