Page 70 of Every Heartbeat After

“Don’t mistake my lack of rushing you at the door for me not loving you as much!” Jenna calls from her place at the stove. She winks at me as I step fully into view, pointing a finger that she drags over my entire person while whistling. “Love this dress. Though if I looked as good as you, I swear I’d never wear any clothes.”

“Ma!” Mara cries. She’s standing at the counter, stirring a bowl of what looks to be coleslaw. Her hair is pinned at either temple, reminding me of the way she’d wear it when she was younger. Disgust curdles her expression.

“Oh, pfft.” Jenna waves a hand dismissively at her daughter. “You came out of this body, thank you so much. And I wasn’t wearing clothes at the time, believe you me.”

Mara rolls her eyes. Mo and Alex chuckle. Kit accepts the beer Alex offers with an easygoing smile of his own. And at the center of it all is me. For a moment I’m so focused on taking a mental snapshot of this feeling, of these people, that Jenna’s words don’t quite register.

“Did you hear me? I said that I made your favorite.” She lifts a tray of freshly browned griddle cakes. “Pupusas. I got the recipe from Magdalena.”

I shake my head and smile breathlessly. “I haven’t had them in years.” My lungs grow tight in my chest as a wave of gratitude rushes over my belly. It’s the distinct sensation of being loved, and more importantly, of being known. I suddenly wish I had all the time in the world to revel in it.

I can sense that my face has fallen, only because it takes more effort than normal to force my lips back into a grin. Jenna notices, because of course she does. I can tell because her own smile droops at the corners, the wrinkles there deepening with the fall.

“What’s a pupusa?” Kit sidles up to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I sink into his warmth, and when he presses a kiss to my temple, a ripple of surprise flutters through the room.

Jenna is the first to recover, giving me a look that says,We’ll discuss this later,before audibly replying, “Think of a flatbread stuffed with different things like cheese or beans. It’s an El Salvadoran thing, or Honduran, depending on who you ask.” Jenna shrugs. “Since Magda is from El Salvador, that’s what we’re going with tonight.”

I hip check him. “They’re delicious. You’ll love them.”

He rubs his stomach with the hand not holding me. “There are very few foods I’ve met that I didn’t like.”

Mara finishes what I now realize is curtido and starts heading for the table with the bowl. “What’s your least favorite?” She drops the question on a drive-by.

A shudder runs through Kit. “Mushrooms. Can’t fucking stand them.” He blushes when his words hit his ears, and his gaze cuts right to Jenna. “So sorry, ma’am,” he utters quickly, drawl thicker in his panic.

“Amen,” Mo inserts. “Slimy bastards.”

At that, the room erupts with laughter, and I feel more than see Kit relax into relief. As Jenna passes him with the tray of pupusas, she rises onto her tiptoes and kisses his cheek, which thoroughly melts him. Mo pulls my chair out for me at a dining table crafted from local driftwood, and he and Mara fight for the seat on my other side. Kit sighs good-naturedly and gives his chair to Mara, moving instead to sit between Alex and Jenna on the opposite corner of the table.

Alex whispers a quick prayer over the food before crossing himself, and then we dig in. There are plates passed, silverware clinking, and a dollop of salsa ends up splattered on Mauricio’s lap. It’s messy and chaotic and beautiful, just like the storm that finally unravels outside.

* * *

Once our bellies are round and tight, Kit and I make quick work of clearing the table and tag teaming the dishes. Halfway through, he doubles over with a groan. “Why did you let me have that fifth pupusa?”

“Overeating pupusas is a canon event,” I say, shrugging, before depositing a rinsed plate in the dishwasher. “I couldn’t interfere.”

He grumbles a response that I can’t make out. When all is done and put away, he stumbles toward the living room like a woman in the eleventh hour of pregnancy, sparing a glance over his shoulder to make sure I’m watching. I shake my head and laugh as he calls, “You did this to me!”

Where the kitchen and dining space is painted a pale yellow and decorated only with the occasional photograph, their living room is a menagerie of color. I stand in the archway with my head tilted upward, taking in the vaulted ceilings and the windows of pure black night, interrupted only by the occasional burst of lightning. The rain has subsided for now, but thunder still grumbles its promise that the storm isn’t over yet.

On the opposite wall, various artworks Jenna and Alex have collected over the years from their travels leave very little of the seafoam green wall exposed. Scenes of Parisian streets and Costa Rican rainforests grapple for attention. In the end I let my eyes go hazy, which creates a blurry abstract of the whole world.

Mo and Alex are seated in either of two oversize recliners bracketing the same plush couch I remember from years ago. Kit has made himself at home there and is animatedly telling Mara about his own travels during his time in the military. Turns out, he was in Germany for a time, and that’s one of the stops she’s planned for during her gap year. I lean against the threshold, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch him gesticulate, eyes bright and mouth never straying from a half smile.

“He sure is handsome, Tess.”

I glance over my shoulder. Jenna sidles up to me, her bare feet sticking slightly to the tile floor with each small step. She leans against the opposite side of the threshold, our bodies brushing from shoulder to elbow to hip, and smiles at the scene before us.

“He’s aware,” I deadpan. But I can’t help the way the corner of my mouth twitches.

Her laugh is more of a sigh. I turn to study her and find she’s already looking at me. In a lowered voice, she says, “You want to talk about what you plan to do next?”

My brow furrows, even as my heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “You know, since you aren’t planning on coming back here.”

My gaze darts to Mo, who’s laughing hysterically at some story Kit is telling.

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