Page 181 of Damián

“¡Dami!” my mother suddenly squeaks from the center of the living room. “You’re dating someone?! You have a boyfriend!”

I laugh, turning slightly while keeping my arm firmly around Oliver’s waist. I can tell he is freaking out inside, probably thinking how he’s a monster who didn’t bring a proper gift to present to my sister and Ma.

“Mamá, Fer… this is Oliver. My boyfriend. Ollie, this is my family. My mother, María, and my sister, Fernanda.”

Oliver clears his throat, awkwardly stretching his right hand out. “It’s… it’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for keeping information, and I wish we had met under better circumstances, Mrs. Soto.”

My mother pushes Oliver’s hand away and hugs him instead. “Oliver, hermoso. Thank you so much for saving us.”

“Nice to meet you, Oliver,” Fernanda says, joining the hug, and I can tell my boyfriend is freaking the hell out.

My cute Corgi boss has no idea what to do with a family that hugs as much as mine does.

Fer pats Oliver’s back and smiles. “So tell me—”

“No!” My mother cuts off Fernanda. “No one says a word until I bring the tea and cookies.”

“I don’t think we need tea, Ma,” I tell her, but she glares and points a finger at me.

“We do! I’ve been dreaming for fifteen years about you finding a partner and introducing them to us, Damián.”

“And in your dreams… you give us tea?”

“A cake, actually. But we only have tea here, so shush,” she says, and I can see Oliver tensing up, doing his best not to laugh. “Let Oliver rest with Fernanda, and come help me get everything ready so we can welcome him to the family the proper way.”

“Okay, ma.”

I help Oliver sit on the couch, kiss his forehead, and whisper, “Be right back,” before heading to the kitchen to help my mamá.

I follow my mamá and rifle through the kitchen cabinets, pulling out every single package of cookies I can find. It doesn’t matter whether they’re chocolate chip or plain vanilla wafers; if they’re edible and not expired, they’re going on the plate.

I arrange them in a neat pile, then grab a small container from the spice rack.

Carefully, I sprinkle a light dusting of cinnamon around the edge of the plate to make it look just a bit more presentable.

Still, every couple of minutes, I can’t help myself. I lean over to peek through the kitchen doorway to see if anything is happening in the living room.

And as always, nothing is happening.

Oliver and Fernanda are sitting in silence, just staring directly at each other.

It is kinda hilarious, if you ask me.

My mother notices me looking. “Are they talking?” she asks before setting the kettle on the stove.

“No. Fernanda knows that if she interviews him before we get back, you’ll kill her. And Oliver… Well, I think he is way too scared to speak.”

My mother frowns, pulling down four mugs from the shelf. “Why would Oliver be scared of us?”

“Oliver comes from a bad family, Mamá. He doesn’t know how to be around families… especially friendly overbearing ones.”

“How bad are they?”

I turn and look into her eyes. “Oliver’s family is the one who tried to kill you, Fer, and Carlitos today.”

My mamá freezes and stays there quiet, just staring at me.

She is so quiet that the only sound in the kitchen is the sound of the kettle starting to simmer.