Page 70 of A Lot Like Adiós
Gabe’s face burned and he wanted to die. His father had told his mother about the condoms. Because of course he had. Why should anyone have privacy or secrets in a Latinx family?
“Anyway, I’m so happy you two are finally together.” Norma grabbed Michelle’s hand with her free one and beamed at her. “I always knew it would happen. Gracias, Michelle, por devolverme a mi hijo.”
“I wanted him back too,” Michelle admitted, then sent Gabe a quick glance that had his heart flipping over in his chest.
In the kitchen, Gabe was in for another shock. His father was at the stove—cooking.
Not just cooking. He was pan-searing a slab of fish like a pro.
“Ay, bueno. You’re here.” Esteban gestured toward the table with a tilt of his head. “Siéntate ahora. This will be ready en un momentito.”
Gabe turned to his mom in wonder. “Papi’s cooking?”
“He cooks all the time.” She released him and gestured to the dining table, which was new, and not covered in a plastic tablecloth. “Sit, both of you. Michelle, you want wine?”
“I’d love some.” Michelle sent her a winning smile.
Norma bustled over to the counter and leaned down to open—whoa, was that a wine cooler?
“¿Qué tipo de vino?” Norma called out, peering at the bottles stacked in the mini-fridge. “Tenemos rojo, y blanco, y verde...”
“Red is fine,” Michelle replied, raising her voice to be heard over the exhaust fan blasting over the stove.
“Perfecto. I have a Pinot Noir chilling in here to go with the salmon.” Norma straightened and came up with a dark bottle. Then she expertly uncorked it and poured the wine into the four glasses waiting on the counter above. She carried two over to the table.
Gabe could barely mutter agraciasbecause he was so dumbfounded by the situation.
And it only got stranger from there.
His mother carried over a large bowl of arugula salad, something Gabe would have bet money his parents didn’t even know existed. And his father—wearing a navy-blue linen apron tied around his waist—plated the fish, adding slices of lemon and sprigs of dill for garnish. Gabe thought he spotted rice on the side, but to his utter amazement, it wasquinoa.
Gabe looked around. Was this the right house?
Michelle, of course, got along with his parents beautifully. She’d seen them many times over the years, and they’d always thought the world of her. While part of Gabe resented them for it when he was younger, he couldn’t blame them. She was amazing.
He just wished they could have spared some of that praise for him once in a while.
Michelle and his mother carried most of the conversation, keeping it light. They talked about Jasmine’s latest film project, about Nikki’s kids, about Michelle’s parents. And every time his dad got close to asking something about why Gabe hadn’t been in touch, his mother jumped in with a question or comment, then shot Esteban a dark glare when she thought no one else was looking.
Whowerehis parents? They knew about wine pairings and had a wine refrigerator installed under the counter. His father was searing salmon rather competently. His mother was interfering before his father could pick a fight—also competently. Where the hell had this side of her been during his youth?
Because as much anger as Gabe carried toward his father, he reserved some for his mom too. She’d stood by and let his father berate him and control him for years. She’d taken his father’s side when it came to Gabe working in the stationery store, leaving Gabe to advocate for himself when he had baseball practice or school events his father had deemed a waste of time.
Gabe ate his food—which was fucking delicious—and tried to reconcile what he was seeing now with his memories from before.
When Gabe started high school, he’d gotten more health conscious. He’d begged his father to change his eating habits,but Esteban loved his meat and rice, and he’d refused to listen, regardless of what Gabe or his doctors said.
It looked like someone had finally gotten through to him.
Gabe found himself getting quieter as the meal went on, as memories pressed him from all sides. The plates were different, but the framed mosaic of La Virgen de Guadalupe was the same. One side of the fridge was still covered with magnets from Puerto Rico and Mexico, but it was a new fridge. Gabe was consumed with the urge to wander the house looking for things he remembered and noting the changes, but this wasn’t his house anymore. And it was still ingrained in him not to leave the table during dinner. He couldn’t just get up and go snooping around.
The sensation of being a stranger in his own home was overwhelming, even more so than when he’d been at Michelle’s.
It hurt to admit it, but he’d missed this house. Missed this neighborhood. Missed hisparents.
The nostalgia was killing him.
Suddenly, all he wanted to do was blurt out the news about the gym expansion. To fill them in on all the things he’d done and accomplished since the last time they’d seen him. To show them he was asuccess, damn it.
