Chapter 24
Alejandra
Every morning since I came to this house I've been catered to and I'm starting to get antsy. I spend most of my days reading medical journals and wondering if I should go back to school and become a Nurse Practitioner with all this extra time and income I now have.
The one thing I miss the most is cooking papá and Miguel's meals. I miss the smell of the kitchen when I make my salsa or the scent of fresh frijoles de la oya.
So, this morning, I’m shaking things up. I’m not gonna let this become my norm. No, I need to get up, move around, and do something before I go crazy.
I slip out of the bed while Ernesto is still motionless sleeping next to me.
He’s changed his morning routine from waking up at the butt crack of dawn, to going to around 9 am, and coming back all sweaty, shiny, and HOT from his work outs.
He invited me once–the moment was awkward as hell because– but all I did was laugh and walk away. Haha. Yeah, no thanks.
Apparently, he hasn't given up the idea of me going on a run with him because, apparently, he laid out some work out clothes for me last night after I fell asleep.
To which I decide to completely ignore pulling on a pair of my comfy worn jeans and a simple beige sweater that says "Gobble Me, Swallow Me" in honor of it being Thanksgiving time and all.
I try not to laugh too loudly, and wake him up, as I look at myself in the mirror because this sweater is ICONIC.
I smile the entire time I make my way to the kitchen. Cooking was the one thing that I felt brought my family close and so this morning I'm going to cook breakfast for Camilla, and maybe Ernesto, if he behaves.
The mansion's kitchen is a gleam of stainless steel and blinding white marble.
It's a space designed for efficiency, but no warmth.
Consuelo is already in here, her back to me as she chips vegetables, her movements precise and methodical.
Two other women, younger and dressed in gray uniforms, move silently around her, polishing counters and washing dishes.
The air in here smells of disinfectant and the faint aroma of coffee.
"Buenos dias," I say, as I enter their area. My voice sounds a little too loud in the quiet they were working in.
"Buenos días, Senora," Consuelo says before she turns and offers me a smile. Meanwhile, the other two girls startle, their eyes widening, as if they just saw a ghost or worse, Ernesto.
"You're up early. We haven't started making breakfast yet but I'll have one of Maria pour you a cup of coffee.
" Before Consuelo can get one of the girls' attention, I start to make my way towards the fancy espresso machine that looks more complicated than some of the equipment I have used in the ER.
"No se preocupen, I'll make my own cup today." The two girls seem to get freaked out more as I spend more time in the kitchen with them. "And please, Consuelo, we've been over this. Just Alejandra, por favor."
She gives me a slight nod and a smile, but I know the formality won't change. "Of course. I'll get started on breakfast. It should be ready in about thirty minutes."
"Actually," I begin, turning with the warm mug in my hands. "I was thinking…I'd like to make breakfast for us this morning."
The two maids freeze mid-motion, one even drops the bottle of disinfectant in their hand, their gazes darting to Consuelo for guidance.
Consuelo takes a few minutes and considers my request. My anxiety gets the best of me and I drink my entire mug, burning my tongue, in a few seconds and go to pour me another cup.
For a moment, I think she's going to refuse, to tell me that this is her kitchen and to get out.
But, she wipes her hands on her apron, heads towards the pantry, pulls out a clean apron, and hands it to me. "What were you thinking of making?"
A wave of relief washes over me as I set my mug down. "I've been really wanting some huevos con chorizo and I know it's also Camilla's favorite."
Consuelo smiles and gestures to one of the maids. "Good choice. Luisa, get the chorizo from the fridge. Maria, clear the station for the Senora."
The women move but I can tell they’re hesitant.
Unsure of what to make about this disruption in their normal routine.
They clear a space for me at the island, laying out a cutting board, and a knife.
Both ladies work around me, giving me a wide berth, their silence a mix of respect but suspicion.
They see me as an intruder, probably even see me as a child trying to play house in a kitchen designed for professionals.
Little do they know I'm actually a pretty damn good cook.
Consuelo takes this opportunity to get herself a cup of coffee and head towards the outside patio, que porque she wants to feel the cool air of the morning before it gets hot. Either way, better for me, I won't get nervous at the thought of her judging my every movement. She wouldn't but still.
I put the chorizo in the skillet and let it cook—the smell of it brings back good memories from home.
A few minutes later I'm adding the eggs and the sizzling of the food mixing together makes me even more excited that I'm salivating in excitement from how good this is gonna taste.
Don't get me wrong, Consuelo's food is delicious but it's complicated.
The type of dishes Ernesto's poppy ass likes.
This is nitty gritty down to earth Mexican breakfast.
Just as I'm getting ready to moler los frijoles I can feel a shift in the atmosphere. The air seems to grow heavy, charged and I feel the presence before I see it.
Ernesto stands at the entrance to the kitchen dressed in gray sweatpants, which should be illegal, and a black fitted t-shirt damp with sweat from his workout.
His hair is tousled and his jaw tight, eyes dark and stormy as they take in the scene before him.
The two maids standing next to the island with a coffee in their hands, Consuelo out on the patio, and then his gaze lands on me.
