“You can strain everything. And I’ll mix the liquor.” She squeezed some limes, fresh off Papá’s tree, into a bowl and grabbed the bottle of orange liqueur. After Jaime strained the tequila, she poured it, the orange liqueur, and the lime juice into a cocktailshaker, which she had filled with ice. She vigorously shook the drink, Jaime staring intently at her hands wrapped around the shaker.
She took out five glasses, ran a lime around the rims, and dipped them into her mixture of sugar, salt, and Tajín. She filled each glass with ice, poured the cocktail, and garnished each with a wedge of lime and a coin of a jalapeño.
Jaime picked up his glass. “Salud.”
“Salud.” They clinked the glasses and took a sip.
Jaime closed his eyes briefly. He inhaled and then exhaled and opened his eyes. “Wow, this is incredible.”
Alma smiled. “Right? And they were so easy to make!” She studied him. Though they had been together for years, she didn’t know too many of his childhood stories. He had never really wanted to talk about his past.
Maybe he would open up to her now.
“Do you have any fun family traditions you remember from when you were a kid?”
Jaime winced. “No. Just my parents yelling at each other.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. I mean, we used to go to the Padres games together. It was fun. They were good at putting on a public face.”
Alma’s heart constricted. That was so sad. Her mind was racing to offer some word of comfort.
“Dinner’s ready!” her mom yelled out.
Thank God.
They carried all the drinks into the dining room. Jaime pulled out her chair, and she blushed. She didn’t remember him being so chivalrous. Maybe he was trying to impress her since she had given him a hard time about being a gentleman.
Her mother went into the kitchen and returned with a platter of enchiladas. Carlos and Papá brought the remaining side dishes.
Mamá served everyone enchiladas, with a huge helping of beans, rice, and salad. A simple meal, cooked to perfection by both Mamá and Papá.
Carlos said grace, and then it was time to eat.
“So, Jaime,” her father started in, “I hear you want to start your own tequila company.”
Jaime made strong eye contact with Papá. “I do. My father had already started Taco King when he was my age, and I really want to create my own path.”
Papá nodded. “That’s admirable. But why tequila?”
“So many non-Hispanic celebrities have tequila lines and ask Mexican influencers like me to promote them. The liquor is part of our heritage, and I figure why can’t I do it myself?”
Alma perked up. “Wow, Jaime. I didn’t know you thought about stuff like that.”
He winked at her. “Stuff like what?”
“You know. Cultural appropriation.”
He grinned. “With all due respect, Alma, we haven’t talked in years. I’ve changed.”
Alma pursed her lips. Had he changed? Not just when it came to relationships, but in life?
Of course he had. They were older. He’d just been a college kid then.
People can change.
Carlos relaxed into his chair. “Jaime, remember when you stole that donkey for your fraternity?”
