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“Men and their hovering.” Norma chuckles, making her way back toward me. “Now, where were we?” She looks around. “Oh yes, measuring cups.” She clasps her hands together.
Once she retrieves them, I get to work measuring out the dry ingredients based on the recipe card Norma leaves on the island for me, while she whips the wet ingredients together in the stand mixer on the counter behind me.
“So,” I turn, slowly adding the dry ingredients to the wet ones when Norma steps out of the way, “you work for Mateo?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“Something like that.” She pulls a muffin tin out and starts filling each cup with a liner. “Though these days I’d hardly call it work.”
“I don’t know, feeding everyone seems like a pretty big job.”
“I do it because I want to. What else am I supposed to do? Sit around and do nothing until one day I die?” She chuckles to herself.
“I guess not.” I hesitate, not wanting to rub her the wrong way. “No offense, but you don’t seem like the kind of person that belongs here,” I point out, powering off the mixer when the ingredients are fully blended.
“I grew up with Diego, Mateo’s father, though I was a few years older than him. My father and his father were like brothers. When Mateo’s mom was killed, he needed my help and I was happy to step in. At first I mainly tended to Mateo. He was a handful on a good day when he was younger and kept me on my toes.” She smiles at the memory. “But as he grew, I worked my way into other roles, helping out wherever I could. Cleaning. Laundry. Cooking. After Diego passed, Mateo moved me out here. Said it was safer. My retirement plan, I believe he called it.” She shrugs. “Not a bad place to live out the remainder of one’s life.”
“Have you never had any desire to leave?” I ask, curious.
“And go where?” She turns toward me, propping her hip against the counter. “These boys are like my children. They’re messy. They fight like the dickens. And they have the appetites of ravenous lions. But I love each one of them.” She thinks on that. “Okay, well,mostof them.” She grins. “This is my home. And even if I wanted to leave, which I don’t, I could never abandon Mateo. He’s lost too much already. More than anyone should ever have to lose.” She turns, retrieving a scoop spoon from the drawer next to her before extending it to me. “About two thirds should do the trick.”
I smile, taking the spoon before turning to retrieve the mixing bowl from the stand.
“The line of work these men are in, does it not bother you?” I ask, making my way back to the island where I use the scoop to start filling the muffin liners.
“It used to, but I’ve grown used to it over the years. I know Mateo. He’s not the person most believe him to be. Unlike his father, if he hurts someone, if he kills someone, there’s always a good reason.”
“I didn’t realize there was a good reason to kill another person. Unless they’re trying to kill you and it’s self-defense, how could you ever justify taking a human life?”
“They don’t live by normal rules. Life is different here. More complicated. Things aren’t black and white. There’s not just good or bad. There’s so much middle ground. I get how that might be hard to see, but trust me, if you look closely enough, you’ll see a world of color.”
While I want to argue, remind her that there is only one world, something tells me I wouldn’t get very far with her. While sweet as can be, Norma clearly loves and supports Mateo. I have little doubt that she would defend him no matter what I said.
“I don’t always agree with the choices he makes.” She steps up next to me. “Like bringing you here, for example. I told him it was a bad idea. That dragging you into this mess wasn’t the answer, but he was so blinded by his hatred of your father, he couldn’t see reason.” I feel her hand settle on my shoulder and my gaze swings to hers. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling or how scared you must be. But at his core, Mateo is a good man and he’ll do as right by you as he can.”
“I wish I could say that makes me feel better.” My tone is weak.
She gives me a soft smile.
“Life never gives us more than we can handle. You’ll get through this. One day at a time.” She pats my shoulder before turning toward the sink. The water kicks on seconds later as she begins washing dishes.
I finish filling the muffin tin before sliding it into the top oven which is already preheated to the temperature needed. When I turn back toward Norma, she’s drying the dishes she washed, putting them away as she goes.
“Can I ask you something?” She stops mid-motion at the sound of my voice, her head turning in my direction. “Do you know the man Mateo says is my father?”
“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “I met him once, only briefly, when I was younger. But I will tell you, that manisyour father.”
“How do you know?”
“Hospital records. DNA.” She makes aso ongesture with her hands. “Mateo was very thorough. He always is. You can’t believe he would go through all this trouble if he weren’t a thousand percent sure of who you were, do you?”
“I guess not.” I blow out a breath. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around.”
“I can understand why. But trust me, dear, you are exactly who he says you are. Whether you trust Mateo’s word or not, it doesn’t change that fact.”
She’s not wrong. It changes nothing. I think I knew it the moment he handed me that picture that it was true. I’ve studied it several times since then, and the more I do the more I know deep in my gut that the two people in the photograph with me are my parents. And while it still seems insane, the more I’ve thought about what Mateo told me that first night, the more it all made sense. Like puzzle pieces that never seemed to line up now fit together in perfect harmony. But when things scare me, my go to is denial. Always has been. I guess in this case, I really don’t want to believe that I’m a product of a man who has done such horrible things.
But then again, so has Mateo. I’m proof of that. I’m here, against my will, all in an attempt to draw my father out and kill him. Who’s to say he’s not the bigger monster. I’m sure you don’t run a cartel without getting blood all over your hands, and everywhere else for that matter.
So who’s wrong and who’s right? Who’s the good guy and who’s the bad guy? Or are they both equally dangerous and I’m the clueless girl caught in the middle?
