Chapter 19
Vanessa
The Thursday after the Great Potato Salad Incident, Jason and I are chatting as we cook Cami’s bon-voyage meal.
Correction: He’s cooking; I’m prepping the ingredients for sofrito.
He hasn’t brought up the incident with David, and I’m more than appreciative of the reprieve.
Especially because we’re not alone. The rest of the guests are in Cami’s living room, going over the wedding details and occasionally poking their heads in the kitchen to see how much longer they have to wait before dinner’s ready.
Soon, people, soon.
Well, that is if Jason stops being a tyrant in his sister’s kitchen. Even the relatively simple process of mashing more garlic in the pilón requires his supervision.
“Hazlo con más fuerza,” he says behind me.
“I don’t need your instruction, Chef Ramsay. I’m putting enough effort into this as it is.”
“Hmm. I thought you said you don’t speak Spanish.”
“I can understand most of it just fine, and you’re being overbearing in both languages.”
He raises his hands in the air and backs off. “Okay, okay. The sofrito is yours.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to need it in a minute, though.”
“Oh my God, remind me to never be your sous chef again.”
He gives me his side smile—the one where only one corner of his mouth lifts—and I can almost envision us being this easy with each other for real.
Well, we are this easy with each other for real, but Jason has no clue I’m hoping he’ll end up with my sister.
Speaking of…let’s get back on track, shall we?
“You know who should be doing this with you?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Lisa. She’s a great cook. She’d probably be able to show you a thing or two.”
“Think so?”
“Oh yeah. She’d be all over this if you called her in here. Even as a teenager, she knew what she was doing. It’s like she popped out of the womb with a talent for cooking.”
“We’d probably clash in the kitchen, then. I mean, you did just compare me to Gordon Ramsay.”
Shit. The point is to bring them together, not give him reasons to think they’re incompatible. “Nah, I think you’d find a rhythm with each other.”
“Maybe. Still, I like cooking for people, so it doesn’t bother me one bit that you’re not handy in the kitchen.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Not at all.”
Dammit. As usual, Jason’s brain isn’t cooperating.
It’s frustrating as hell, but I need to roll with it, don’t I?
“Hmm, that’s been one of those things I’ve always wondered about.
Whether someone I dated would expect me to make amazing Puerto Rican dishes and be disappointed when they learned I’m only good at making coquito. ”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about that with me. Feeding people brings me pleasure.”
I watch him as he pulls the roasted pork from the oven. After setting the pan on the stove, he breaks off a juicy chunk of meat and pops it into his mouth. “Mmm,” he says, closing his eyes. Then he breaks off another piece and offers it to me. “Say ahh.”
I open my mouth for a taste, his gaze settling on my lips as I chew. “Oh my God, I think I just had my first food orgasm.”
“Glad I was here to witness it,” he says as he continues to stare at my lips.
Holy. Shit. The devil must be chuckling right now.
I step back and gesture with my hands at the minced garlic in the pilón. “Ta-da. All done.”
“It’s about time.”
“Easy now. Let’s not be ungrateful.”
“Me? Ungrateful? Never. Impatient in the kitchen? Always.”
“I knew there was a flaw somewhere.”
“Oh, believe me, there are many.”
“Name another.”
He thinks about it for a moment, then says, “I tend to tiptoe around my problems because I hate conflict.”
“C’mon, don’t keep me hanging. Examples, please.”
“My longest relationship in college lasted a year too long because I didn’t know how to break up with her.”
“Jason.”
“You asked,” he says, wincing. “Now it’s your turn.”
“To what?”
He tilts his head and gives me a blank stare. “To tell me one of your flaws.”
“I would if I could, but I don’t have any.”
“Vanessa.”
“Jason.”
“Vanessa.”
“Okay, okay. I’m terrible at remembering important dates—birthdays, anniversaries, and so on. You lucked out only because you told me your birthday the week before.”
“That’s your flaw?”
“I’m sure there are others, but that’s the one I’m sharing with you.”
“Right. Of course.”
“What do you mean, of course?”
“You don’t share much about yourself, Vanessa. And yeah, we agreed to take this slow, but I want to get to know you, too, and I get the sense that you’re stalling for some reason.”
Shit. This is the problem with being a starter ex to someone who’s emotionally intelligent: They can spot your bullshit a mile away.
In college, the guys I dated didn’t care if I opened up to them, but Jason’s not a teenager, and he’s noticing that I’m not fully invested in our budding relationship.
