Chapter 13- Brujería
It took two bottles of wine, a concession allowing Giana to make three of the dishes, and a threat from Ramon to quit, but they had made it to dinner. Ramon had to run as the storm outside worsened; he was eager to see his family, but the table was set, and the spread was opulent.
There were Cuban dishes, lechón and turkey as promised, but also Yucca (a tuber cooked in a citrus garlic sauce), Moros (a dish of white rice and black beans that was cooked together with sofrito and bacon), and Maduros (ripe plantains fried and served sticky and sweet).
There was also a mix of Thanksgiving staples, like green bean casserole and sweet potato mash.
Giana had changed into a simple white sheath dress and was focused on photographing all the dishes. “Mi Vida,” her mother said to her. “Do you think we could sit and eat the food, or is this strictly for social media?”
Abuela chuckled at this, and Giana waved a hand impatiently. “I was literally only taking pictures for two seconds. I need to document the meal I made!”
“Sure, you ‘made’ this meal, and I dug the lechon pits yesterday,” Will said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, I helped, and I need to make sure I document it so that I can prove to my future husband that I can cook.” She said and stuck out her tongue at her brother.
“Don’t worry, with a figura like that, puedes quemar agua y todo,” Abuela said with a wicked wink. “Pero esta—” she jerked her chin toward Lizzie, “—a man can tell she cooks good porque come bien, y tiene carnita rica pa’ agarrar!”
Giana, translated for her dad between wheezing laughs.“She said I could burn water and still get married, but you can tell Lizzie can cook because she has meat to hold onto. Abuela, you’re savage!”
Lizzie went crimson and buried her face in her hands.
Will’s smirk deepened into something dangerously close to a grin, eyes locked on Lizzie as if the rest of the table had vanished.
Isabela dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, still coughing through laughter, while Abuela just beamed around the table like she’d paid the highest compliment known to womankind.
The dinner went on this way; the wine flowed easily, and the dishes were passed around.
Abuela provided comedic relief, whether purposely or not, which wasn’t clear to Lizzie, but the atmosphere was jolly.
Lizzie was reminded of a time when she was younger and would be embarrassed by her grandmother.
She’d ask her grandmother not to speak Spanish in front of other people and would beg her to pack her lunch in a regular Tupperware, like the other kids used, not the recycled butter containers she was so fond of.
Lizzie had wanted so badly to fit in with her peers that she had suppressed her Cuban side as much as she could.
She ironed every curl out of her hair and listened exclusively to pop, rock, and even country music to fit in with the popular girls in her class.
She wasn’t sure when the change had happened, but seemingly overnight, she began to care less and less about fitting in and instead leaned into her family’s culture.
She embraced the loud talking and rhythmic music.
She openly spoke Spanish to others and bragged about her family’s traditions.
She didn’t care that it meant that she didn’t have a date for Prom or any real relationship at all.
She didn’t care that she was maybe too chubby for some and too loud for others. She felt proud of that.
Tonight, at this table, she felt that the younger Lizzie would’ve been mortified that her grandmother was making such a spectacle of herself among the classy and affluent Pemberleys.
But she didn’t feel that now. Instead, she felt possessive of her Abuela and oddly proud.
This was the embodiment of where she came from, an embodiment of home for Lizzie.
And if anyone thought less of her, may they be damned. Lizzie was bursting with love.
Dinner was wrapped up, and everyone looked like they couldn’t fit another morsel in their bodies.
The dinner had been delicious. Even Giana’s dishes, which the Pemberleys seemed very hesitant to try, turned out delicious!
It may have been the wine, but Lizzie thought this had been one of the most fabulous Thanksgiving dinners in memory.
A loud crash of thunder made them all jump, and Lizzie was suddenly aware that she’d have to drive back in this storm. As if reading her thoughts, Isabela said, “Well, my dears, I think you must make yourselves comfortable. I don’t think there’s any chance of your leaving here tonight.”
Lizzie wasn’t sure what to say. She looked instinctively at Will, who was avoiding her gaze. Was it her imagination that Will Sr had shot him a look?
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe in an hour or two, the weather will improve enough that I can drive us back and not intrude?”
Another loud crack of thunder seemed to answer Lizzie. “I think that settles it!” Giana said. “We have plenty of guest rooms that never get used, so I say you just accept it, open another bottle of wine, and don’t even think about leaving this party!”
