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We both laugh, and then she must realize it because she stops, turning back to flip the bacon. I’m still staring at the space she left empty next to me.Say something, anything. This tension is too much.
Marcela must feel it too because she whips back around with tongs in her hand that almost takes out my face. I flinch back, and she laughs again when she notices.
“Sorry, but I’m trying to not make this weird,” she tells me, and I’m glad she’s the one making that first step. “On the plane, I said I would try to give you a chance to prove yourself, but I don’t want to do that.”
No! She’s about to tell me she won’t be able to move past it and that I’ve lost her.
“When I saw your face yesterday when Conrad put Katia on the screen, it almost broke me. Losing someone you care about can fuck someone up, and you thought you lost the two closest people in your life. If that were me, I would have gone through every last person I could to get them back. I would destroy everything in my path to make sure the people I love were safe,” she admits, looking down sadly.
I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her I had no intention of ’going through her’. I hate what I did, but she’s not done.
“What I’m saying is that I’m done with it. I just want to hear it from you. I need you to tell me that all our time together, the friendship that we built, was real. You need to swear that you’re with us, with me in this and that there are no more lies. I need you to swear this.” Her voice is demanding, but her eyes are soft, telling me that she means this. She understands why I did what I did and that she would do the same thing.
“Marcela, I swear to you on everything that I will NEVER betray you again. And I also swear to you that our friendship is real. It is one thing that I cherish most in my life. You and BJ came into my world when I had no one, and I have no intention of letting you leave,” I say, sincerity lacing every word I speak.
Marcela’s eyes scan the counter next to me, and a smile grows on her face.That can’t be good.“Do you pinky swear?” she asks.
“What?”
“Do you pinky swear?” she repeats, this time holding up a closed fist except for one extended pinky.
I hold up my pinky and wrap it with hers. “I pinky swear, Marcela.”
With our pinkies still together, she says, “Good. Now, if you break that promise, I’ll take that giant knife there,” she nods her head to the counter space next to me, indicating the huge knife I’d just used to chop onions and peppers, “and take your pinky.” She pulls her pinky back and chuckles.
I just stand there staring at her with wide eyes because I know she really would try to take my pinky off.There’s no way she is getting my pinky, but there is also no way that I’m breaking this promise. So I will be fine.
Marcela and I fall into a smooth rhythm with each other. She puts on the music she had been listening to, and we dance past each other. Once the tortillas are heated, we take turns stuffing each one as full as we can. What makes these so big is that it’s not one tortilla stuffed. Oh no, it’s three overlapping each other and then filled.
We both burst into laughter when the burritos are too big to close, and maybe a phallic joke or two is mentioned. My stomach hurts from laughing so much.I love this.
When I can’t close the last burrito, Marcela walks over and says, “It’s too much, it’ll never fit.”
“That’s what she said,” I retort with another laugh.
Marcela also breaks into laughter but says, “Don’t lie, Nat, we both know you don’t say that.” She finds her joke so funny a loud snort escapes her.
We’re both laughing so hard that I have to slap her shoulder to grab her attention, saying, “I have said that before.” With that last remark, we both find ourselves crouched towards the floor, laughing.
“Enjoying yourselves?” A deep voice sounds from the other side of the island. We both slowly move up, peaking over the counter. There stands Conrad and Stryker. Marcela and I look at each other and break out into a fit of laughter again.
“I’m just glad I came back to this and not a bloodbath,” Conrad comments.
“Breakfast in five minutes,” Marcela spits out between laughs. Conrad and Stryker leave the kitchen, but BJ walks in as they are leaving.
She notices the smiles on my and Marcela’s face. “Oh, thank the sweetest whoever-up-there that you two are back to normal,” she pauses. “Well, it’s never normal, because how boring would that be? But, I mean, back to the two perfect friends that I oh-so adore.” BJ races around the island and pulls us into an embrace. She releases us and backs up, saying, “Now, I know I smell those Mama Jerez burritos, so I’ll get the plates and silverware out and ready. You two just bring that food before these guys kill each other over the smell of bacon. I swear King and Alexie are arguing about who knows Nat’s smells the best. It’s very bizarre, but also, I won that argument.”
Marcela and I both look at each other, then look back to BJ. “Wait. You won an argument over what I smell like?” I ask her because, for one thing, who argues over who knows how someone smells, but the other thing is, how the hell did BJ win?
“I’ll have you know that I have a very adept nose, and those sweet vanilla notes mixed with lavender and a little rose do not deceive me. For such a sassy thing, your smells are all very sweet,” she says it so matter-of-factly. Marcela makes a throat-clearing sound to break up the weird tension that fell over us.
“Oh, don’t you worry, you spicy amber and cinnamon. I know your smell just as well,” BJ says all this as she turns to grab a stack of plates from the cabinet and sets them on the counter. She continues by grabbing a handful of silverware out of the drawer. “I’ll go get the table set,” and with that, she leaves the room.
Marcela and I stand there in silence for a moment before turning and looking at each other. Both of our mouths hang open, and we each look like we have no idea what just happened. “Was that not the strangest conversation?” Marcela asks.
“That was weird,” I reply. I then sniff at the air surrounding Marcela. “She’s right, though, you’re a spiced cinnamon.” We both break out into another fit of laughter that almost takes us to the ground.
“Move. Make way,” Marcela is shouting commands at the others standing around the dining room as she carries a giant tray of even more giant burritos. The smell coming off that tray is intoxicating. She makes her way to the table and sets it down. I follow behind her with all the condiments.
