“I’m an administrative assistant for a medical clinic,” she says, almost playing it down.
“Full time, and she helps watch David,” Isaac says with pride. “She’s practically a saint.”
“Whatever.” Marlena rolls her eyes, but her lips pull into a smile.
“And you work at that fancy restaurant in San Diego,” Mrs. Ortiz adds. “Even though I keep bugging her to quit.”
“Mamá.”
“What? It’s too much.” Her mom throws up her hands. “You’ll never find a nice man working all these hours.”
“Maybe I don’t want to find a man.”
“Ay. Mija. Don’t talk like that.” Her mom waves her off.
Marlena’s eyes widen, looking to her sister then her brother for help, but both return an incredulous are you kidding me? stare.
“What restaurant?” I feel the urge to throw her a life preserver. My mom’s never given me a hard time about finding a man, but she has about working too much. “My mom and sister live in San Diego, and I try to get down there when I can.”
“Oh, you don’t want to go there.” A ghost of unease passes over Marlena’s features, and then she laughs, though it seems a little forced. “The food is overpriced and honestly not that good.”
“I’ve probably been there.” I join in her laughter. “You’re describing half the places they take us for industry meetings. I end up hitting a taco truck on the way home every time.”
“Has Isaac taken you to the one the Sanchez family runs on Terrance Street?” she asks.
“No. I took her to Moreno’s.”
His mom and sisters exchange looks, their jaws dropping before pulling into wide knowing grins.
“Damn, my brother really likes you,” Becca says.
“Becca!” Isaac glares.
“Isaac said you finished a new movie.” Marlena asks. “About an artist?”
“Yeah, it’s a film based on Gwendolyn Wright.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Ortiz says. “Isaac, don’t you always rave about her work?”
“Wait.” I turn in my seat. “You’re a fan? Like, before we started filming?”
“Of course. She’s one of the most influential women of the era. Her paintings changed the landscape of modern art, not to mention paved the way for underrepresented artists—women, minorities. I might have never picked up a pencil if it weren’t for her.”
I fall in love with him all over again.
I tilt my head, a question scratching at the surface. “Is that why you won’t show her your work?” Why he’d pass up the opportunity? Is it because he holds her in such high esteem? It’s intimidating to lay out our work to our idols. I’ve felt that many times in my acting career.
Marlena gasps. “You’ve talked with Gwendolyn Wright?”
“Isaac?” His mom’s brows lift. “You’re creating again?”
“No, Mamá.” He shakes his head. “Well, yeah, a little, but that’s not it.” He runs his hand through his hair, then takes a drink from his beer. “Miss Wright was only being polite. My stuff isn’t polished enough and I’m out of practice.”
“It’s only been a few years, mijo,” his father says and I have to agree.
“Can we just enjoy this meal?” The attention is making him uncomfortable and now I feel bad for pushing the issue. “Mamá, everything is delicious.”
I take his hand under the table. “So good. Everything is amazing, Maria. Thank you.”
Isaac gives my hand a squeeze, as if telling me all is forgiven.
After everyone has finished eating, Isaac’s sisters clear the table, and his parents invite us to sit in the living room. I offer to help in the kitchen but everyone insists I don’t. I really wouldn’t mind helping or chatting more with his sisters, but I can tell his parents are prideful. It’s important I’m treated as a guest.
Isaac takes a spot on the floor next to David and I sit at the end of the couch closest to them.
“So, what will you do next, Cora?” Isaac’s mother asks. “Another film or do you have time off?”
Here it is. The time to be honest. I’ve been avoiding any conversation that could bring on the question. I don’t know if Isaac’s noticed. Now I can’t hide. “Oh, I’m not sure.” I smile politely and then chance a glance at Isaac. I have his full attention. “I have a final callback next week, but they haven’t offered it yet.”
“Babe, that’s great,” Isaac says, patting my knee. “How come you didn’t tell me?”
“Oh, I didn’t want . . .” I pause, glancing around the room before letting my gaze fall to my lap. “It’s not a sure thing.” So much for acting casual about it. I’m being weird. He knows it and now his entire family will.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Isaac reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s fine.” But it’s really not.
“If you don’t get this, there’s an even better opportunity waiting around the corner,” his mom says. Her kindness is overwhelming. I wish that were my problem. She doesn’t know me, but I feel her concern. I swallow back the urge to cry, and nod. She smiles, her gaze drifting to Isaac’s then back to mine. “I’m sure of it.”
Forty-Six
Isaac
My family loves her. I knew they would. We hang out at the house a while, sharing stories, teasing my sisters, and laughing as if we’ve done so a thousand times before. I appreciate how my family welcomes Cora, even though she doesn’t come from our world. It’s easy to picture a future in which we share many Sunday dinners.
Eventually we say our good-byes and head back to my apartment to get David to bed. I’m worried the over-stimulation of our day will keep him up for hours, but he surprises us both by passing out in his booster seat. “He likes the Hummer.”
“Or the way I drive,” she smarts.
I shake my head. “No way will I admit to that. But I do appreciate the caution you take when he’s with us.”
“Anything to keep him safe,” she says, and I know with complete certainty it’s true. I think Cora would do just about anything for my son. Over the last week we’ve discussed different therapies, and she put me in contact with people her mom trusts. It’s nice to have an educated ally in this journey.
I get him out of his seat and carry him to the apartment. Cora locks up the Hummer, then catches up to get the door. “I’m going to lay him down.” I nod to the bedroom.
“I’ll make coffee.” She drops her overnight bag in the hall and heads into the kitchen.
I settle David into his toddler bed, grateful I had the good sense to change him into his pajamas and a clean diaper before we left my parents’. I head back out to the kitchen, smiling at the mug of coffee she has waiting, and pull out the chair next to Cora. “Thank you.” I drop a kiss to her temple and sit down.
She sighs, her gaze cast down as she stirs more sugar into her drink.