Her baby brother was a big fan of the two gallery owners and the way the they highlighted local artists alongside more well-known names. By giving Alejandro a place to shine, they’d made a fan of her as well.
Logan waved their way, and Anamaría smiled in return, wiggling her fingers in a hello. She turned back to their table in time to catch Alejandro returning the greeting, too.
“Dime, de qué hablaba Marcelo?” Señora Miranda asked. She dipped her head at Brandon before repeating herself in English. “My apologies. What was Marcelo talking about, hijo? What is happening in July?”
Anamaría picked up her glass and took a healthy sip. A classic question avoidance move that often worked during Navarro familia dinner. She choked on her water when Alejandro did the same.
Sara nudged her with an elbow, a what’s-up frown wrinkling her brow. The girl was learning how to pick up on SOS signals fast. A key skill as a Navarro sibling, especially when Mami was on a roll meddling or lecturing, or doing both at the same time.
Alejandro set his drink back on the table, taking great care to place it precisely over the sweat circle it had left. Another delay tactic if Anamaría had ever seen one.
“Well, querida Mami, I was thinking I’d share the news at home with you and Abuela, but I know you, and your inquisitive ways, and your propensity to keep needling until I divulge all my secrets—”
“Ay, here he goes again, que exagerado,” his mother complained. She tugged a brown paper napkin from the dispenser and gave a moody swipe at the table.
“I love you, Mami, but I am not exaggerating. Am I?”
Alejandro turned to Anamaría, who was smart enough to mime zipping her lips shut.
“Chicken,” he taunted.
She shrugged. No way was she jumping into this fray.
Sara hid her laugh behind a napkin pressed to her mouth. Brandon coughed into his fist.
Señora Miranda humphed, but her son’s smart-aleck response didn’t stop her prodding. “You still have not answered my question. ¿Por qué?”
“Because I think the answer will make you happy but maybe not . . . everyone.” His last word, hesitantly spoken, grabbed his mom’s attention.
Her hands stilled their table wiping. Lips pursed, eyes squinted with intent, face confession-time serious, she stared at her son. Anamaría knew that look well. It meant, no more hedging or joking. Game over. Señora Miranda expected the truth and nothing less from her son.
“Meaning,” the older women firmly prodded.
“Meaning, on Friday, July third, Bellísima will be hosting an Alejandro Miranda exhibit.”
Señora Miranda gasped. The balled-up napkin dropped from her hands as she reached across to cover Alejandro’s with both of hers. “¡No! ¿De veras?”
He nodded. “Sí, it’s true. Enrique introduced me to Marcelo and Logan, who are connecting me with an art consultant Marcelo knows from Chicago. She’s going to help me select the pieces and display design and all the rest. And you—”
“Me?” His mom sat back, her arms falling limply on the table in her obvious surprise. “I can help?”
“I know this is something you’ve wanted for a long time, Mami. I was thinking you and Abuela might like to handle hiring and working with a caterer.”
“Caterer, estás loco, nene. Miranda’s will provide all of the food, por su puesto.”
Alejandro’s worried gaze cut to Anamaría’s. Unlike his mami claimed, there was no “of course” when it came to Miranda’s catering an event his papi would not approve of. But Anamaría also understood why Alejandro didn’t want to discuss his father in front of Sara and Brandon.
“You can go over those details with Marcelo and Logan,” Anamaría suggested. “No need to worry about it right now.”
“I will take care of the food. And your father.” The flat palm Señora Miranda slapped on the tabletop punctuated her sentence like an exclamation point demanding no argument.
“Mami, I don’t want any stress for you or anyone else in the familia. That’s not why I agreed to do this.”
“That evening will be about how proud we are to celebrate your beautiful talent, hijo. Te lo prometo.”
Anamaría wrapped her arms around Señora Miranda in a loose hug, silently vowing to help her keep that promise.
“Gracias, Mami.” Alejandro reached for his crutches where they leaned against the wide window behind him. “If everyone will excuse me, I’d like to say hello to Logan on my way to the restroom. Then, my leg is telling me it’s time to get home and elevate it.”
Brandon shuffled the remaining plates and glasses around, searching the table’s surface for something. “I don’t think Iona brought the bill yet, did she?”
“Your lunch is on Miranda’s. Bienvenido, welcome,” Señora Miranda told him. “Maybe you will mention us on your social media, no? Like Sara and Anamaría?”
“You got it.” Brandon grinned. “And I will definitely be back the next time I’m in town.”
A few minutes later Anamaría saw Alejandro head down to the back hallway where the restrooms and office were located. As soon as he disappeared into the men’s room, Ernesto strode through the front entrance. The same annoyed scowl he had left with earlier remained in place.
Anamaría swiveled in her chair, tracking his determined footsteps toward the back. Victor Miranda pushed the swinging kitchen door out of his way with a beefy hand and stormed out. He followed his younger son into the back office without bothering to greet the locals like he normally would.
Tension seized Anamaría’s in its grip. Whatever was going down between those two did not look good. Señora Miranda hadn’t noticed her younger son’s entrance, but if Victor ran into their elder son right now—
As if on cue, Alejandro exited the restroom. Rather than heading back to their table, he step-swung on his crutches, moving closer to the office. Blatantly eavesdropping on whatever was happening behind the closed office door.
In the strange way life’s lessons filter through your brain at random moments, the advice one of their middle school catechism teachers gave their class when she and Alejandro had been preparing for confirmation whispered in her head, Eavesdroppers rarely hear anything good about themselves.
Down the darkened hallway, Alejandro hunched against the wall, his head lolling to the side. Apparently, he was learning firsthand the veracity behind those old words of caution.
“Hey, guys, I’m thinking I should go ahead and take Alejandro home.” Her chair scraped against the gray linoleum as she pushed it back to stand. “Do a quick check of his vitals and pin sites. Make sure he didn’t overdo it today. Brandon, would you mind if Sara dropped you off at your hotel instead?”
“No problem,” Brandon said.
“I need to head downtown anyway,” Sara chimed in
“Mami is home watching Lulu while Cece goes to the doctor. If you want me—”
Señora Miranda broke off when the hostess motioned for her attention, then jabbed a finger at the old school cash register with a confused expression. The older woman mumbled something about Gen Z and millennials and technology, then hugged them all good-bye, asking Anamaría to please text her an update once Alejandro was settled at home.