¿Por qué no me sirves un poco de té, primo?
Ooh, I think he likes her.
I expect Millie to look mortified, but she eats it up. Probably because it’s at my expense. I tell them to shut up in Spanish, and the room erupts in feminine laughter. Millie’s included. By the time I hand her the tea, she looks relaxed, like she’s having a good time.
It’s a good look for her.
“Can I help with anything?” Millie asks, peering around the kitchen, searching for a job to do.
I want to grab her by the hand and tug her into the den where it’s quieter. Maybe we can shoot a game of pool.
But my cousin Rosa beats me to the punch.
“Want to pressure cook the tamales?” she asks Millie.
“Uh…”
At Millie’s nervous expression, Rosa smiles. “It’s not hard. I promise. They’re already wrapped. You just have to layer them right. I’ll show you.”
“Sure.”
And with that, Rosa pulls her to the other side of the kitchen. Mami sweeps her hands at me toward the living room.
“Go find your Papi. Talk to him about work. He misses it.”
I grab one last look at Millie, who’s carefully picking up a husk-wrapped tamale, and head back to the living room. But Papi and my uncle are no longer there. Mattie, Harry, and Alex are sitting on the couch—Alex in the middle of the twins—laughing and eating guacamole. The Thanksgiving Day Parade coverage still blares from the TV, but Abuela is dozing in her glider.
Papi and Uncle Raul are playing a game of cutthroat in the den. I grab a beer from the mini-fridge and crack it open.
“How’s work,sobrino?”Raul asks.
I greet him with a handshake and nod. “Busy.”
“Busy is good,” he says.
Papi takes a shot, knocking in the eleven. “Looks like you’ve been busier than usual,” he says, inclining his head toward the kitchen and Millie. The flatness in his tone catches my attention.
I take a sip of my beer, debating my response. “Not so much.” I’d like to be a hell of a lot busier where Millie is concerned, but that’s a thought I’ll keep to myself.
“No?” Papi ask, stepping away from the pool table—limping as he does and using his pool stick as a cane—to let Raul take his turn. “You seemed too busy when you came in to even greet yourabuelitaand introduce your friend.”
I keep my tone light. “I didn’t want to interrupt the performance.”
Papi raises a bushy, gray brow. “You sure you weren’t embarrassed,mijo?”
I snort. “You and Raul didn’t soundthatbad,” I joke. My uncle chuckles, and I grin to hide the twist in my gut. Yeah, I was a little embarrassed that at the exact moment I walked in with Millie and her brood, Papi and Raul were already singing to Abuela. That’s usually a tradition that comes with dessert. After a few toasts at the dinner table. Maybe more than a few toasts. “A little early though, no?”
My father shrugs. “I saw you pull up, and I thought I’d give your guests a traditional Mexican song in welcome.”
I tuck my chin. “So that was for them? Not Abuela?”The twist in my gut cinches a little tighter. Had he started singing then to make Millie and her family feel welcome? Or to make them feel different?
Another shrug. “Yourabuelaenjoyed it, I think.”
His words are innocent, and his lips are turned up at the corners, but in a hard smile. A sarcastic smile. The way he used to smile at workers who had lied about being sick to miss work.
My eyebrows close ranks. “Papi,you should know, nothing’s going on between me and Millie Delacroix, but I like her. A lot,” I say, my gaze moving between his and Raul’s. My uncle has the good grace to look uncomfortable. “I consider her a friend.”
Papi’s mouth bunches and turns down like a catfish’s. He adjusts his grip on the pool stick. “Which is it, Luca?”
