Chapter 21
Twenty minutes later, Carlos yanks the plug on the blinking sign and pulls the gate closed, signaling that they are officially calling it a night. The snow is steady, but still not as intense as predicted so far, which is good, because apparently we are about to have an outdoor picnic.
Tía busies herself putting together plates of tamales.
Eve pulls up chairs that have been leaning against a wall.
Hugo, who has been helping to break down the paper goods station, now pulls the cash table to the corner of the lot.
There, outlined by a string of twinkle lights, is a small overhang that protects the table, and a few heat lamps that keep the outdoor space cozy.
It feels like a proper party once Carlos cranks up the Peanuts Christmas album on the boom box in the corner.
I take a seat at the end of the table, and Eve chooses to sit across from me, even though there are at least four other open seats at the table.
If we wanted to, we could share a meal right off the same freaking plate.
Looking at Eve feels like staring at the winter sun, so I’m grateful for the camera in my hands giving me something else to do.
Besides, I do want to get some footage of this beautiful scene.
“Mind if I…?” I raise it to her and gesture around the table.
“Have we evolved from baking competition to Bourdain-style travel-slash-food show?” Eve asks, and her mouth tips into a smirk. The snow globe of sparkles that is my stomach is officially upside down.
“You know, I hadn’t seen that pivot coming,” I say. “But it seems like life is full of surprises.”
“See, this is why I like documentaries,” she says. “Reality can be so much more interesting.”
I’m glad my cheeks are already hot pink from the cold, because I’m positive you could roast literal chestnuts on my face.
“Actually, I am kind of playing with a sort of documentary-adjacent project.”
“Oh?” Eve asks, and oh —she’s intrigued. “Thinking white-guy-kills-his-wife, or more stupid-millennials-get-scammed?”
“Actually, something a little more… magical,” I say.
“Sounds like you, Strudel,” she says, and whoosh , the sparkles rush through me. “Anyway, knock yourself out.”
I take in the scene. Izaac is next to Eve, and Cash is next to me.
Hugo is on Cash’s right side, wearing the same top hat and waistcoat as yesterday, with Diya across from him.
Down toward the other end of the table, Audra is sitting across from Carlos on either side of the head of the table, where I assume Tía will sit.
As Carlos helps his mother to her seat, he introduces us as “Eve’s friends.” I don’t dare look at Eve to see how she reacts to this. I don’t want to see her object, as if to say What? I don’t even know these crazy people; they are absolutely not my friends .
Carlos hands a platter of tamales to Audra.
“Would you mind passing those around, sweetheart?” Tía asks her.
Audra inhales the aroma from the platter as she takes it with an mmm sound loud enough for the whole table to hear.
My stomach rumbles in response because I am actually ravenous despite my nerves.
But shoot, I have no idea what’s in a tamale.
And I don’t ever try new foods, especially without a full inspection and vigorous sniff test. I can’t even remember the last time I ate something without knowing exactly what it was—if you don’t count the miso hot cocoa, which was technically an accident.
Naomi tells me someday I’ll be sorry I don’t try more foods, but I never imagined my first kiss hanging in the balance.
I don’t want to offend anyone. Something tells me Tía takes pride in her cooking and isn’t the type to take no thank you for an answer, so I’d better prepare to expand my horizons wider, and quick.
Tía turns back to the table. “So, why don’t you all tell me your names?” she asks.
Audra begins, and as the platter goes around, each person introduces themselves and takes a tamale.
Maybe it’s because she isn’t defending secret ingredients from nosy teenagers, or maybe it’s because she’s off duty, but Tía seems much less intimidating now.
She’s sitting with her hands folded, smiling warmly, and I kind of want to hug her.
When the tray comes my way, I’m super nervous, but luckily they smell ridiculously good.
Tía explained earlier that they are coded by twine colors.
I grab one with orange twine—squash, because I know I like the butternut squash soup my mom makes in the fall.
I put it on my plate, proud of my first step, then wait.
“Oh, good lord,” Cash says, putting his nose in his tamale and basking in the steam.
“These are going to be legendary, I can tell already,” Izaac says.
“Speaking of legends,” Cash says, turning his attention to Hugo. “You, my friend, are an icon. What’s your inspiration?”
Hugo says nothing. I freeze, but Cash smiles just the same.
I’m not sure if this is something Eve and her family are open to discussing with strangers.
Although, I guess I was a stranger when she told me that Hugo was nonverbal just yesterday.
