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“A nap? I don’t need a nap! Actually . . . wait a moment, I like naps. This is a conundrum.”
“Why? Because you think you should protest Papi telling you to do something, only to realize you like the thing he’s proposing?”
“That’s about the gist of it, Papi. What are you making?” She watched as he added spaghetti to a boiling pot of water.
“Just some simple spaghetti. You like spaghetti?”
“Oh yeah. Who doesn’t? You cook?”
“A bit. My mama taught me a few dishes.” There was a sadness in his face that hurt her.
“Is she . . . did she . . .”
He nodded sharply as he put some other ingredients in a different pan. Tomatoes, basil, garlic. Yum. Yum.
“She died a few years ago. She moved back to the states when I was seventeen. She couldn’t live in Mexico anymore. It reminded her of what my uncle had done to her. He raped her. Hurt her.”
“Oh my God.”
“I should have known what was going on. I should have helped her.”
“You couldn’t have known. You were a child.”
“As I got older, I started to understand more but I was helpless to stop him. I had to wait until his son, Dante, got everything in place so he could get rid of him. When she became pregnant with Ortega, I think José left her alone for a while. She seemed a bit happier with Ortega to look after.”
“Ortega is your half-brother, then?”
“Yes, and he’s Dante’s half-brother too. Complicated, huh? Dante is a couple of years older than me. He’s nothing like his monster of a father.”
“Thank God that asshole got what was coming to him.”
He nodded. “Mama sent for me and Ortega once she was settled into living here again. Ortega went, but I decided to stay in Mexico. I was eighteen and it was my choice. It wasn’t until . . . well, I came here later to make my own way.”
“And your Mama?”
“She became really ill a few years ago and died from breast cancer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“At least she was happy in her final years. Isabel, Dante’s mama, even found happiness with a man that treats her well.”
“And Ortega?”
“O is a wild card. No one knows where he is half the time or what he’s doing. Dante tries his best to keep him under his control, but it never works. He does whatever the fuck he wants.”
“Do you miss living near them? Dante and Ortega? Isabel?”
“No. And yes. Sometimes. I came here because I needed a fresh start, away from there. Because I was angry at my cousin. And now . . .”
“Now?”
“My life is here.”
She sensed there was more to it, but she knew better than to press someone for their secrets.
“Can I help?” she asked, deciding to change the subject.
“You are forbidden from cooking, remember?”
“That wasn’t a fair rule. I can cook some things. Well, I can make toast. And I can heat stuff up. Not potatoes. I tried to cook potatoes in the microwave once and they caught on fire. And when I tried to boil eggs, I completely burned the bottom of the pan. But I can make a mean sandwich.”
“And by sandwich, you mean . . .”
“You know, bread and butter with ham and cheese or egg salad or peanut butter and jelly. Only I don’t really like ham, cheese, eggs or peanut butter and jelly in my sandwiches.”
“So bread and butter,” he said dryly.
She smiled wide. “Exactly.
“The rule stands. No cooking.”
She pouted. “Not fair. I really thought I could be a great baker. If someone taught me. I always wanted one of those Easy-Bake ovens as a kid. Oh, and the dolls that you could actually feed things to, and they’d poop and pee. But we didn’t really have the money for any of those things.”
Funny. She’d forgotten how much she’d wanted them. She’d begged Santa for them one year.
Now, she knew why Santa had never bought her the toy oven and doll. And she felt terrible for her mama. She’d probably wanted to give her the toys and had never been able to.
“Bernard is a good baker. He could teach you.”
“No! Nope. I don’t want anything to do with that walking black cloud of disaster and doom.”
“The two of you need to learn to get along.”
“Why? I won’t be here long.” She didn’t mean to sound so sad about that.
Shoot.
If he got a hint that she was getting attached, then he might pull back. And she really didn’t want that to happen.
But all he did was dish up the spaghetti into a big bowl. Then he carried it over, setting it on the counter beside her.
She attempted to slide down, but he placed his hand on her thighs.
“Are you going to let me get down?” she asked.
“No, because you weren’t given permission to move.”
