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“No,” I say.

“That’s for her to tell,” Rachel says. “She’s really private, as I’m sure you’ve figured out. And her uncle who raised her, Lenny … let’s say he wasn’t the most engaged guardian on the planet. That apartment was so quiet and so sad until she brought dogs into it.”

I glance over to where Diego and Eloise are now walking toward us, drinks in hand. I can tell Eloise is focusing very hard on not falling over. Diego sets Rachel’s drink down in front of her, kissing the top of her head and taking the seat beside her.

“Eloise was telling me that you taught her how to cook Mexican food,” Diego says.

I glance at Eloise, impressed she talked to him about that. She’s perched on the edge of the couch next to me, like she’s ready to take flight at a moment’s notice.

“Yeah,” I reply. “We made sopes and aguachile. She did a great job.”

“How cool,” Rachel says. “I love sopes. And you’re a writer, right? El said you’re helping with her speech.”

“A journalist, yes,” I say. I feel a weird tug in my chest.

“What paper do you work for?” Diego asks. “Or are you like one of those independent journalists with a Substack?”

“I write a local column for The Brooklyn Daily News,” I tell him. “Back home I used to write for Reforma and El País and some other publications.”

Diego whistles. “Damn, that’s impressive. You should be working for a bigger paper here, like the Times.”

“I’m publishing an article in The New Yorker, actually,” I say. Then I immediately curse myself. I don’t want to talk about this. I haven’t told Eloise about the article, much less about Ricardo and the interview. It’s not like I’ve been keeping it a secret. She’s just never asked.

She’s staring at me, shocked.

“Holy shit,” Rachel says. “That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“What’s the article about?” Diego asks.

“Um, El Rasca,” I say.

Diego gives me a blank stare but Eloise and Rachel look at each other.

“That name sounds familiar,” Rachel says. “Was he, like, an activist? Like an Al Sharpton kind of figure?”

“He was.”

“Right. I remember him on NY1 when I was a kid, doing press outside courthouses and leading marches and stuff.”

I give a terse nod. “He was also my grandfather.”

I can feel Eloise’s eyes boring into the side of my face.

“Wait, seriously?” Rachel says. “That’s really cool.”

It’s a little more complicated than “cool,” but I don’t want to get into it here. Suddenly, I wonder if there’s a way I could connect with Ricardo through Diego, without having to try and get the interview at the wedding. It’s occurring to me that in order to talk to Ricardo, I’ll have to abandon Eloise to find him and speak to him alone. And I don’t want to do that. The interview was supposed to be the priority but now … I glance at Eloise, her lips parted, her expression undeniably impressed.

My priorities are shifting.

I turn back to the happy couple. “I hear your wedding is going to be quite a big event.”

Rachel rolls her eyes, and Diego smooths back his hair, almost sheepishly. “Yeah, Dad doesn’t do anything halfway,” he says. “And I’m the only son and all that.”

He looks at me with an expression like I’ll understand, which I don’t really, because being the only son means nothing in my family, where women are the dominant force. But I do get the sentiment in general.

“I heard that even people who work for Grupo Real will come,” I say. “That’s nice.”