Didn’t Ares tell me she occasionally threatened violence with her shoe? I figured he’d mean a flip flop, or a tennis shoe, not a pointed toed, pointy heeled, super expensive shoe. I feel like being on the receiving end of that would result in puncture wounds.
Their mom ushers up the steps where Abuelita cups both my cheeks and gives me a silent once over. She smells of cinnamon, and I’m hoping that’s because she’s made some of her delicious baked treats that I’ve tried at the restaurant. Ares said she’s the master behind Guac n’ Roll’s success.
He also said he suspects she’s over a hundred years old, but standing in front of me right now, she can’t be more than eighty. Maybe even younger.
“Welcome to the family.” She gives me a squeeze, and I’m not sure she spoke loud enough for anyone else to hear but me. I’d say it’s a leap to welcome me to their family, but from the minute I met his siblings I’ve felt like I belong here.
The younger of the Mrs. de la Peñas ushers us all inside. Apollo and Artemis are already milling around the table grazing. They both hug me, while Ares’s hand stays firmly on my lower back.
A banquet’s laid out on the table. Mrs. De la Peña takes my box of potato salad and sets it beside a dish that looks like potato salad too. Only hers has eggs and apple pieces in it.
A huge ham rests in the center of the table adorned with pineapples, and I sneak a glance at Ares. Will he be able to eat ham now that he has his own porcine companion?
Bacon is the sweetest pet, and I don’t know that she’d be happy to learn that Ares went to town on one of her cousins. Can pigs smell guilt on people like dogs and cats can? They always know when you’ve been hanging out with another animal. Will his pet piggy give him shit for eating pork?
Ares hands me a plate and guides me around the banquet. There is no other word for it, it’s a spectacle. There is so much food I imagine they’ll be eating this for days, maybe a week.
“That’smoro, rice cooked in black beans.” He points to another dish. “Sweet potato casserole, but ours has pineapples and marshmallows on top. Salad.” He drops his voice. “But who wants greenery when you can have carbs?”
He winks at me, his boyish charm oozing from every pore. He’s doing his level best to make me comfortable in their overwhelmingly ornate home. I’m afraid to sneeze in case it damages something or leaves a mark on the white… everything.
High ceilings, wide circumference pillars, and what I’m one hundred percent sure are genuine crystal chandeliers surround me in an open space that I’d guess is supposed to be some form of dining room.
I’m trying not to think about how much the plate in my hand cost, or how much it would cost to replace if my trembling hands were to drop it.
He points to another dish. “Pastellitos, these have meat, but Mamá and Abuelita usually make dessert ones too.” He gestures toward a second table. “Guava and cream cheesepastellitos, dulce de leche pastellitos,pumpkin pie,flan, and bread pudding.”
My mouth is watering, and I’m fighting a strong urge to head straight for the sweets. “It all looks so amazing, Mrs. de la Peña. Thank you so much for letting me join you for Thanksgiving.” There is barely a quiver to my voice, and Ares’s presence so close to me has settled my trembling fingers for now.
Abuelita waves a spoon my direction.“Lo hice todo.”She winks as she tells me she made it all. “We’d need the fire department on standby if Gabi was left unsupervised.”
One of the boys snort, and Ares’s mother, Gabriella’s face heats but she doesn’t say anything. Ares points a fork back at his Abuelita. “Mamá is a pretty damn good cook, Abuelita.” He waits until his mom turns her back before planting a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek and whispering, “But you’re better.”
She nods, puffing out her chest and taps his bicep with a spoon. “Why didn’t you bring her home sooner?”
I’m almost embarrassed for him, but he’s taking the good-natured ribbing from his family in stride, so I sink into the positive attention our relationship is getting.
He bumps his grandmother with his elbow as he takes a heaped pile of rice from the dish to his plate. “She needed to be ready for all this.”
With a huge sigh, Abuelita pats his cheek. “You’re not wrong.” She looks at my plate with derision and shakes her head. “You haven’t taught her how to eat right yet?” She clicks her tongue rather loudly before doubling the portions on my plate, grumbling to herself in Spanish about how I have no meat on my bones, and I need to fatten up.
After making small talk while filling our plates, we move into a dining room where Mr. de la Peña is already sitting, reading a document. Gabriella hands him a plate of food, and he grunts what I hope is gratitude at being delivered his meal.
Abuelita mutters something loud enough for the rest of us to hear about him being a grown-ass man and being able to fetch his own meal. Mr. de la Peña at least tips his head to his wife who nods back. It’s like they’re speaking a weird, silent language that isn’t sign language. Is this how rich people communicate? There are no words anymore? Looks and head tips?
I expect awkward silence as we eat, but the chatter is lively and engaged. I find myself glad that Abuelita loaded up my plate because it’s so delicious that I keep shoveling forkfuls of food into my mouth. I’m definitely going to need a doggy bag. I’ve never tasted anything like this, and Guac n’Roll is my favorite place to eat. Abuelita has been holding out on Cedar Rapids.
I’m eating the most delicious flan that was probably ever created when Mr. de la Peña points his spoon at me. What is it with these people pointing things at each other? “What happened to your face?”
The air flees my lungs, and I suck in a mouthful of dessert, causing me to cough, but I don’t miss Gabriella’s gasp, Athena’s“¡Papá!”or Ares’s “What the fuck?” as I take what have to be my final breaths.
At least if I’m going to die, it’s a delicious way to go. Death by flan.
Abuelita leans across the table and smacks the back of his head. From the noise, it wasn’t a soft smack, either.“Mira, muchacho del carajo, ¿acaso yo no te enseñe mejor que eso?”
I’m not sure whether I want to laugh at the fact Abuelita smacked him like a child and called him the son of an asshole, or cry at the fact he called me out at all.
One thing’s for certain though, I’m glad she didn’t slip off her Louis Vuitton stiletto and turn it into the infamous chancla Ares has told me so much about. Or a shank for that matter. I imagine there’d be plenty of people with a lot to say about a little old grandmother shanking her billionaire son with what would have to be a $14,000 shoe. The woman is all class and sass.
