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I watched as Elliott and his dad continued on into the living room. I stopped when I noticed childhood photos of Elliott on the walls. Family photos, beach photos, Elliott riding bikes and playing sports and laughing. They’d lived a happy life. You could tell by each and every picture, emphasized by the mischievous glint in Elliott’s eyes in most of them. He still had that glint.
“He was such a handful as a kid—well, as an adult too but not as much in recent years. He was always causing trouble—not terrible things, but Elliott has always needed to test the boundaries. He’s always had this curiosity in him, this ease and go-with-the-flow nature I’ve always admired, but he has also made me sick with worry.”
I could see that, see Elliott making her feel that way, and some of what she said was what he’d described to me. “I respect that he’s always known who he is and that he’s not afraid to seek answers.” That’s what he felt like to me, at least.
“That’s a perfect way to put it. He was never satisfied just being told not to do something or what something is like. He has to learn it for himself. And he never wanted to just be who he thought he should be…or who we were. While Malcolm is proud of him and will always support him, I know he wanted Elliott to follow in his footsteps—military, law school, government. They love each other fiercely, but they’ve bumped heads quite a bit over the years. Where Malcolm has always toed the line, Elliott has always pushed against it. They’ve met in the middle, though, and I love how close they are.” She patted my hand. “Anyway, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything Elliott hasn’t talked to you about.”
Yes and no. “I like hearing it from you too.”
I looked up at the sound of footsteps coming from the living room, where Elliott and Malcolm had gone on without us. “Mom, are you trying to kidnap my husband?”
“Nope. Just talking to my son-in-law.” She beamed.
Which is true… I am her son-in-law. It’s not a lie… “It smells good in here,” I said, changing the subject.
“I hope you’re hungry because we’re making a lot of food,” Cat replied.
“Are you kidding? I’m dying to eat. Elliott raved about your cooking, and it’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since. I’ll admit I haven’t had much Cuban food.” Which Elliott had said she would likely make. “I just wish I’d brought a dessert.” Why hadn’t I thought of that? That was my thing, and it just showed how worried I’d been about coming here that I hadn’t even thought about it.
“Next time.” She grinned.
I liked that. The thought of next time.
“Once you’ve eaten Cat’s food, nothing else will compare,” Malcolm told me. “I hope you’re ready to learn from the best.”
“Learn?”
Elliott said, “Cooking is a family affair around here. She would have done the prep before we arrived, but now it’ll be all of us.” Elliott rested his hand on my nape again, brushing his thumb through the hair, along my neck. “Can you handle it, beautiful?”
I trembled. Goddamn him for making me so fucking weak in the knees…and goddamn him for having this. Because the thought of being in the kitchen with family, making food and sharing stories, filled me with a comforting warmth that felt more real than it was supposed to; these were the kinds of things I’d dreamed about. “I want to say I was born ready, but that feels too much like a cheesy movie line.”
They all laughed, and it made me feel mushy inside. I already liked his parents so much, and though Elliott and I weren’t in love and knew this would end in divorce, I wanted them to like me too.
“You’ll love it.” I was surprised when Elliott took my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen with his mom and dad on our heels. “I’m making the fried plantains.”
“They’re his favorite, but I’m sure you know that. I planned on making them a side dish, but El will argue to make them first and pick at them the whole time we cook.”
No, I didn’t know that about her son, but it fit him. “I can see that. He’s impatient and always ready for the next thing, wanting it all and wanting it now.”
Cat and Malcolm laughed.
“I’m feeling very attacked here,” Elliott complained.
“Welcome to marriage,” Malcolm joked.
“You did not just say that, Malcolm Weaver.” Cat crossed her arms, and Malcolm wrapped his arms around her. He nuzzled her throat, whispering and kissing it before she succumbed to the laughter she so clearly tried to hold back. They were absolutely perfect together. They were how I remembered my parents. How could Elliott look at them and not crave finding what they had? How could he not want to fall in love? “I hate him,” Catalina said when she pulled away.
