Page 68 of Riding the Pine

Back in the kitchen, Abuelita appears next to me. She’s somehow a quiet, stealthy mover for someone who’s not quite as nimble on her feet as she used to be. I’d say the old woman’s pushing ninety, but her only answer to the question ‘how old are you?’ is that a lady never reveals her age. Even Mamá claims she doesn’t know, or maybe Abuelita has sworn her to secrecy.

She puts her hand on my arm. “We need to talk.”

I steel my spine. If she’s about to give me a lecture about how Papá won’t like me being seen dating a “poor person”—his words, not mine—I’m ready for a fight.

I don’t know why she’d take his side. I’ve always thought she hated Papá, and considering when he met Mamá,shewas the poor person in the relationship, I thought Abuelita would be on board with me and Scott.

Team Scothena. Athott.

Fuck. That doesn’t work. No cute mashup for us.

She guides me by the elbow out of the kitchen, and into the generously sized staff area. For the first few years it was little more than a shoe closet sized room, but Abuelita insisted on having more space for her team. She encouraged Mamá—who owns the place—to do something about it, and after a back-and-forth battle over planning permission from the authorities, we built an extension.

Pretty sure this is the best staff room in the entire city and beyond. Abuelita even bought a TV and gaming console for people to unwind on their break.

She really is the coolest, so when she locks the door, and turns to face me, I’m ready for war.

As I stare at her, every wrinkle and blemish on her skin stands out more under the harsh fluorescent lighting. It’s as though she’s aged fifteen years in the time it took us to walk in here.

“¿Se lo vas a decir a tu madre?”

Am I going to tell Mamá what?

Abuelita stares at me expectantly, her eyes aren’t hard or judgmental, they’re concerned, and from the downturn of her mouth she’s disappointed. I really expected more from her.

“About Scott?”

Her brows bounce up. “Scott? ¿Y él?” She prefers to speak Spanish when she can.

My face heats. Her features suggest she’s truly clueless about why I’d bring his name up in this situation, so now I have two problems. First, I’ve almost certainly outed myself to my grandmother, and second, I now have zero idea why I’m here or what I’m supposed to talk to Mamá about.

After what feels like the longest, silent standoff ever between us, her face softens. Her lips curl upward, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Te tomó bastante tiempo.”

It took me long enough? To get with Scott?

“He’s been in love with you for a long time, Nieta. I’m glad you finally see it.” She takes my hand with both of hers. “Why did you think I would want to talk to you about that?” She studies my face, but I can’t meet her eyes, my skin burns hot with embarrassment. Not because I’m with Scott, but because I thought she might judge my relationship with him.

“Nieta!” She exclaims the term of affection on a sigh. “Did you think I wouldn’t approve because he isn’t a rich suitor?”

Suitor. She makes it sound like we’re in an episode of Bridgerton.

I still can’t look at her, so she tugs on my chin until I do. “Nieta, you should know better. There is no judgment here. We leave that for your father.”

The way she spitstu padresuggests she may know something I didn’t think she did, but perhaps I’m seeing something in her that I want to see.

“The heart wants who it wants. I don’t care if he’s a billionaire or a pauper. As long as he loves you for who you are and doesn’t try to change you, treats you well, and supports you on your quest to greatness.” She pats my forearm. “I may be getting on in years, but I can still dispose of a body when the need arises, Nieta.”

The twinkle in her eye sparkles, but I’m honestly not sure if she’s serious or not. Either way, my money’s on Abuelita. Every single day of the week. I certainly wouldn’t cross her.

“Love who you want, Athena. Don’t let anyone tell you who you should or shouldn’t give your heart to. That’s a decision you, and only you, get to make.” She squeezes my biceps, making a spark of emotion ignite in my stomach that quickly catches fire throughout my body. My throat swells with something I can’t name.

“If you love Scott, then be with Scott. If you don’t, then let him go. But don’t let anyone but the two of you make that choice.” She nods like that’s the end of the discussion, and she doesn’t need to say a single other word.

To her, it’s so simple. You love who you love, and if someone has a problem with it, it’s precisely that, their problem, not yours.

“If that wasn’t what you wanted to talk to me about, then qué?”

“Tu padre.” Her voice is flat. She points to the comfy couch facing the sofa, and she makes her way to the drinks machine. “Abuelita?”

---