Page 68 of Pining for You

“See, this is why I like documentaries,” she says. “Reality can be so much more interesting.”

I’m glad my cheeks are already hot pink from the cold, because I’m positive you could roast literal chestnuts on my face.

“Actually, I am kind of playing with a sort of documentary-adjacent project.”

“Oh?” Eve asks, and oh—she’s intrigued. “Thinking white-guy-kills-his-wife, or more stupid-millennials-get-scammed?”

“Actually, something a little more… magical,” I say.

“Sounds like you, Strudel,” she says, and whoosh, the sparkles rush through me. “Anyway, knock yourself out.”

I take in the scene. Izaac is next to Eve, and Cash is next to me. Hugo is on Cash’s right side, wearing the same top hat and waistcoat as yesterday, with Diya across from him. Down toward the other end of the table, Audra is sitting across from Carlos on either side of the head of the table, where I assume Tía will sit.

As Carlos helps his mother to her seat, he introduces us as “Eve’s friends.” I don’t dare look at Eve to see how she reacts to this. I don’t want to see her object, as if to say What? I don’t even know these crazy people; they are absolutely not my friends.

Carlos hands a platter of tamales to Audra.

“Would you mind passing those around, sweetheart?” Tía asks her. Audra inhales the aroma from the platter as she takes it with an mmm sound loud enough for the whole table to hear. My stomach rumbles in response because I am actually ravenous despite my nerves. But shoot, I have no idea what’s in a tamale. And I don’t ever try new foods, especially without a full inspection and vigorous sniff test. I can’t even remember the last time I ate something without knowing exactly what it was—if you don’t count the miso hot cocoa, which was technically an accident. Naomi tells me someday I’ll be sorry I don’t try more foods, but I never imagined my first kiss hanging in the balance.

I don’t want to offend anyone. Something tells me Tía takes pride in her cooking and isn’t the type to take no thank you for an answer, so I’d better prepare to expand my horizons wider, and quick.

Tía turns back to the table. “So, why don’t you all tell me your names?” she asks.

Audra begins, and as the platter goes around, each person introduces themselves and takes a tamale. Maybe it’s because she isn’t defending secret ingredients from nosy teenagers, or maybe it’s because she’s off duty, but Tía seems much less intimidating now. She’s sitting with her hands folded, smiling warmly, and I kind of want to hug her.

When the tray comes my way, I’m super nervous, but luckily they smell ridiculously good. Tía explained earlier that they are coded by twine colors. I grab one with orange twine—squash, because I know I like the butternut squash soup my mom makes in the fall. I put it on my plate, proud of my first step, then wait.

“Oh, good lord,” Cash says, putting his nose in his tamale and basking in the steam.

“These are going to be legendary, I can tell already,” Izaac says.

“Speaking of legends,” Cash says, turning his attention to Hugo. “You, my friend, are an icon. What’s your inspiration?”

Hugo says nothing. I freeze, but Cash smiles just the same. I’m not sure if this is something Eve and her family are open to discussing with strangers. Although, I guess I was a stranger when she told me that Hugo was nonverbal just yesterday. Technically, I’m still kind of a stranger, even though I want so badly not to be.

Thankfully, Carlos jumps in for his little cousin. “Hugo worships at the altar of Mr. Dickens,” he says.

“More specifically, Gonzo as Dickens,” Eve says with a smile right at me that reads like a wink. It’s like a hearth being lit in the core of me.

“Ah, yes, Gonzo has always been Bennie’s style idol too. You have great taste,” Izaac says to Hugo, who’s busy unwrapping his tamale. Eve watches her brother with a warm, subtle smile.

“Well, get into it, y’all,” Carlos says when everyone has a tamale. “They’re better hot!”

I survey my plate again and draw the warm steam and rich aromas in through my nose. It smells like a hug, and looks like one too. But not only have I never had a tamale before—I don’t even know how to eat the thing.

I lift my fork and knife and try to figure out my way in, when Eve interrupts.

“Have you ever had one of these?” she asks, her voice low enough that she’s only speaking to me as the chatter gets louder around us.

“Never,” I admit.

“Okay, so you can’t just attack it like that,” she says with an amused but gentle laugh. “You have to unwrap it.”

Cool cool, Bosley.

She leans across the table and reaches for my plate.

“Cool if I…?” she asks. “My hands are clean, I promise.”