The girls race ahead with Mari to see if they can snag us some seats, while I hang back to escort my grandmother, who hangs onto my arm with surprising strength. “Mijo,” she begins. “When are you going to find a woman to settle down with?”
I snort out a surprised laugh. “Don’t you think I already have enough on my plate, Abuela? Adding more would only tip everything over.”
She frowns at me. “Why would you say that? A good wife would ease your burdens, not add to them.”
A wife? Jesus.
Clearing her throat, she goes on, “Araceli Trujillo has a granddaughter who thinks you’re very handsome.”
Almost choking on my tongue, I don’t even attempt to sort through all the señoras that my grandmother knows to deduce who the granddaughter is. “Thanks, Abuela, but I’m good. Please don’t even think of . . .” My mind tries to churn up something equivalent to setting me up on a date in Spanish, but I come up short.
Patting my arm, she takes pity on me, apparently understanding my meaning. “Okay, okay.”
Inside the gymnasium, I’m thrilled to find my mother and Desiree already sitting with Mari, saving seats for us, decent ones. “Where’re the girls?” I ask Mari.
“Backstage with their instructor.”
“You made sure?”
She rolls her eyes like only a fifteen year old can. “Yes, Scotty. I made sure.”
I spend the next few minutes giving and receiving a million greetings to people we know from the community until my grandmother presents me to Señora Trujillo and her granddaughter, Jessica. I give my grandmother an accusatory look but she just smiles blithely. Despite being introduced in Spanish, Señora Trujillo greets me in broken English. I’m only mildly offended she assumes that my Spanish is crap because it happens all the time.
Once they deem us suitably acquainted, the grandmothers turn to give us some privacy, and Jessica, who’s yet to say a word, clears her throat. “Sorry,” she says, shifting self-consciously on her sky-high heels. “This kind of thing is always so awkward, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s one word for it,” I say wearily. I don’t want to be rude to her, but I can already tell this is going to be painful. “So, uh, what do you do?” I ask and then almost cringe. I’d literally be grimacing if the thought of Ellie mocking my game wasn’t keeping me in check.
But Jessica doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m taking a course to be a dental assistant.”
“Oh, yeah. How’s that going?”
“It’s okay. My mom kind of pressured me into it, but yeah, it’s fine.”
Her mom? How old is this girl?
“How about you?” she tacks on.
I give her some standard answers, then the conversation works its way around to why we’re here tonight and she tells me about her little sister.
All the while we’re talking, I wonder why there’s no spark between us. She’s pretty and she’s got curves in all the right places . . . but . . . but what? If I were looking for someone, isn’t she exactly what I’ve always wanted? The comment I made to Ellie the other night about being too tall, too blond, too white pops into my head, and I realize that I’m measuring this poor woman in the same way because I’ve decided she’s too short, her hair is too dark, and she’s not at all pasty like Opal. In fact, I almost laugh out loud at how I’m sure Ellie would get a kick out of it if I called her pasty to her face.
“Listen,” I say when there’s a lull in the conversation. “My grandmother doesn’t know this, but I’m kind of seeing someone.” Which isn’t exactly true. Ellie and I aren’t seeing each other, but what I’m doing right now just feels wrong.
Jessica nods, her lips twisting guiltily as she leans in a bit. “Don’t say anything, but me too. It’s hard to say no to them, right?”
Turning to our grandmothers who are pretending not to watch us, we both chuckle.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” she says.
“Yeah, same here.”
As she’s leaving, Jorgie approaches. “Who was that?” he asks, giving her an appreciative and almost invasive once over.
“My new wife, apparently.”
His heads snaps back in my direction and I laugh, earning me a squinty glare. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “Don’t I see enough of you at work?”
He groans loudly. “I’ve got a nephew here somewhere,” he waves a hand vaguely toward the stage, “and since the thing with the cops, my mom’s been sticking to me like she’s my damn shadow.”
“And that’s my problem how?”
“No seas cabrón, Scotty. I’m dying here. If I have to listen to one more person comment on the weather, I’m going to off myself.”
Okay, so I have to laugh.
“You coming out with us later?” he asks.
“No, I promised the girls we’d go for ice cream to celebrate.”
“You’re so lame. How long’s that going to take? An hour?” And then as if he just remembered something, he whacks the back of his hand against my chest. “And what’s with blowing Juanita off last weekend?”
“I didn’t blow her off,” I say like he’s stupid. “I was busy.”
“Too busy for a booty call? Don’t bullshit me. Were you out with that Opal chick?”
“No,” I lie. “You know where I was?” I throw a quick glance over at my mother before I tell him the story about having to pick her up, without mentioning a word about Ellie, of course. Even if this didn’t happen last weekend like I’m implying, it’s the perfect thing to divert Jorgie’s attention.
“That’s some messed up shit right there, Scotty. You know, I see you every day at work and you’re only telling me this story now? I’m hurt, man. So hurt.”
I scoff. “Gotta say, on the long list of my priorities, your feelings come in somewhere near the very bottom, Jorgie.”
“I get no respect,” he mutters, and then the lights flash, announcing the beginning of the concert. As the crowd settles in, Jorgie manages to get the seat next to me, waving to his mother across the room to let her know he’s still around.
Not surprisingly, watching other people’s kids sing is boring as shit and the first place my mind wanders is to an image of Ellie. Supposedly she’s going to cook dinner for us tomorrow night. Grinning to myself, I wonder if she knows what’s she’s doing or if it’ll be a debacle. And damn, I know she told me that she switched her shifts, working tonight instead of tomorrow, but why didn’t I tell her I’d see her later when she got off. Why do I have to wait for tomorrow?
Finally, the girls’ group takes the stage and I get my phone out to record them. They’re so poised up there and I couldn’t be prouder as they sing their hearts out. Halfway through, there’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the gymnasium, but I stay focused on what matters. It gets louder and murmurs begin to ripple through the crowd.
“Oh, shit,” Jorgie whispers beside me. “It’s Lolita.”
“What?” I hiss back even though I heard him. I just refuse to believe it.