Abuela answered by finishing her glass of wine and standing up. “Well, that’s that. Cafe?”
The party moved to the living room, at least Lizzie assumed this was a living room. Lizzie’s home had only one living room, and it was where all the living happened. They watched TV in there, conversed, opened presents on Christmas morning, and passed along chisme.
This was a different living room than the one she’d been in earlier; it had tall bookshelves and couches and only one window, no TV. Was this, maybe, what she’d heard called a library or a den? It felt warmer and cozier than the other room.
The coffee tray was set out, and Isabela and Giana were looking at records and discussing what to play.
They settled on some music from El Gran Combo, trumpets sounded through the speaker, and Isabela motioned for her son to join her.
Lizzie looked at Will, assuming that he’d refuse to join his mother, but, to her surprise, he put his coffee cup down and walked over to her.
Without a word, Will and his mother coupled up and fell into step with some of the smoothest and most effortless Salsa dancing Lizzie had ever seen.
Every shift seemed choreographed. Will led with ease; the slightest motion of his wrist, and Isabela responded with a seamless turn or step.
Will’s moves weren’t flashy or exaggerated, but instead they had a careful control, as if he had trained his muscles exactly for this purpose.
His mother seemed entirely at ease. Lizzie was transfixed.
Giana, who was sitting nearby watching, suddenly jumped up and said, “There that! That’s the turn I was talking about. How do I do that?” Will and his mom broke apart, and they began discussing the logistics and slowing down the process.
Isabela suddenly called out to Lizzie. “Do you know how to Salsa?”
“Oh, not very well…” Lizzie said, hoping they wouldn’t expect her to dance next to them.
Will walked over to Lizzie and held out his hand.
Lizzie didn’t want to be rude, but she could feel her face redden.
“I wasn’t just being modest; I’m really not a great dancer.
My dad didn’t want to dance with me without steel-toe boots on.
” She said this as Will led her to the front of the room, where they had more space.
“That’s ok,” Will said. “I have fast feet.”
Lizzie could feel her heart racing as Will slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her in close to him.
She could feel the heat off his body, and she felt his thumb caress against the soft part of her belly, the carnita, as Abuela affectionately called it, which was protruding a bit more than it had before she had gorged herself on dinner.
The song changed, and Lizzie looked at Will with a little panic in her eyes.
Brujería (Witchcraft) started playing, and Will looked at her comfortingly. “Hey, calm down, this is supposed to be fun. You can face down the warehouse; you can do this.” He winked, and Lizzie released the breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding.
Will pulled her, and they began to fall into step. Lizzie was counting in her head and trying to keep step. “Don’t overthink it,” Will said and forced Lizzie to stop looking at her feet. She met his eyes as the song launched into the chorus.
You have me shaking all day and all night. Tu me hiciste brujería. (You did witchcraft on me.)
Lizzie started relaxing into the step. She took cues from Will’s firm but gentle pushes and pulls as he guided her easily around. She felt the room disappear around her and allowed herself to be led by Will’s confident moves, as she spun out and then was pulled back in.
I don’t know what you put in my food. Tu me hiciste brujería.
As Lizzie grew more confident, so did the complexity of Will’s moves. Lizzie began to feel that she might be a good dancer. She was moving on instinct, daring to add even a little more flair to each step. She was smiling, enjoying the movement and new confidence.
And now I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. Tu me hiciste brujería.
Lizzie had never danced like this. She had never danced with anyone she wasn’t related to, and she never knew what a difference a good partner could make. She was suddenly doing spins she’d only seen. And then Will grabbed her and dipped her as the final note hit.
When Will pulled her back upright, their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing hard. For one suspended second, the entire room held its breath with them. Giana cleared her throat, breaking the spell. Her face held a sly smile. Abuela’s mouth literally hung open.
Lizzie reddened. “Better than you thought, huh?” Will Sr said.
“I think it’s just that I had a good partner,” Lizzie said, stepping away from Will.
“Or at least the right partner,” Giana said.
“Debe ser,” Abuela added. “Because I’ve never seen Lizette move like that, not even when wearing skates!” Then, as if she’d just had an epiphany, she gasped and said, “Brujería?”
As if on cue, thunder clapped, plunging the whole room, including Lizzie, mid-eye-roll, into darkness