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“Is that funny?”
Who the hell was I to judge? “No, Doctor. Of course not. We’ll see you at six.” I rattled off Dad’s address, and he asked for my phone number.
“In case I need help finding the place,” he said lamely.
After he left, Sara studied me with a massive grin on her face.
“What?”
“He asked for your phone number.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down, or tried to, anyway.
I shook my head at her.
“Your children will have the eyebrows of gods.”
“Shut up,” I said.
“I don’t think Ramiro will be very happy with you bringing home a date.”
“It’s not a—” but Sara had left the lounge with my soda in her hand before I could finish speaking.
Of course,I didn’t arrive at Dad’s at six. I knew that man, and he would be working all day to get ready for the cookout. I wasn’t even a little surprised when I showed up at ten in the morning, and Ramiro was already there helping.
I turned into the driveway, and the sight of his black pickup truck forced a sigh out of me. I loved Ramiro very much, but I’d never been in love with him. He was more like a brother to me, but he didn’t see me as his sister. Not yet.
Both Mom and Dad had told me that after I was born, they had somewhat jokingly agreed with Ramiro’s parents that I would marry their son one day. When we were little, and girls still had cooties, even Ramiro had recoiled at the idea. But as we grew up, his view changed, while mine remained the same.
When we were in high school, he told me he would wait for me forever, that I was his soul mate, but I knew deep down that I wasn’t. I told him not to wait. He’d dated women over the years, but he always swore, even before starting anything with someone else, that he was only waiting for me to get back to him.
Ramiro kept waiting even when I insisted there was nothing to wait for. First, he waited for me to finish college. Then, he waited for me to finish medical school. Now, he claimed to be waiting for me to finish my residency, so I would be less busy. I’d assured him things wouldn’t slow down after that. My career was not the reason I wasn’t with him.
I couldn’t deny part of the fault lay in me. I’d dated some, though no one seriously. Every man I’d ever given a chance to never went past a few dates. Either he hadn’t understood the demands of being a physician, or he was a fellow physician who had a schedule as busy as mine, and we never saw each other. Each relationship was doomed before it had a chance to take off. But even though I’d dated plenty, and I was no virgin, I never had the heart to tell Ramiro; I swore to myself that the minute I got serious with anyone, I would tell him. Of course, I used to be sure there was someone out there for me, but these days, I wasn’t so sure.
In middle school, I once tried to make true the future that seemed predestined. I caught Ramiro off-guard, and I kissed him. It could very well have been that kiss he held on to, even if I’d explained a million times that I’d been in a bad place when I’d done that. My mother had just died, and I’d honestly believed she wished for me to grow up and marry Ramiro one day. I knew now that she would much rather have seen me happy with someone else than unhappy with the boy she knew and had once chosen for me. I had long ago let go of that dream, but my poorpapistill clung to it.
Dad was predictably in the kitchen, pouring spices and beer over trays of thinly sliced meat for thecarne asada.
“Buenos días, Papi.” I kissed his cheek.
“Pero,what are you doing here? I told thatgüerayou weren’t supposed to be here until six. She never listens.”
I laughed. “I wanted to help.”
His shoulders slackened in resignation. “Fine. Go help Ramiro outside.”
It was a herculean effort, but I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I loved spending time with Ramiro, but more and more, I avoided it. I needed them both to understand that Ramiro and I were never going to happen.
What Dad clung to, I believed, was his inability to let go of his roots. Every immigrant parent’s dream was for their child to become a doctor or a lawyer, but then I did. And he wasn’t careful with what he wished for. Now, he was having a hard time letting go of the fact that I would never be the homemaker, traditionalist, child-bearer he’d envisioned his daughter being. He couldn’t have it both ways, and the sooner he realized it, the better.
Because that is what it would be like. Ramiro wasn’t the type who would be okay with my sixteen-hour shifts and overnight on-call rotations. He was the kind of man who wanted a homebody who would have his favorite meal ready on the table every Friday when he got home from work, tired from a long week at the garage. That woman could not—would not—ever be me. Whomever that woman ended up being would be very lucky to have him, but she wouldn’t be me.
Ramiro balanced on a chair as he wrapped a string of twinkle lights around one branch of the tree in the backyard. He had earbuds in and didn’t hear when I called to him. He wore dark denim jeans and a black ribbed tank. He was tall and barrel-chested. A heartbreaker in every sense of the word. If only I could have loved him back.
He turned, and his eyes lit up at the sight of me.
“Caro!” He jogged over, picked me up in his arms, and swung me around. “Happy birthday,Corazón.”
“Put me down!” I smacked his giant shoulders. He was well built and hit the gym often.
