Alejandro makes his way around the room greeting his brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews. When he finally gets to me, he pulls me up from the sofa into a hug.
“Scotty.”
“Tío.”
“What’s it been? A week?” he jokes. “Hey, is my goddaughter here?”
“Yeah, she’s around. You want to say hi later?”
“You bet.”
He’s about to move on to Mike beside me when he says, “Where’s your chula?”
My face falls a bit and Alejandro chuckles. “You screwed it up already?”
I dip my head, embarrassed for some reason. “No, uh, not exactly.”
When I glance back up, he gives me a hard stare. “Not exactly? She didn’t strike me as the type to let you give her the run-around. But I guess you know what you’re doing.”
I scowl as he moves his gangster-ass on to greet Mike. What does he mean by that? I look around the room, trying to picture Ellie here beside me, but I can’t do it. She wouldn’t fit in at all. The language barrier would be tricky enough, but the cultural barrier would be the real killer. Ellie lives alone for fuck’s sake. It doesn’t seem like she even sees her family regularly, let alone has them all up in her business on a daily basis. She wouldn’t be comfortable here and I would be even less comfortable having to babysit her. Just thinking about such an unpleasant scenario is depressing as hell.
A few minutes later when Mikey gets up to get another beer, he asks, “You want one this time?”
“Yeah, sure,” I agree. “Why the fuck not?”
I’m just so tired of life.
Ellie
I’m not at all surprised that Scott’s gone from my bed in the morning. I’d known he couldn’t stay. He had to be home when his girls woke up and I’m completely on board with that.
Despite his absence, I’m all smiles. Last night was incredible. I may be sore in certain fabulous places, but I feel like I could take on the world – and win. It’s as if our connection has buoyed everything inside of me, and it’s a total trip, feeling like this; fearless, invincible, all in.
And if that wasn’t enough, I spend the entire morning lazing around in bed, snoozing, daydreaming, texting with my sister about him, just generally being a bum on a rare morning that I don’t have to be at work or school. It’s wonderful.
Around noon, I head over to my parents’ place to pick up the supplies that Amelia has readied for me so I can cook dinner for Scott. We agonized over it all week and finally decided on a Tex-Mex casserole since he likes spicy. There are quite a few steps to it, but Amelia assured me I could handle it.
“Oh, mi amor,” Amelia gushes, embracing me with gusto when I walk into the kitchen. “How happy you look. You really like this boy, don’t you?”
I’m sure I’m glowing under her scrutiny. “I do. I know we’re just starting out, but there’s something special about him.”
She laughs. “Well, I didn’t think you would cook for just anyone.”
“Hey, I cook,” I say, mildly indignant. “Kind of.”
“Yes, of course, of course. You’re a regular Martha Stewart.”
I give her a mock glower that melts when she continues to laugh at me. I love Amelia so much. I ask about her family – they’re all fine. I ask about my family – they’re all fine. My mom and dad left for their place in Palm Springs this morning.
We go over the recipe again and I ask a million questions to be sure I’ve got a handle on it. Now more than ever, I want tonight to go well.
“You’re all set then,” she says happily. “I wish you luck.”
“Muchísimas gracias. I couldn’t do this without you.”
She waves me off. “That’s what I’m here for.”
I hug her tightly to me, not thanking her for what I really want to, for being a mother to me over the years. She doesn’t like any of us kids to focus on how our ‘real’ mother has never had much time for us.
“So, hey,” I say hesitantly as I pull away. “Before I go, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Do you think I have the right kind of personality to deal with kids?” I pause to pull in a steadying breath. “I know I don’t have a ton of experience with them, but . . .”
“Kids?” She’s suddenly concerned. “Does this boy . . . this man have children, Ellie?”
I nod my head nervously. “Yeah, he has one biological daughter, but there are three girls who see him as their father.” I bite at my thumb nail. I don’t want Amelia of all people to tell me that I’ve lost my mind, so I rush on. “That he’s such a good father is one of the things that I really admire about him.”
Amelia’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, as if she’s not sure what to say. She finally comes out with, “You’ve given this some thought?”
I must look like a bobble head doll with all the jittery nodding I’m doing. “Yeah, I have. I’m worried that my willingness to hang out with little girls isn’t going to count for much. What if they don’t like me? Or . . .” At this point I swallow hard, because here’s my real fear. “Or what if Scott doesn’t think I’d be a good influence? I’m not exactly a poster child for good morals.”
Her only response is a furrowed brow, so I give her more. “I mean, I want to be the kind of person who’s good for kids. But what if I’m not?” I hear the raw emotion that’s leaking into my words now, and Amelia is quick to speak this time before I can work myself up any more than I already have.
“Mira, mi amor, I think those girls would be lucky to have you in their lives. You’ve become a strong woman. You’re living proof that we can all change and work towards our goals and achieve them, right?”
I just blow out a heavy breath.
“Have you talked about this with him?”
“No, we haven’t gotten that far yet. He’s very protective of them.”
“Oh, my Ellie, he sounds like a wonderful man.”
I smile with relief. “He really is. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“I can’t wait either. And I wouldn’t worry, mi amor, if it’s meant to be, all will be well.”
“Okay, yeah. You’re right. I’ll take it as it comes.”
Feeling much better about this storm cloud that’s been looming on the horizon for the last couple of weeks means there’s almost nothing tethering my mood to the ground. At home, I work on the recipe, reading and rereading the instructions carefully as I go. I even send my sister a picture of myself in front of the stove. Briefly, I consider sending Scott the same picture, but for some reason, that feels really intrusive. I know Saturday and Sunday are his days with the girls. He’ll be all mine tonight at 7:00.
When I finally get the casserole in the oven, I check my phone for the hundredth time and start to wonder why he hasn’t sent me anything all day, at least to see how I am, or to confirm our plans, or to say hi. But then it occurs to me that I haven’t contacted him either. I never was one for double standards, so I decide to put on my big girl panties and text him.