"Ay, Dios mío! You are pregnant! That's it, right? My baby is having a baby!"
"Mamá—"
"Is it his? That man? The protector?"
I look at Mikhail, who's now grinning like an idiot. "Si."
"Good. Strong men make strong babies. When is the wedding?"
"Wedding? Mamá, we're not—!"
"You're carrying his child and you're not married? Mariana Esperanza Castillo, your grandmother is rolling in her grave!"
"It's complicated—"
"It's not complicated. He puts a ring on your finger or I fly to New York myself."
"You can't fly to New York. I'm wanted by the FBI!"
"I don't care if you're wanted by God himself. My daughter will not have a baby without being married."
Mikhail takes the phone from my hand. "Mrs. Castillo? This is Mikhail," he says, switching to English.
"You! You got my daughter pregnant!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Are you going to marry her?"
"As soon as she lets me. I'm trying to convince her, but she's stubborn."
"She's a Castillo woman; stubbornness runs in our blood. Don’t pay attention to her, mijo. She'll marry you. Now, listen to me. You hurt her, I hurt you. Understand?"
"Perfectly."
"Good. Put Mariana back on."
He hands me the phone, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Mamá—,"switching to Spanish again
"I like him,"she says."He sounds like he means business. You have to marry that man, mija."
"I have to go."
"I love you. Be safe. And for the love of God, eat something—you're eating for two now!"
She hangs up, leaving me staring at the phone while Mikhail watches with amusement.
"Your mother's fierce," he says.
"You have no idea." I flop back on the pillows. "She once chased my high school boyfriend with a chancla for bringing me home ten minutes late."
"Chancla?"
"A flip-flop. Mexican mother's weapon of choice."
He laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "I would have liked to see that."
