Page 107 of Outspoken

After a moment to size me up, her eyes widen in delight and she grins. “Oh, you want Miguel? Yes, come in. He’s coming back soon.”

“Oh, no, I’ll just—”

“Hush, mija. You come inside.” Barefoot, she shuffles across the grass to take my arm. “He won’t be long. Join me.”

She’s too weak to really pull me forward, so I move willingly, walking beside her to the porch.

I try again to leave because I don’t know what family member she is. It’s weird to be here chatting, especially when Miguel doesn’t know I stopped by and might still be angry. “Thanks, but I was just going to drop something off,” I say. “No biggie. I’ll bring it by later.”

She stops in the doorway and quirks her lip. “Drop what off?”

I wasn’t expecting her to ask, so my mouth falls open and closed a few times, my mind blanking for an excuse.

Giving me a suspicious nod, she says, “Mmm, you’re dropping yourself off. What is your name?”

“Um, Amber.”

She beams at me, her grin shifting all the weathered brown skin on her face. “Oh, Amber! He’ll be so happy to see you. Join me, mijita. I made tea, and I know where he hid the cheesecake.”

“Um, sure.”

She ushers me into the living room, which isn’tat allhow I pictured Miguel’s home. I thought it might be similar to Brody’s style—mostly bare with positive affirmation posters about working out. A bachelor pad. But this living room is like a store where someone vomited colorful curios everywhere.

Pictures of what I think are Mexican saints are scattered on the walls, some in picture frames. Plenty of ceramic figurines sit on shelves, side tables, and anywhere else they fit—figurines of skeletons in colorful outfits, zoo animals, crosses, flowers. As I walk deeper into whatever this place is, I notice a large mantle with more pictures of saints, along with rosary beads and candles. It’s edged with white string lights that give the saint’s faces a creepy glow.

Under the mantle is a large flat screen on a TV stand that’s covered in a colorful blue, orange, and yellow cloth. And there’s a tan couch and loveseat with a cluttered coffee table. The coffee table is filled with wrinkled magazines, word search books, and novels.

Somehow, everything has a strange order that feels tidy while simultaneously appearing moments from dissolving into madness.

“Sit. Sit,” the woman says, pushing me toward the couch where there’s a tiny white cat.

I smirk at the cat. I never thought of Miguel as a cat person. He seems better suited for a golden retriever or some yappy dog bursting with energy. But a cat does suit his sweeter, more poetic side.

When I sit on the couch beside the cat, who doesn’t care, the woman grins. “Bueno. I’ll get cheesecake.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I’m still too nervous to eat, but I don’t feel I could successfully tell her no to anything.

Once she shuffles out of the living room, I study the family portraits on the mantle and wall. There are several pictures of Miguel and the woman, some with other people I don’t know, then one with Maribel, Bob, and a lot of family members I met at Rico’s birthday. The woman is next to Miguel’s aunt Lupita, alongside another older man and woman. Younger family members are behind and around them, Miguel touching the woman’s shoulder, smiling, and—

Fuck, this is his mom!

A jolt of panic stabs my heart as it slams against my ribcage. I’ve been talking to hismother. I’m not ready for this level of commitment. No way. I only wanted to talk to Miguel and apologize, not worry about making a good impression on the most important woman in his life.

I can’t. Not tonight. I’ll come back some other time after I’ve smoothed things over with him and gotten all the sappy stuff out in the open.

I grab my purse and bolt for the door.

As I grasp the knob, I hear his mother say sternly, “No, mijita. You’re not leaving.” Then she’s next to me, staring me down with friendly eyes that also mean business. “Sit. Sit. You’ll love this cheesecake. You must try it.”

I release the knob, defeated, and sulk back to the couch. She sits beside me and hands me a plate.

“If you eat,” she says, “it’s okay if I eat, too. He knows I always find the good stuff. A guest is a good excuse to enjoy, don’t you think?”

I study my plate. Cheesecake isn’t my favorite, but I will sit here and eat the entire damn slice if it makes a good impression on her.

Ugh, why did I come over without texting first?

She shoves a silver fork in my hand. “Eat. Do you like it? Oh, I forgot the tea.”

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