We pass bowls of food to one another in a feeding free-for-all. If during any part of this process the plates are passed counterclockwise, it’s a fluke. I’m the last to receive the feijoada, and as expected, the vultures have stripped the dish of all the delicious pork and beef bits that make this bean stew one of my favorite meals.
“Seriously, people?” I say, pushing the serving spoon around. “There’s no linguiça left.” Feijoada isn’t feijoada without spicy pork sausage, so now I’m ready to fight someone.
My mother, who’s sitting to my right, slaps a piece of linguiça on my plate and continues to pass dishes as they come to her.
“Obrigada, Mãe,” I say.
She smiles, delighted as usual when an occasional Portuguese word rolls off my tongue. “De nada, filha.”
As we eat, Marcelo tells us about his daughter’s home in Vero Beach, Florida. It’s spacious, according to him, and he’ll be living in the in-law suite.
“You could come visit me,” he tells Tia Viviane.
“Or you could come visit me once you’re gone,” she replies with a lift of her chin.
“Maybe I will,” he says, leaning into her.
“You’re going to be one of those pervy men watching people on the beach, aren’t you?” Natalia asks, peering at him with a smile.
Paolo groans. “Baby, don’t. It’s Easter Sunday—”
“No,” Marcelo says, talking over Paolo and shaking his head. “When the women see me in my bathing suit, they’ll be the ones checking me out.” He crouches down and adds in a whisper, “And it’s a Speedo.”
Natalia sticks her finger in her mouth and gags; Rey cringes. Jaslene just blinks and stares at Marcelo.
Their jokes about his upcoming move gloss over the upshot: Soon I won’t have business headquarters, and unless I get the position with the Cartwright Hotel Group, I’m going to be running my business from the front passenger seat of my car.
Perhaps I grimace as I think about the repercussions because Marcelo stops laughing and his expression grows serious.
“Any luck finding a new location?” he asks me.
“Not yet. But Jaslene and I have been devoting a couple of hours each day to scouting candidates.”
“Your aunt tells me you’re trying to get a new job,” he says. “What would you be doing?”
I tell him about the position, even mentioning the potentially significant increase in income.
“Cha-ching,” Natalia says between bites of her food.
“So if you get this position, you won’t need to worry about the lease, right?” Rey asks.
“Exactly. It would definitely take the pressure off me. Plus, more money.”
“But you’d be working for someone else,” Tia Viviane observes. “Are you ready for someone else to tell you what to do? Even if it means more money?”
Am I ready? Hell, yes, I’m ready. Owning my own business is stressful—I get night sweats around tax time—and I’d gladly give it up if a better opportunity came along. But these women would laugh in my face if I told them my troubles. They came from another country, got married then divorced, learned the English language, and opened their own business. They don’t have time to hear about my silly American problems. So I make light of Tia Viviane’s question because it’s easier that way. “Ha. I’m a wedding planner. People tell me what to do all the time.”
“You know what I mean,” Tia Viviane says.
“I wouldn’t necessarily be doing it forever,” I hedge. “It’s a great opportunity.”
“Sounds like it,” Tia Izabel says, giving me an encouraging smile.
“Having options is never a bad thing,” my mother adds flatly.
The tension holds me in place like a paperweight. I can’t help thinking that they’re disappointed in me, Viviane in particular. She’s the eldest, and the reason my mother and Izabel were able to come to the States in the first place. They faced obstacles and overcame them—under circumstances far more challenging than mine.
The truth is, failure shouldn’t be an option for me, but if neither Plan A nor Plan B works out, how will I avoid it? It’s only then that I truly realize the extent of my predicament: I need a Plan C, but I don’t have one.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Max
I start the workweek the same way I’m likely to end it: thinking about Lina.
I’d like to reach out to her, but I’m not sure how I should go about it. An email’s probably too impersonal. A text might be too familiar. No, I should call her at the office. That way, I can start the conversation with business and test out whether I should end on a more personal note. After dialing Lina’s business number on the speakerphone, I look down at my clammy hands. Damn, I’m in high school all over again.
A cheerful voice answers. “Good afternoon, this is Dotting the I Do’s, where no detail is missed. How can I help you?”
“Uh, hi. This is Max Hartley. Is Lina . . . Carolina Santos in, please?”
“Max, this is Jaslene, Lina’s assistant.”
“Hi, Jaslene. Nice to speak with you under better circumstances.”
She snorts. “Yeah, Natalia was in usual form that day. Sorry if we made you feel unwelcome.”
“No worries. It’s good that Lina has people who have her back.”
“That, she does,” Jaslene says. “Listen, Lina’s already at the Cartwright, so you can catch up with her there.”
“At the . . . Cartwright?” I sift through my mental calendar, wondering if I’ve missed an appointment. Then I check the calendar on my watch, which shows I’m free all afternoon.
“Weren’t you going to be meeting her for the tour of the . . . Oh shoot. Never mind, Max. I must have misunderstood Lina’s plans.”
So Lina’s at the Cartwright, touring hotel rooms in connection with our project, but she didn’t invite me to join her. Interesting. “Thanks anyway, Jaslene.”
“Max, wait,” she says in a tone of voice noticeably less cheerful than the one she used in her phone greeting.
“Yes?”
“If you go over there, check in with her first. Don’t show up without any warning. I already feel bad about telling you where she is.”
“You have my word.”
“Make that mean something, okay?”
“You got it,” I say before hanging up.
Jaslene and Natalia are fiercely loyal to Lina. Jaslene carries that fierceness in an understated way, whereas Natalia carries herself as though she’ll cut you. Either way, I’m glad these women are protective of her. If Lina let me, I’d be protective of her, too.
* * *
Me: Hi Lina. Just checking in to see if you wanted to get together to tour the rooms at the Cartwright. My schedule is pretty flexible this week.
I fully intend to disclose my sources, but I’m curious to see how she’ll respond to my open-ended question.
Lina: I’m actually at the Cartwright now. Not much to see here. Took a few pics but most of the info is available on the hotel website.