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“And you, mija, have always insisted on making it harder for yourself because you insist on doing it all yourself.”
Mama strokes her hand through my hair.
“Can you give into something for once, Isabella?”
My mother liked Rex from the beginning. Liked his long hair and his scrawniness. Was charmed by his musical ability. Though for all my siblings she expected them to marry people with real careers, not ones in a volatile field of creativity, I think she secretly liked Rex for me because I always had my shit together. Never wanted anyone to see me fail. And Rex was different. Crazy and unfettered by expectations. Living his truth.
“Ah, mija,” Mama says with an air of exasperation, her words sliding across the crown of my head. “I wish you could see how he looks at you.”
Five Years Earlier
Isabella watched from her place crisscrossed on the floor as Rex played a song for her mother on his guitar. He picked things up easily and when she’d told him of her mother’s love for Juan Gabriel, he’d come prepared to meet her mother with a stripped-down version of “No Tengo Dinero” on guitar.
It shocked Isabella how onstage Rex resonated a coolness and a force that could stand up to the likes of Robert Plant and Bon Scott, but here, singing to her mother, he was more of a Neil Young. His voice was soft and earnest, playing adept and subtle.
Two weeks of Rex. Every single day of him. And Isabella was still surprised to learn about all his dimensions.
Isabella had never introduced a man to her mother. And she never expected it would be after only two weeks.
Though she had no idea where they would go, she thought that Marisol Delgado ought to be touched by Rex the way Isabella was. Metaphorically, of course.
With the last chord ringing out, the older Delgado woman clapped her hands together up by her chest, a big smile across her face. “Bueno, muy bueno!”
Rex dipped his head forward, dark hair covering his eyes. “Gracias.”
Isabella’s nose squinched up in fondness. He didn’t know much Spanish and his accent was pitiful, but he was trying. And that was more than Isabella could say of men she’d been seeing for months, let alone two weeks.
Meanwhile, Rex finally was able to relax for the first time since learning he’d be welcomed for dinner with the Delgado’s the night before. He had worked on the song tirelessly to perfect it, trying to emulate the sugary, clear tones of Juan Gabriel. He hoped his raspy voice would do alright for Marisol Delgado.
And from her warm reception, it seemed alright.
“So, no money?” Marisol asked, looking down her nose at him.
Rex’s eyebrows jumped up. “Huh?”
His anxiety was quelled immediately by Isabella’s bubbling laugh. “The song, Rex. ‘No Tengo Dinero’ means ‘I Don’t Have Money’.”
Rex flushed and palmed his hair back out of his eyes, internally chiding himself for not looking up a translation. “Um, no I have money. I mean –“ He didn’t want to mislead the older woman. “I make okay money.” For a musician, he was doing great. That most of his living expenses came from his music already put him leagues ahead of others.
However, for the mother of the woman he was falling head over heels for, he probably looked like the dregs.
“Playing songs,” Marisol said, her eyes appraising him hawkishly.
“Yes,” Rex said. “And sometimes I do some graphic design?”
Marisol cocked her head to the side, curiosity folding in her brow.
“Uh… making pictures on computers. Sometimes they are on signs and sometimes you see them online.”
“Ah! On the web!” Marisol said with a proud smile. “I understand.”
Rex looked to Isabella with a sheepish smile. Isabella smiled right back and again, his nerves were completely gone.
Which made the news he had to tell her that much more difficult.
From Isabella’s perspective, though, that smile meant he needed a bit of encouragement from her velvet touch. Some confirmation he was doing so well. And he had been. The song was icing on the cake, but he had been charming since the moment he walked up to the door with flowers for her mother and an outfit that made him not look like he was trying to cosplay as Kurt Cobain for once.
“Mama, maybe we could have some of your tres leches now?” Isabella said to her mother in Spanish.
