And I looked at Gina straight in the eye and said, “That’s not true. You never hated me.”
“You’re right. But I wanted to. Doesn’t that count?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Well, you hated us.”
“I wanted to, but I didn’t.”
And Gina laughed and looked at me. “And that does count.”
“That’s not fair. How does that work? What kind of math is that?”
“If you haven’t learned by now, girls do math very differently from boys. We grow up faster. Boys’ math is the very basic, one plus one equals two. Girls’ math is theoretical math—the kind of math you get a PhD in.”
I watched Dante, and he wasn’t saying anything in my defense. So I nudged him to say something. “Aren’t you going to at least comment on Gina’s rather overstated claims?”
“No,” he said, “today I’m a cultural anthropologist, and I’m observing behaviors of young men and women who have known one another for almost twelve years and, having been stuck in a kind of emotional stasis, are attempting to examine their behaviors in order to deepen their interpersonal skills that support and promote emotional stability. In order for me to maintain my role as a social scientist, I must maintain my objectivity.”
Gina and Susie looked at each other, and Gina said, “I like this guy.”
And I looked at Dante. “Objectivity? You walked up to Gina and Susie and greeted them by hugging them. And then set up the expectation that I, too, would greet them with a hug. And there I was, hugging Susie and Gina.”
Susie just shook her head. “Hugging people isn’t going to kill you.”
“Well, don’t expect the hugging thing in the future. Dante can hug you if he wants. He’s an indiscriminate hugger. I reserve hugging for special occasions, apart from spontaneous outbursts, which may or may not happen every now and again.”
“What do you call consider special occasions?” Susie was crossing her arms.
“Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, which is a fake holiday, but yeah, Valentine’s Day, and very sad days—bad moods don’t count—and very happy days when something happens that calls for a celebration. Labor Day, the Fourth of July, and Memorial Day are not hug days.”
“I get the picture.” Gina had that tone that insisted everything I had just said was wrong and she had no intention of following any of my rules because they were ridiculous.
“Do you really get the picture, Gina? You can’t make me be somebody else.”
“Ditto, Ari.”
“Are we fighting?” Susie was wearing her I’m not happy face. “Since you invited us to lunch, I think you should be more gracious. We’ll be gracious guests and you’ll be a gracious host.”
“Objectively speaking, I have to agree with Susie.”
“Observing cultural anthropologists don’t get to talk.”
“Oh, that’s not true.”
“And objectively speaking? Really? You’re allergic to objectivity.”
He thought a moment. “You’re right. And I was only messing with your head. I’d make a terrible cultural anthropologist. But you, sir, would make a very good one.”
I wanted to kiss him. I was always wanting to kiss that guy.
Just then, I heard my mother’s voice. “Anybody hungry?”
* * *
Of course my mother hugged Gina and Susie. I mean, she’d known them forever, even though she didn’t really know them. But she liked them, and sometimes women had a solidarity between them that men didn’t have—maybe because they needed it and men didn’t. I watched them, and they seemed to have an affection for each other that was honest and natural. Maybe it was that mothers felt a kind of love for all the children in the neighborhood. And my mother knew Gina’s and Susie’s parents—from school board meetings and church and neighborhood association meetings. On the walks she took with my dad, she stopped and spoke with them and asked about their lives. My mother was a good neighbor, and I think, for her, that was a way of loving people.
I used to think of love as only something intimate that happened between two people. I was wrong about that.
* * *
My mother filled our plates with her tacos and sopa de arroz and chiles rellenos. After she’d served us all, she said, “I don’t want to get in the way of the things you need to talk about.” She looked at me. “I’ll eat with your father when he gets back.”
Susie shook her head. “You have to stay and eat with us. We want you to.”
“I don’t want to feel like I’m in the way. I don’t want you to feel censored.”
“Mom, I want you to be here.” I think she saw something in the look on my face and she understood that I really wanted—and needed—her to stay and eat with us.
She smiled, served herself a plate, and sat in the empty chair right between Susie and Dante.
“On my God!” Gina had just put a forkful of chile relleno in her mouth. “This is amazing!” By then, we were all digging in.
“Mrs. Mendoza, you have to give these recipes to my mom.”
“Dante, I’m sure your mother already has these recipes.”
“No, she doesn’t. Her food doesn’t taste like this.” Then he looked at her. “But don’t tell her I said that. Just invite her over and start cooking. You know, so she can watch.”
“I would never insult your mother with such an obvious tactic. I’m sure she’s a fine cook.”
“There’s a difference between a fine cook and a chef.” Dante was very proud of what he’d said.
My mother couldn’t help but rub his hair. “You are a charmer, Dante. There’s no room for doubt on that one.”
I thought that, since everybody was eating and focusing on my mother’s food, I’d just jump in and, you know, begin the dreaded coming-out conversation and get it over with. I turned to Susie and Gina. “Susie, remember how you told me you thought I was up to something? Well, I am up to something.” And I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach and there was a part of myself that was fighting against another part of myself and part of me wanted to speak and another part of me wanted to forget all the words I had ever known and live in a silence that I would not be able to break. I cleared my throat. “I have an announcement to make.” My heartbeat was slowing down. “Susie. Gina.” And then the words were caught in my throat.
Susie kept looking at me. “I don’t like that serious look on your face, Ari.”
“Just give me a sec.” I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder—and just having her hand there made me feel better.
Susie had that big question mark on her face. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ari?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I did have ulterior motives for having you come over today. What I have to say may not be a big deal for you, but apparently, it’s a bigger deal for me than I ever thought.” And then I began talking to myself out loud. “Shut up, Ari. Spit it out.”
I saw Susie laughing and shaking her head.