Page 41 of Love at Teamsgiving
“Sorry,” Mr. Cruz says, looking bashful.
Miguel pulls on a Knights beanie, hiding his gorgeous hair. “Don’t worry about it, Pop. Ma, thanks for the meatballs. I’ll be back.”
I thank her too, then Carlotta and my mother say a long goodbye, conferring softly in Italian and almost giggling.
Tension coils in Miguel as we wait for them, yet he still doesn’t say a word. My mind scrambles for how to redirect this remodel and seize the reins.
My mother says, “I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll also discuss the meal.” They exchange kisses on each cheek and then start chattering again before I drag Mama away.
When we turn onto the road from the driveway, Miguel breaks the long stretch of silence. “Mrs. Popovik, hypothetically, if I had a guy friend who had an ex, whosebrothermeddled in, um, his life, what kind of advice would you suggest I give him?”
“What kind of meddling?”
“Oh, well, like, how about telling her what to study in, um, the school of life, how to decorate her apartment? Things like that.”
I sneak a peek at him as we pass under a streetlight. His eyes are tight.
My stomach is a knotted rope pulled in opposite directions by the moms’ pending involvement in my salon and how he’s trying to stick up for me. What could that mean?
Mama says, “I’d suggest that her mother, er, brother, loves her very much and just wants what’s best.”
“Yeah, I figured that’s what you’d say.”
“I’d also say your friend and his ex should spend Thanksgiving together and try to patch things up,” my mother adds.
She’s so onto him. Doesn’t miss a trick. Never has. Then why and how is she such a bulldozer when it comes to me orchestrating important things in my life?
Miguel says, “But they’ve proven that they’re not a good couple.”
“But do they love each other?”
Miguel and I both start squawking and coughing like a goose just flew into the car and got feathers everywhere.
My mother, small but mighty, speaks over us. “Love is easy, but whoever told you relationships are was a liar. Relationships take patience, sacrifice, compromise, devotion?—”
“All the hard stuff,” I mutter.
“You go through the hard stuff and then it gets really good. You have to learn to be patient as you grow together. You sacrifice what you want and look at the reality of what’s best for you as a couple. Choosing compromise over the stubborn need to be right and having utmost devotion to your future. Tell that to your friend.”
I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see an exploding bomb as we pull up at our ranch rental.
She leaves us both in silence as she says goodnight because obviously, she was talkingtous.
Studying my hands for a long second, I grip the car’s door handle. “Thanks for trying to help.”
Miguel nods and says, “I’ll bring you to pick up your car.”
On the way to where I left it in town, we remain quiet, awkwardly so, but mostly because it’s like we were both scolded. However, strangely, now it feels like instead of coming at each other with forks and knives, we’re on the same side of the table, the same team.
He pulls up to the curb in front of the salon and gets out. I don’t move because I figured I’d be the one getting out, slamming the door, and that would be the end of our little evening together.
But he circles to the passenger side and opens the door for me. When we were younger, Miguel was more goofy than he was gentlemanly. We laughed a lot. When things were good, they were great. Somewhere along the line, we took a wrong turn. Ended up lost in a battle of the wills.
Joining him on the sidewalk, he looks up at the building. “What are you going to name it? I’m guessing not Pigtails & Ponies.”
He remembers that? “I should just let my mother handle it. It could be Guiliana and Carlotta’s Place.”
Miguel doesn’t laugh because he knows my comment isn’t just about the salon. “You could tell them no. Single word. Complete sentence.”
