Page 28 of The Fadeaway
My face warms and I feel the man beside me turn to stone. Sh–crap. Well, that certainly isn’t how I imagined telling Joel I had a kid. I look over at him with what I hope is an apologetic smile.
He clears his throat, but when he speaks, it’s gruff and stiff. “Katrina these are my tias, Lupita, Opal, and Bonnie, and my sisters Bree and Michelle. Those three over there are my cousins Karla, Anita, and Celeste,” he rattles them off as if there is any chance I could possibly remember all of them. Each one smiles or waves in hello.
“It’s so nice to meet all of you. Can I help with something?”
His mom looks to Joel who motions toward the back of the house. “Dad outside?”
“You know he is.” She pulls two waters from the fridge and hands them to Joel. “Make sure he doesn’t throw another putter into the mountains.”
“You good?” he asks quietly, turning so his back is to the rest of the women in the kitchen and shielding me from their gazes.
I nod, but he doesn’t budge. The look in his eyes is intense as he studies me as if he’s really seeing me for the first time. All of me. Katrina Phillips, twenty-one-year-old college student and mom.
“Go on. We’ll take good care of her.” Joel’s mom’s voice cuts through the moment.
His fingers brush mine as he takes a hesitant step toward the door. “I’ll be out back if you need anything.”
Isa calls out orders as I watch him go. “Katrina you can help me with the buñuelos as soon as I get this arrangement done.”
Lupita, the only name I remember because Joel introduced her first, steps forward and holds her hand out. “Let me finish the centerpiece. You’re cutting those roses too short for the vase.Desastre.”
Joel’s mom hands her the scissors and motions me to follow as she walks into a large pantry. “I’ve been hoping she’d take over for the last half hour. I’m afraid I’m terrible with flowers.” She hands me a pan filled with rows of tiny balls of dough and takes two others herself. “But cooking I can do. And this is an old family recipe so it’s perfect that you’re here to help.”
“Thank you for being so great about this. I hadn’t meant to intrude on your family lunch, but Joel insisted it’d be easier if I asked you directly.”
“Cuantos mas seamos, mejor,”she says repeating the same words Joel did in the car. “The more, the merrier.”
We take the trays back to the other room, and without prompting, Joel’s sisters take the trays and begin rolling out the dough into thin circles about a hand’s width wide. I can’t exactly jot this down in my notebook while I help so I mentally catalog it all. Including the way his sisters work like they’ve done it a million times, despite looking a few years younger than me. In fact, the whole kitchen works this way. There’s no bumping into each other and asking what needs to be done next. They’ve all been here in this kitchen every Sunday just like Joel said and it shows in the ease of their routine.
“How long have you known Joel?” One of the aunts whose name I can’t remember asks with a knowing glint in her eye.
“Not long.”
I hope that is a safe answer. I still don’t reallyknowJoel. But when no one replies, I ramble on. “I mean he comes into the campus café where I work so I’ve talked to him lots of times, but I just ran into him the other night and that’s when I found out about your family. He agreed to help and here I am.”
He agreed seems like a nicer way to put it than he bartered because he wants to get in my pants. The look these ladies give me, though, I think they’re well acquainted with Joel’s motives.
“That’s very nice of him,” the talkative aunt says. I wish I could remember her name because I have a feeling she’s the one who has the dirt on every member of this family.
“Too nice of him, don’t you think Michelle?” the older of Joel’s sisters pipes in, looking to the other. Well, that’s one more name to the list. I really need a refresher on who’s who.
“I think it’s hopelessly romantic. You ran into each other and just happened to be writing a play based on Mexican culture.” Michelle looks around as if she’s waiting for everyone to agree. “And we’re a Mexican American family.”
“That hardly makes us unique,” older sister retorts.
Michelle isn’t deterred, and I want to hug her in hopes some of her idealistic views rub off on me. “But it was Joel she ran into at just the right time. I mean of all the people you run into every day it’s amazing that one of them has just the thing you’re looking for.”
I don’t argue that he’s been running into me on purpose for months now. I like her thinking better.
“In this case, I think that thing he was looking for was –”
I’m certain I blush at the words about to come out of Joel’s older sister’s mouth, but his mother, God bless her, intervenes. “Fate or not, we’re happy to have you here.” She looks from me to the sisters. “Bree, bring the buñuelos over here. Michelle, you and Katrina can sprinkle the sugar and cinnamon on.”
Michelle moves next to me with a pleased smile. “You’re really pretty. Your eyes are so cool.”
“Thank you.”
“You and my brother would have pretty babies. Do you like basketball?”
