Samantha #2
Juan hugs me in greeting, and I ask how his flight went.
We have a few minutes to talk together before Adrian has to head back into the locker room, most of which he spends translating back and forth for us.
Juan looks so similar to Adrian—an inch or two shorter, but with the same deep brown eyes and wide grin.
His hair and mustache have turned mostly gray, and the laugh lines around his eyes and frown lines between his eyes highlight the mixture of bitter and sweet he’s experienced in life.
When it’s time for us to head to our seats, Juan and I follow closely behind Griffin as he navigates through the stadium.
There’s an increase in the number of cameras pointed our direction—no doubt because of Juan’s presence in addition to Griffin and me.
I didn’t prepare myself to have all my first interactions with my boyfriend’s father documented for the whole world to see, but I guess that’s life when your boyfriend is a world-famous athlete.
We get to our seats shortly before the national anthem and team introductions, all three of us exuberantly cheering when Adrian’s name is called.
He knows exactly where our seats are, and his grin is contagious when he looks our direction.
He claps his hand against his heart, then points our direction as he jogs to his place at third to start the game.
Juan sits between Griffin and me, and I ask him questions in between game play.
His limited English highlights how fluent Adrian is.
My near ignorance of Spanish frustrates me as we do our best to connect.
Looks like I need to find a Spanish class, I think while failing to adequately communicate how I love that Adrian is so much fun but also so caring.
Finally, I pull out my phone and use it to translate the words for me. I show it to Juan while reading aloud, “El es divertido pero es muy carinoso también,” hoping that the translation is accurate. Juan smiles and nods in agreement, so I assume I at least got the point across.
He says, “Adrián talks about you every time. He loves you very much.”
The visiting batter hits a grounder that Carson snatches and tosses to Adrian at third to get the final out of the inning, so we join the rest of the fans on our feet to cheer. But even as I clap for the good play, I’m mentally replaying Juan’s comment—specifically, the way he said Adrian’s name.
Our conversation is frequently interrupted by great plays, many of which come from Adrian, including a home run.
My feet get tired from standing so much after a full day on my feet at the salon.
I need to invest in some more supportive shoes than Converse.
And stop teasing Griffin about being an old man now, apparently.
By the time the game has ended in a Crowns win, I’ve downloaded a translation app to help my conversations with Juan.
I’ve learned that he still works for a commercial construction company, and I attempted to tell him about my dad’s similar career.
Griffin jumped in with further explanation and some photos of our dad’s general contracting business.
We shared as many tidbits about our lives as we could during slow moments of the game.
As we follow the stream of fans exiting the stadium seats, I send a text to Adrian, hoping he’ll see it.
ME
I need to ask you something before I leave tonight.
We’re almost back to the family area when I get a response.
ADRIAN
Like alone?
ME
Yes. Real quick.
ADRIAN
Is this an excuse to make out? Because I can meet you in the empty suite . . .
ME
No, menso.
I legitimately have a question for you.
ADRIAN
Could making out also be involved?
ME
I’ll think about kissing you after you answer my question.
ADRIAN
Now you have me worried. Is this serious?
ME
No need to worry. But hurry up and change so you can get out here.
Based on how quickly Adrian joins us, he either took to heart my admonition to hurry or didn’t take to heart my reassurance to not worry. He gives his dad a bear hug as Juan congratulates him on the good game. My hug from Adrian is short, but that’s only because he’s rushing us out the door.
When we near the exit to the parking lot, Adrian takes my hand to slow me down. He tells Griffin, “Hey, go ahead out with my dad, and I’ll be right there. I’m just gonna make out with your sister for a minute.”
“Adrian!” I yell, as he laughs and grins, dodging an attempted shove from Griffin.
Griffin looks to me warily and says, “I’m starting to question your choices, sis.”
I successfully land a smack to Adrian’s arm. “I’m also questioning my choices, menso.” Juan bursts out laughing at the nickname but follows Griffin out the doors.
I start talking at the same time Adrian leans in to kiss me, so he retracts and asks, “Oh, you were serious about having a question?”
A teasing grin breaks out across his face, and I smack him once more for good measure. He rests his hands on my hips as I stand in front of him, and I rest mine on his arms, rubbing my thumbs across his biceps.
“Yes. I do,” I say. “I was talking to your dad—well, I was doing my best. I realized that I need to learn some Spanish. Danae mentioned the public library gives free access to language courses, so I’m going to look one up.”
Adrian’s face scrunches with disapproval. “Ay, no! The library’s gonna teach you weird proper Spanish. You need to learn Venezuelan Spanish, catira. I’ll teach you!”
“Really?” I ask.
“Claro, vale!” Adrian says, then instantly translates, “Of course!”
Eyeing him with suspicion, I clarify, “You promise you’ll teach me useful conversation and not trick me into saying something I shouldn’t?”
His face is serious when he says, “I promise. Because I’d love for you to be able to talk more with my dad.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s do it!”
“Then say, ‘chévere, si va.’ No school in los Estados Unidos is gonna teach you that. This is why you need me,” he replies with a smile, gesturing to himself. I repeat the phrase, and his smile grows wider. Leaning in, he asks, “Do I get to kiss you now?”
“No! That wasn’t my question!” I exclaim.
“Dale chola—hurry up and ask me so then I can kiss you,” Adrian teases. He cheats and sneaks in a quick peck to my lips before I can speak.
“When I was talking to your dad, he pronounced your name differently. Not A-dree-in with the emphasis on the first syllable. It sounded more like Ah-dree-ahn with the emphasis on the last syllable,” I state.
Adrian shrugs. “Yeah? So?”
“So? Is that how your name is supposed to be pronounced?” I ask.
“Well, yeah, that’s the Spanish pronunciation,” he says. “But it wasn’t worth the effort to constantly correct people when I moved here. There’s no way you can call up every sports commentator or stadium announcer and ask them to pronounce your name differently.”
“But you could tell your girlfriend the right way to say your name!” I exclaim indignantly.
He laughs. “I don’t care how you say my name.” He leans in closer and murmurs, “As long as you keep saying it.”
“Menso. Tell me straight.” I give him a hard stare as I mimic back his words from the night he asked about calling me Samantha. “Do you like being called Adrián?”
“Well, when you say it that way.” He leans in for a kiss but pulls back abruptly and adds, “Actually, we’re gonna need to work on your pronunciation of R sounds in Spanish.”
I hit him in the chest, and he laughs. “Can you please be serious?” I insist, although I can’t erase my own smile.
He gives me a tender look and says, “I do like you saying my name Adrián. But I don’t care if you say Adrian. I’ll answer to anything for you, cielo.”
Shaking my head, I say, “No. You’re calling me Samantha. I’m calling you Adrián. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life mispronouncing the name your parents gave you.”
His expression heats as he tilts his head to the side. His arms wind around my waist, pulling me against him as he murmurs, “The rest of your life, huh?”
Blushing but not taking it back, I shrug one shoulder.
And then he kisses me.