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The recipe on top was called pabellón criollo — stewed, shredded beef and black beans with fried plantains and rice. It sounded warm and comforting, and while there were a fair few steps to making it, it was in my wheelhouse of skills. I checked the cabinet and pantry for the ingredients and found them.
Putting on one of Lara’s aprons, I started prepping to put things in a pressure cooker, and time started to slip by the wayside. I was in the middle of frying plantains — I ruined the first batch because I looked away for too long, and they burned, so I was paying closer attention this time — when Lili wandered into the kitchen. “What is that smell?” she asked.
I glanced up, startled. “Smell?”
Lili took a deep breath. “It’sheavenly,” she sighed and practically scampered over to the stovetop. I had to slap her hand when she reached for a plantain that was sitting on a paper towel. “Hey!”
“Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes,” I told her. “You can have some then.”
“You made me lunch?” Lili was surprised.
I shrugged. “I made enough to feed a small army, I think,” I said. “Would you go tell your brothers, Padre, whichever uncles and cousins are milling about today that lunch will be served in the dining room?”
Lili almost blanched. “You want to feedeveryone?” she asked. “Today? Without notice?”
Well, that wasn’t my intention at all. “It’s not mandatory or anything,” I said. “I just want to offer food to anyone who wants to try it.” I checked on my plantains, rescuing the next batch from the hot oil. “I can’t even guarantee that this is going to taste good.”
“Trust me,” my sister-in-law said, “with that smell, it’s going to be wonderful.”
I smiled. “Thanks.” I didn’t need to be praised, but it was nice to be acknowledged that I had done something right. Mostly, I felt like I was floating in the dark, and Angel hadn’t been the best guide in figuring out what I should be doing.
Lili squeezed my shoulder, briefly. “I’ll gather the troops,” she promised. “You finish up the meal.”
I saluted her and checked on the rice. It was ready, so I pulled it off the heat and fluffed it with a fork. Just as that was finishing, the pressure cooker was finally ready to be opened, and this was the moment of truth: either it would be right, or it would be wrong, and I would be serving meat that might taste good but would have to be chewed relentlessly.
As I heard voices coming closer to the kitchen, I quickly transferred everything into serving dishes and rushed them into the dining room. I set them up in the center of the table. “It’s family-style,” I said as the men filtered into the room. When Omar looked at me, question clear in his eyes, I added, “Grab a plate and serve yourself.”
Then, I turned and went back to the kitchen for the plantains. Angel was leaning against the counter, sampling what I’d made. “You cookedmi esposa,” he said.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.ObviouslyI cooked. “Is that a problem?” I asked instead.
Angel shook his head. “I’m just surprised.”
“Why? I cooked for you while we were on vacation.”
His jaw clenched, and there was a heat in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed when I walked in. What had I done wrong? Angel finished his plantain and crossed the space, crowding me against the counter. “You shouldn’t be trying to impress them,” he murmured against my cheek.
I smirked. “You sound jealous,” I accused softly. When his scowl deepened, I reached up and soothed the line between his furrowed eyebrows. “I’m not trying to impress anyone,” I said. “I just cooked a lot of food.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. I knew when I pulled out the amount of food that the recipe called for that Miriam had intended it to feed a lot of people…and I decided against altering it. Looking at my husband, I tried not to shrink from the intensity of his gaze. “Why shouldn’t I try to impress my new family, huh?” I asked. “Shouldn’t I want them to like me?”
Angel didn’t look particularly thrilled with that idea. “Next time,” he said, “cook only for me.”
I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was being serious or not. Finally, I said, “Next time, I’ll plan for a meal for just the two of us.”
He backed off and, without a look back, stalked into the dining room. I sucked in a lungful of air and let it out, and then I did it again, forcing my suddenly racing pulse to calm down. That knife’s edge of fear and want was the shittiest place to be, and Angel kept me hanging on that edge at all times.
Once I had calmed down, I grabbed the plantains and went back into the dining room. Dread pooled in my stomach as I walked through the butler’s pantry. What would I find?
Stepping into the dining room, a hush fell over the men, and then Omar all but shouted, “There’s my favorite sister-in-law!” He motioned for me to join them, and the men all joined in.
Instead of sitting, I walked around with the plate of plantains and served them up, keeping my eyes resolutely off of my husband. I could feel his gaze as surely as I would be able to feel his hands, and I knew that if I looked up, I would drag him from the dining room and not give a damn what anyone else thought.
It wasn’t until I reached the head of the table that I realized that Padre had come to eat. “I’m so sorry,” I said, head still bowed slightly.Shit. Shit. Shit.I should have served him first. Iknewthat, so why hadn’t I? “I didn’t —”
The man waved me off. “It’s fine,mija,” he said in that tone that told me that it wasn’t. “Manners must be taught, after all.” He gave Angel a cold look. “I expect her to be prepared next time.”
“Si, Padre,” Angel said.
I set the near-empty plate down nearest to Angel’s father, so that he could grab more if he so desired, and sat beside my husband. Below the surface of the table, he gripped my thigh, hard enough that I had to bite back a grunt of pain. “I’m sorry,” I murmured to him.
