It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
It feels like the most awkward thing in the world.
Cece squeezes her hand. Then she drops it and hurries down the hall.
Vi bites her lip. What is happening between them? What does it all mean?
She straightens her collar and follows Cece, nervous about meeting her abuela in this context, even though she has already met her dozens of times. She’s grateful that Cece’s parents are working at the restaurant tonight and won’t be joining them.
“Miguel! Danny! Vi’s here, and dinner’s almost ready,” Cece says. Two of her brothers are sprawled on the carpeted living room floor, playing some football video game. They grunt in acknowledgment and continue wrestling with their controllers.
Cece leads the way into the kitchen, which seems bigger and newer than the last time Vi was here. “Abuela and Luis and I made tamales! Some of them are chicken in tomatillo sauce and some are poblano and cheese. You’re not vegetarian, right? I should have checked.”
“I’m not. It smells amazing,” Vi says. Like chicken and onions and garlic and tomatoes and spices. Cece’s littlest brother, Luis, is stirring a big skillet of refried beans while his abuela supervises. Julia Pérez is a short woman with a wrinkled brown face and iron-gray hair pulled into a bun. She likes Agatha Christie, and sometimes she attends Des’s mystery book club. Also, she is apparently homophobic.
Vi isn’t sure how to cope with that.
“It’s nice to see you, Viola,” Mrs. Pérez says.
“Vi,” Cece corrects. “Nobody calls her Viola!”
“Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Pérez,” Vi says.
“You’re welcome any time.” A timer beeps, and Mrs. Pérez switches off the stove and reaches for the big steamer pot. It looks like the one Gram uses to steam crabs. “Everything is nearly ready. Cece, will you call your brothers?”
“Danny! Miguel!” Cece shouts.
“I could have done that,” Mrs. Pérez scolds. “Go and tell them. You wash up, Luis.”
Cece gives Vi an impish grin and darts off to call her brothers. Vi stares down at the red-tiled floor. She’s run into Mrs. Pérez on the sidewalk outside Arden, at middle school graduation, at the farmer’s market and bluegrass concerts in Bishop Park. But it feels different now. There is so much Vi wants to say and can’t. She wants to tell Mrs. Pérez how much Cece loves her. How much Cece is afraid of disappointing her. She wants to ask whether Mrs. Pérez ever misses her estranged brother. Whether she would do it differently if she could do it all over again. Whether she believes Vi is going to hell. Whether she would condemn her granddaughter for being bi.
The silence grows and stretches between them, sticky as pulled taffy.
Vi looks around at the granite countertops and the shining wooden cabinets. There’s a double oven and a farmhouse sink and a subway tile backsplash—terms Vi only knows because Gram has been watching a lot of HGTV since her knee replacement—and a big wooden table already set for six. “This is a beautiful kitchen.”
“Thank you. My son had it renovated last year,” Mrs. Pérez says.
“Papi had an extension put on the back so Abuela could have a bigger kitchen and Miguel could have his own room,” Cece says, reappearing with her brothers in tow. “The construction was such a pain. We had to either eat down at the restaurant or microwave everything and eat on TV trays in the living room.”
“But now I have the kitchen I’ve always wanted,” Mrs. Pérez says.
“Before, she had to use the kitchen at the restaurant when all our aunts and uncles and primos came.” Cece helps her abuela transfer the tamales from the steamer into two different wide pans, then carries the pans and a dish of refried beans to the table. Mrs. Pérez sits at the head of the table, while the boys sit on one side and Vi sits next to Cece on the other.
Danny starts ladling refried beans onto his plate, but Miguel smacks him in the back of the head. Cece grabs Vi’s hand beneath the table, and for a moment, Vi is confused…until she realizes that everyone is joining hands and bowing their heads. Mrs. Pérez begins to pray over their meal. Vi hopes that her downcast face hides her blush as Cece’s fingers twine through hers. When everyone echoes the “amen,” she drops Cece’s hand and picks up her water glass so fast, she almost spills it.
“Do you have to say grace at your house?” Luis asks Vi.
“No.” They don’t even go to church. “But it’s a very nice tradition.”
“I wasn’t sure if you like spicy food,” Cece explains. “So we made these with serranos and these with jalapenos. And these are refried beans, obviously, and—”
“It all looks delicious,” Vi assures her. She watches Cece’s brothers unwrap the corn husks surrounding the tamales, and then she does the same.
Little Luis eats a big piece of jalapeno and then starts coughing and guzzling water. His brothers tease him and suggest maybe he was adopted. Luis punches Danny in the shoulder, near tears. Mrs. Pérez reminds them that they have company and if they want brownies for dessert, they ought to behave. Then she asks about everyone’s day. Miguel tells them stories from soccer camp, Danny boasts about how he beat Miguel in Madden football, and Luis says he can swim the whole length of the pool now.
“You’re awfully quiet, Vi,” Mrs. Pérez notices after a while. “What are you doing this summer, besides helping Helen at Arden? Any summer camps for you?”
Vi panics. What does she do besides working at the bookstore? She daydreams about Cece, and she writes Beronica fics and… Oh my God, what do I do that isn’t gay?
“I walk dogs,” she blurts, and then she feels absurd.
“She walks Athena and Juno. And she’s a writer,” Cece brags.
Vi’s eyes widen. She thought Cece understood that was a secret!
“Really? Helen’s never mentioned that,” Mrs. Pérez says. “What do you write? Are you a journalist, like Bea?”
“No, it’s…it’s just short fiction,” Vi says. Which is true.
“It’s not ‘just’ anything. It’s so good,” Cece says, and Vi’s face flames. She adores Cece, but she wishes she would shut up before Mrs. Pérez starts asking more questions. What if this gets back to Gram? “She let me read one of her stories, and I was super impressed.”
“Cece,” Vi says warningly, shifting in her wooden chair.
“What? It is good! You should be proud. You’re talented,” Cece says, touching her forearm. “Vi’s always on the honor roll too.”