Honestly, I don’t know how to be open. Anyone with a sense of self-preservation knows you need to tread lightly when sharing your secrets.
Because anything you share can and will be used against you.
Still, if I don’t say something, Jason might get suspicious.
So I’ll tell him an unflattering fact about me.
Lord knows there are tons to choose from.
“The guy you met at the cookout, David. He isn’t just one of my bosses. We also dated for a while.”
“I figured as much.”
“And he pushed for my transfer because I broke things off. He’s punishing me. Essentially, I fucked my boss, and now I’m being screwed for it.”
“That was not what I thought you were going to say.”
“What? You thought I was the one pushing for a serious relationship?”
“Exactly.”
“Right. Because it’s always the woman who wants more.”
“I realize that is a stereotypical assumption.”
“It is. But that speaks to one of my flaws too. I couldn’t give him more because I hate sharing things about myself.”
“Why?”
“People never like what I tell them. Case in point, I dated my boss, a supremely foolish thing to do. And now I bet you’re thinking it doesn’t speak well of my judgment.”
“I don’t think any less of you now than I did a minute ago. I’m more concerned that he got away with sexual harassment.”
“I was going to leave Chicago no matter what.”
“But you should have been able to do that on your own terms. You could—”
“Jason, leave it alone. I don’t want to do anything about it. Yeah, it was a costly lesson, but I won’t be putting myself in that position again. I’ve made peace with what happened.”
“Simple as that?”
I nod. “Simple as that.”
“You’re way more complicated than you let on, though. But I get it: You’ve been burned in the past, and this is your way of protecting yourself.”
“Easy, Dr. Phil. I don’t have enough money to pay you for therapy.”
“Can I give you a hug instead?”
“Why?” I say with a laugh.
“I think you know why.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, then I set down my knife and open my arms. He pulls me close and wraps me in a tight embrace. Against my hair, he says, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For sharing a piece of you. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“I’m trying.”
What I don’t say is that I’m trying for him. And the realization knocks me upside the head. There’s no reason for me to be doing anything for him. Hell, I’m sending mixed signals even to myself, and that’s a recipe for disaster.
I step out of his arms and rub my hands together. “We better get back to cooking. Your family’s going to kill us if the food isn’t done soon.”
“Right,” he says, snapping his fingers. “I need to make the rice real quick.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
“Yeah, actually. Would you mind setting the table?”
“Okay, that I can handle.” I spin around and peruse Cami’s cabinets.
“She said we could take whatever we need.”
“Got it.”
As I’m reaching for the plates, he clears his throat. “So, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Sounds ominous,” I say, turning to face him.
He smiles. “Could be.”
“I’m all ears.”
“So, uh, Cami and Bryan. Let’s just say they pride themselves on going against the grain. There won’t be a bachelor or bachelorette party. Instead, they’re calling it a ‘going out with a bang’ celebration, and they want to do it together.”
“Sounds cool so far.”
“You’d think so, but I’m not sure. Because they asked Lisa and Denise to plan the event.
It’s going to be the people in the wedding party and any significant others: Cami and Bryan, me, Denise, Lisa, and Bryan’s brother, who’s the best man, and his girlfriend.
It’s just a day at a spa in Hudson Valley, and we’d be staying only one night.
Anyway, I was wondering if you would like to come along?
Not as my girlfriend or anything, but as my friend who will make it less painful for me to be there. ”
“When is it?”
“This Saturday.”
“I suppose that could be fun.”
“But don’t blame me if it isn’t.”
“Wow, you’re really selling the experience.”
“Sorry. I just worry about Denise. She’s got a sick sense of humor, and I wouldn’t put it past her to arrange for strippers and shit.”
“Oh, I’m definitely coming, then.”
“And if it isn’t clear by now, I’d love for you to be my date for the ceremony.”
“Mr. Torres, are you using me for cover at your sister’s wedding? Want me to fend off all the women trying to catch your eye?”
His shoulders tense, and his gaze bounces all over the room. “What? No! I’d never do something like that.”
I laugh. “Relax, I was just kidding. And sure, I’d love to be your date. Luckily for you, my dance card is empty.”
“Great. Okay. That’s good. Great.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just happy that we’ll be spending more time together.”
So am I. Because I’m losing control of this situation, and I need to redouble my efforts. Yeah, it’s time to take my irritation tactics to the next level.
“And what did you do?” Elba asks me, passing the platter of pernil to Cami.