He looks at my hand on the masher, ready to smash these beans into oblivion, then to the skillet with the chorizo and eggs, and then down my body where the apron is tied around my waist.
The kitchen is so quiet we can literally hear the popping of the chorizo echo in the area.
"?Qué chingados haces cocinando?" His voice is dangerously low, slicing through the warmth that had settled into this place. It sounds like a question but knowing him it's more of an accusation.
I signal for Luisa to come take over the mashing of the frijoles. Despite the sudden frantic beating of my heart, I turn to face him, refusing to cower. "I'm making breakfast for us."
His eyes narrow into slits. He takes a step towards me into the kitchen, his presence sucking all the oxygen from the room. The two girls shrink back against the far wall, Consuelo already used to this remains where she's at not bothering with Ernesto's melodrama.
"You don't work here, so why the hell are you in the kitchen cooking?"
The audacity of this man. What is so wrong about me wanting to cook a simple breakfast for us. For a moment, I thought Ernesto and I had gotten to a point where we could stand each other but it looks like that took a nose dive. The resentment I felt is back and it is burning hot.
"No, I don't." I retort, my voice coming out strong and sharp. "But technically, this is my house and I can do what I want. So why am I not allowed to cook in my own kitchen?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he looks from me to Consuel,o who's joined us—his gaze is a silent reprimand.
"Consuelo manages the kitchen and is paid as well as the others to manage the household. That includes the kitchen."
"And she's done a wonderful job, still does," I shoot Consuelo a smile, but refuse to back down, gesturing to the sizzling pan. "But today, I wanted to make Camilla's favorite breakfast. Why is that such a problem for you?"
He takes several steps towards me, slowly, his eyes burning into mine.
We're standing only a few feet apart now, the massive marble island the only thing separating us.
I can taste the tension in the air—wait, that's actually the frijoles burning.
Luisa rushes over to the stove and takes care of the beans.
"My problem?" he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper, a tone far more menacing than a shout.
"I wake up to an empty bed and then I come into the kitchen and find my wife cooking in a fully staffed kitchen.
What do you think that says about me?" Ernesto starts to round the island but I stand my ground and let him stalk up to me.
"Your biggest concern should be my daughter and only my daughter. She doesn't need you to cook her breakfast, that's what Consuelo is for."
"You think because I cook her breakfast one day she's going to somehow become some delinquent? If anything having her mother cook her break—"
I'm cut off by a loud smack against the counter.
"YOU ARE NOT HER MOTHER!" Ernesto barked. I'm stunned into silence and just stare at him, shocked. I know I'm not Camilla's mother but from day one he told me I was to be her mother figure and I'm her stepmom. I overstepped, I know I did but I'm not going to apologize.
I lift my chin up to meet his gaze straight on. I'm not going down without a fight. He wants Camilla to have a good life; he's going to have to loosen that leash.
"Dios santo, Ernesto. You act like I'm going to feed her poison when all I'm doing is making her a traditional Mexican breakfast every kid should have with their family.
You brought me here to give her some sense of normalcy, que no?
" I see a flicker of something in his eyes—pain, anger, I can't tell which.
"Stick to your role, Alejandra. This is not your home to do with as you wish. They are not your staff to manage, and this is not your kitchen." He bites back, straining to keep control.
"My role?" I retort, letting out an incredulous laugh.
"Is this the role where I smile and play dress up for you or the one where I spread my legs for you whenever you want me?
Is it that one? I'm your wife, Ernesto, not one of your fucking employees.
If you want a mindless doll then you chose the wrong one cause this doll has a mind and a will of my own.
Sorry, if that's such an inconvenience to the role you wish for me to play. "
His face morphs into a mask of stone, his fury so evident it makes the maids run out of the kitchen terrified, as if they are witnessing the gates of hell opening before them.
"No me provoques, Alejandra. Hay límites...y me estás colmando la pinche paciencia," he grinds out, balling up his hands and clenching them at his sides.
“Ah sì? Que bueno, fijate," I shoot back, holding my chin high.
"Porque tú, hace rato, cruzaste los míos.
Porque la noche en que me trajiste a esta casa me dijiste eso exactamente.
Dizque para cuidar de tu hija, y para ser la dama de la casa oh ya se te olvido?
" I take a step toward him, my voice low but sharp, "pero cada vez que intento hacer lo que me ordenaste, me tratas como si todo de lo que hago vale nada. "
His jaw tightens, eyes burning, but I don’t let him speak.
“Así que no me vengas a hablar de límites, Ernesto. Tú fuiste el primero en romperlos.”
The silence between stretches, taut and vibrating all around us. I half expect him to drag me out of the kitchen, to unleash the monster he is, but instead he exhales hard, jaw flexing, turns, and walks out.
My shoulders slump as I stand there, chest heaving, my hands trembling… but for once, it isn’t from fear. After a few seconds the adrenaline leaves me weak and trembling. I grip the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turn white. Consuelo at my side in seconds.
"Senora?" Consuelo's voice is soft beside me.
I take a deep shaky breath and close my eyes, taking a second to collect myself before I look at her. When I finally do, her face is filled with a new kind of respect.
"Senora, el chorizo se está quemando." She says so calmly and I let out a laugh and rush over to the stove.