Technically, I’m still kind of a stranger, even though I want so badly not to be.
Thankfully, Carlos jumps in for his little cousin. “Hugo worships at the altar of Mr. Dickens,” he says.
“More specifically, Gonzo as Dickens,” Eve says with a smile right at me that reads like a wink. It’s like a hearth being lit in the core of me.
“Ah, yes, Gonzo has always been Bennie’s style idol too. You have great taste,” Izaac says to Hugo, who’s busy unwrapping his tamale. Eve watches her brother with a warm, subtle smile.
“Well, get into it, y’all,” Carlos says when everyone has a tamale. “They’re better hot!”
I survey my plate again and draw the warm steam and rich aromas in through my nose. It smells like a hug, and looks like one too. But not only have I never had a tamale before—I don’t even know how to eat the thing.
I lift my fork and knife and try to figure out my way in, when Eve interrupts.
“Have you ever had one of these?” she asks, her voice low enough that she’s only speaking to me as the chatter gets louder around us.
“Never,” I admit.
“Okay, so you can’t just attack it like that,” she says with an amused but gentle laugh. “You have to unwrap it.”
Cool cool, Bosley .
She leans across the table and reaches for my plate.
“Cool if I…?” she asks. “My hands are clean, I promise.”
I look at her hands and see the birthmark I noticed yesterday. Was it really only yesterday? I want to take those hands in my own and warm them up for her. Instead I just nod, because I’d give her permission to do anything she wants with those hands.
“So you don’t eat this part,” she says, pointing with her knife. “It’s a corn husk—but it’s just a wrapper. Keeps the corn all cozy and safe.”
A puff of steam fogs my glasses, once she gently unwraps the tamale.
When she pushes the husk aside, I breathe in a burst of fragrant, toasty corn and spices. Some I recognize, and some are totally new.
“This one is squash. My favorite,” she says. And I take note, because I want to know all her favorite everythings. “It’s kinda like the pumpkin spice version of a tamale.”
“Oh, amazing,” I say. I can totally see what she means, and that idea makes this whole thing feel way more approachable.
I take a giant bite before I can overthink it.
And it’s… mind-blowingly delicious. It’s soft and warm and complex and I’m enjoying it so much I almost don’t notice that Eve is watching my reaction.
“You’ll never be the same after tonight, Strudel,” she says, and I know she’s right—for so many reasons.
“You know, it’s kind of a problem for me that you showed up,” she says.
“Oh?” I ask, suddenly terrified.
“Yeah, I managed to get those sneaker cover things. Tía and Carlos thought it was brilliant.”
“Amazing!” I say.
“Buuuuuut I was planning to take full credit for the idea,” she says. “And now you’re here.”
“Ah,” I say. “Well, it can be our secret.”
I am fully flirting now, and I think I’m actually doing a good job!
“Okay,” Eve says, “I guess I’ll have to figure out how to make it up to you.”
I nearly choke on my next bite, and before I can come up with a flirty response, Cash leans his head on my shoulder.
“Oh my god, B,” he says. “I want to be buried with one of these tamales.”
If I had a nickel for every time Cash ate something that he said he wanted to be buried in or with, I’d have enough money to pay for this very bizarre funeral at least a dozen times over. But I can’t argue. Besides it’s nice to see him looking relaxed too, more like himself.
“I know, buddy,” I say, patting his knee. “Right there with you this time.”
Izaac throws an impressed look my way, and I silently thank my stars he didn’t call me out on my history of pickiness.
After that, there’s a lag in the conversation while we all dig in, only stopping to pass around utensils and bottles of their hot sauce, which apparently also has a secret ingredient.
“She still won’t even tell us what it is.
” Carlos nods to his mom, who waves him off.
“Just be careful—the hotness is no joke,” he says to Audra.
She gives him a sideways smirk and Izaac snaps an Are you seeing this?
look at me. I smile. If it wouldn’t be so over-the-top obvious, I’d be filming this moment, because that’s for sure some magic in action.
When Tía starts passing the platter around a second time, she clears her throat. “It’s such a pleasure to have new friends at our table. And how did you all meet Eve?” she asks.
Of course I’m mid-bite the size of a reindeer, so I choke a little through my response. “At Cooper—the farm—yesterday.”
“It’s kind of a crazy coincidence,” Izaac jumps in. “My sister lives in Brooklyn. And when Bennie said she met Eve yesterday and explained where she lived—”