“—growing up near LA, I speak some Spanish, but—Hey, there you are!” Brandon’s cheeks puffed out on a heavy breath when Anamaría reached their table.
He pushed back his chair to stand, gesturing to the open seats.
Poor guy. Even an elite athlete touted for his physical and mental stamina didn’t stand a chance when up against a meddling mami digging for information. Anamaría and her brothers often joked about their mom, but her info-digging tactics with both of the men Anamaría had dated seriously after Alejandro had been relentless, CSI-worthy. Unfortunately for Brandon, Señora Miranda had similar powers of intimidation.
Señora Miranda’s metal chair legs scraped across the gray linoleum as she scooted her black vinyl padded chair to the side so she could swivel and face them.
“¡Ay Dios mío, que sorpresa!” Her cry of surprise turned several heads their way. “Sara said you were coming, but I did not believe it. Ay, look at mis hijos. My boys. Together for a meal. Aquí.” She clasped her hands at her chest. “A mami’s prayers answered.”
“Mami, por favor, don’t make this into a thing, okay?” Alejandro warned, kissing her cheek. “It’s lunch with friends. Eso es todo.”
“There is no that is all. You are here. Finally.” She stretched out her arms to clasp hands with her two boys.
“Not quite. I’m running to the ba—” Ernesto broke off and cleared a scratch from his throat. “Papi needs me to run an errand.”
“Por favor, siéntate un ratito with us.”
“You know I don’t have a little time to sit down, Mami. We’re slammed here, and I shouldn’t even be leaving now, only they need, ugh . . . never mind. Sara, sorry I have to run. Hope you’re doing good.” The two of them exchanged a cheek press hello; then he held his hand out to shake Brandon’s across the table. “Welcome to Miranda’s. I’m Ernesto, Alejandro’s younger, better-looking, obviously smarter brother. Seeing as how I’m not the one cascading off waterfalls in the rainforest.”
“Get out of here, with this better-looking crap.” Alejandro nudged his brother’s shoulder.
“Ha, pero I don’t see you arguing who’s smarter!” Ernesto joked back.
The brothers’ old camaraderie brought a breezy sense of peace to what Anamaría had worried would be a stressful meeting. Especially since Miranda’s had in essence become Ernesto’s turf, seeing as how he now stood in line to run the familia business. She hoped the forgiveness and understanding would eventually come from their father as well.
Señora Miranda’s pleased grin rivaled Lulu’s the last time Anamaría had taken the little girl to the panadería for a sweetbread treat. Maybe, just maybe, she could influence her husband while their oldest was home.
The two brothers exchanged a backslapping farewell hug, and Anamaría could have sworn she heard Ernesto murmur, “Good luck.”
He waved good-bye to everyone and strode toward the entrance, reading something on his cell that had him frowning at the device. Whatever errand Señor Miranda had him running in the middle of the lunch rush, it had to be important. As soon as the glass door eased closed behind him, Alejandro sent her a quizzical look that told her he was thinking along the same something’s-up line.
His mom didn’t seem to have noticed anything, so Ale shook his head with a beats-me shrug. He sidestepped awkwardly around the table to take the chair on the end where he could extend his left leg while also keeping watch on the kitchen door in the back. No doubt standing guard for his father.
Anamaría took the seat between Sara and his mom, who lovingly patted Anamaría’s thigh as she settled in her chair.
Señora Miranda handed Brandon one of the laminated menus wedged between the black napkin holder and the condiment tray. Like a proud second mami, she pointed out the healthy options Anamaría had championed: baked chicken breast with amarillo, the sweet yellow plantain pan sautéed in a light spritz of olive oil instead of deep fried; black beans and brown rice paired for the congrí; and picadillo made with ground turkey breast, the flavorful mix of meat, cumin, and other savory spices cooked with diced peppers and served with black beans and brown rice or on its own for those cutting carbs.
“See how smart she is. And she is working hard to help people everywhere eat and live healthier with her website. Have you seen it? We are so proud of her.”
Anamaría’s cheeks heated under the maternal praise. She leaned her head on Señora Miranda’s shoulder with a fond smile, gazing in awe at the AM Fitness logo and web address on the new menus.
“Even though I’m the child she birthed and Anamaría is familia by choice, I guess you can see which one of us is my mom’s favorite,” Alejandro complained, drawing a laugh from Brandon and Sara and an “ay, por favor, que exagerado” from his mami.
He tapped a finger at an item on Brandon’s menu. “Picadillo is Anamaría’s comfort meal. Or . . . I guess, it used to be.”
“Still is,” she answered, touched that he remembered.
When Iona sidled over to take their order, Señora Miranda stepped away to assist the hostess-cashier in training. By the time she returned to their table, Iona was back with their meals.
“Wow, this all looks fantastic!” Brandon exclaimed.
“Here, you must taste a little of everything,” Alejandro’s mom insisted.
She had wisely asked for an empty dinner plate, onto which she promptly dished a small portion from each meal. Brandon’s face lit with excitement as she spooned off some of Anamaría’s ground turkey picadillo peppered with raisins and green olives, then a few bites of Alejandro’s ropa vieja, and finally cut a few pieces of her bistec empanizado for their visitor. Anamaría doubted that Brandon normally ate breaded cubed steak, but he’d be glad he made the exception once he tasted Victor Miranda’s recipe along with the brown rice, black beans, and sweet amarillo sides.
Sure enough, Brandon moaned like he’d tasted manna from heaven after his first taste of the ropa vieja.
“That’s my favorite,” Alejandro said, pointing his fork at the sample from his meal.
Sara held out a spoonful of her sopa de pollo, and Brandon leaned across the table to taste the savory chicken soup.
“Man, that’s delicious.” Brandon licked his lips, earning him a satisfied smile from the Miranda matriarch.
“My husband, he is a good cook, no?” she preened.
Brandon nodded and shoveled some picadillo in his mouth. Moments later, he gave Anamaría a thumbs-up at her menu selection and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think I can pick a favorite. Everything’s incredible. Looks like I found my treat meal spot when I’m in town.”
Satisfied that their guest had been properly introduced to the bounty of Miranda’s kitchen, Alejandro’s mom motioned for the rest of them to enjoy their meals. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes; then the conversation turned to Brandon’s first visit to the island, his hope to return for a longer visit, and the ways he and Anamaría might pair up for AllFit.
“And you will go to these big events together?” Alejandro’s mom asked Anamaría.