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“Hi, Dad,” she said as if struggling to breathe but returning his embrace with the same intensity. “I want you to meet Libby.”
Reagan’s dad released her and turned toward Libby.
“Welcome, Libby,” he said before hugging her with unexpected warmth. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Reagan has told us so much about you.”
“Thank you so much for having me, Mr. Soto,” Libby replied and hoped the heat rushing to her face wasn’t too prominent. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you too.”
“Please, call me Carlos. We couldn’t believe it when Reagan told us she was seeing you. My mother thinks your grandmother is a romantic sage. Apparently, back in Cuba, she wrote into her newspaper column for advice and she swears it helped a spinster cousin find a husband.”
Libby tried not to flinch at the term spinster. “She’s unparalleled in her ability to give out no-nonsense advice,”
she agreed with a smile.
“Where’s Mom?” Reagan asked, as if sensing that Libby was desperate to get the first meetings out of the way.
“In the kitchen,” he replied with a playful eye roll as if she’d been stationed there for days. “Come on.”
Getting to Reagan’s mother in the kitchen was no small feat. On the way, Libby was introduced to half a dozen cousins, a handful of aunts and uncles, two grandpas manning the enormous grill, and one great-grandmother sitting in a wheelchair and surrounded by little kids playing.
All of them greeted her with such loving familiarity it was like she’d been there for every family gathering.
By the time she arrived at the sliding glass door leading into the house, she’d sampled several appetizers and been handed a beer bottle wrapped in paper. She didn’t even consider telling them she didn’t drink beer and instead took an enthusiastic sip when it was o ered.
“How are you holding up?” Reagan asked when they made it inside and the music was somewhat mu ed by the closed door. The scent of roasting meat clung to them like perfume. “I’m sure they can be a little overwhelming.”
Libby smiled, her stomach in knots with anticipation.
“They’re as wonderful as you are,” she replied honestly.
Inside, there were only three women, and they were all in the kitchen. It reminded Libby of a boss level fight from the video games Davis played.
“Mimi,” Reagan called with a wave as one of the two older women turned toward them with a serving platter in her hands.
The woman’s wrinkled face brightened, and her lips eased into a smile. “Mi vida.”
Reagan gave Libby’s hand a squeeze before letting ago.
W as that for luck or in warning? There was no time to figure it out. In a flash, she was following Reagan toward the kitchen and being examined by three sets of eyes.
“You’re too skinny,” the woman scolded in Spanish as she wrapped her arms around Reagan. “Come to my house.
I’ll feed you.”
“Mimi, I eat,” Reagan replied with a laugh.
“Maybe. But not enough,” she said before peeking over Reagan’s shoulder. “You must be Elisabeth.” She slipped around Reagan. For a heart stopping moment, Libby wasn’t sure what she was going to say next, but then she smiled and cupped her jaw. “Even more lovely than on TV,” she said before kissing her cheek.
“Libby, this is my grandma Iliana,” Reagan started before her grandmother waved her away.
“Call me Mimi. All the kids in the family do,” she said with a smile.
“Dad already told your story about writing to her grandma,” Reagan snitched.
“Bah, as if that’s going to stop me. He probably didn’t tell it right.”
“Okay, okay, my turn,” the other older woman said before bumping playfully into Mimi.
“Hola, Aba,” Reagan said, pulling the much shorter woman into her arms. “Don’t get jealous,” she said before kissing the top of her gray head.
