“And?” Perla Rubi asks, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Are you going to do it?”
Emiliano knows that a yes will light her face with joy. Mrs. Esmeralda watches her like a parent watching a child unwrap a Christmas present. If he says yes, Mr. Esmeralda will know he’ll be the type of man who can take care of Perla Rubi. But the image of little Marta setting up the fan with her trembling hand flashes through his mind.
He forces himself to speak. “I’m going to seriously consider it. I’ll think about it this weekend and let him know on Monday,” he says, glancing quickly at Mr. Esmeralda.
“That’s right,” Mr. Esmeralda says. “All important decisions should be considered carefully.” Looking at his wife, he adds, “Right, sweetie?”
“Yes. They should.” The way she says it makes Emiliano think Mr. Esmeralda has on occasion acted on important decisions without consulting his wife. She smiles. “Now, enough business talk for one day. Go dance, you two.”
Perla Rubi takes Emiliano’s hand and leads him to the section of the terrace where a DJ has set up. She puts her arms around his shoulders, and they begin to dance to a slow ballad. There is space between them, and yet Emiliano can feel her warm breath on his neck. “They really like you,” she says, pulling back to look at him.
“Who? Your cousins?”
“Very funny. You know who. My parents. Papá wouldn’t have talked to you for so long if he didn’t. You have to tell me every single thing he said. And Mamá, she wouldn’t say ‘Go dance, you two’ if she didn’t really like you.”
“They like me,” Emiliano teases, “because I’m the big tough guy who protects you while you’re waiting for your mom or Jaime to pick you up after school.”
“Stop it.” She laughs. “First of all, you’re not big and tough, and second of all, I can take care of myself.” She moves a little closer. Emiliano can smell wildflowers in her hair. “I’m glad they like you,” she says softly. “I hope you say yes to my father’s client. Papá knows everyone. He’ll help you.” The music stops, but Perla Rubi keeps her head close to his. “I like thinking you’ll be connected to my father’s work. It’s like you’ll be part of the family.”
Emiliano feels a knot in his throat, hot liquid in his eyes. He brings Perla Rubi closer to him. He hugs her silently until he can feel the wave of emotion recede. Then, when the music starts again, she starts to sway softly and he follows her movement. They dance like that, hardly moving, and when the song is over, Perla Rubi holds his hand and meets his eyes. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
Perla Rubi touches his heart. “For this.”
He smiles.
“Do you want to sit down?” she asks. “You haven’t had anything to eat.”
“Listen,” Emiliano says, biting his lip. “Would you mind very much if I went home early?”
“Why?”
He tries to smile. “Honestly, this dance and this conversation are so nice that I don’t want the moment to be ruined by what’s coming next.”
Perla Rubi follows Emiliano’s eyes and sees Federico raising a bottle of champagne. He motions for them to come to his table, but she ignores him. “I’m sorry. He’s a harmless snob. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Emiliano says. “But I am kind of worried about the Mercedes I drove here. I want to make sure I park it in a safe place tonight. Paco said I could leave it in his backyard, but I don’t want to get there after everyone’s asleep.”
“It’s only nine o’clock, Emiliano. No one goes to sleep this early.”
“I know. It’s just been a long, long day and I …”
“Okay. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow, don’t forget. We’re playing Sacred Heart at home. Come by and say hello.”
“I’ll be there.”
She takes his hand and leads him down the back stairs of the terrace. She glances around to make sure no one can see them, and then she leans over very slowly and kisses him on the lips. The kiss is soft, lingering, full of more to come.
“Good-bye, Emiliano Zapata.”
“Good-bye, Perla Rubi Esmeralda.”
The way she looks at him, the smile she gives him, tells Emiliano that the kiss meant all that it promised.
The banquet room of El Camino Real Hotel can barely fit all of the guests attending Guillermo’s daughter’s quinceañera. The twenty round tables are supposed to sit ten people each, but that’s not enough space for everyone who showed up uninvited, so two additional people have been squeezed around each table. Sara sits between Mami and Juana, so she doesn’t have to engage in small talk with strangers, but she finds herself wishing she wasn’t sitting next to Juana. Juana is her mentor, the person who gave her an unpaid internship when she was in high school, permanent employment as soon as she graduated, and progressively harder assignments so that she could grow as a reporter and as a writer. She fought Felipe to have Sara’s article about Linda printed, even though it was not written in the objective journalistic style that Felipe insisted on. Most of all, Juana is a relentless advocate against all the different forms of violence, physical and otherwise, perpetrated against women. But Sara promised Ernesto she would not tell anyone about Hinojosa, not even Juana, and with her mind full of Linda and Erica, she’s afraid she will break that promise.
When Ernesto shows up late, he squeezes in at their table, and Sara can tell by his fake smile that he’s as unhappy to be there as she is. As the evening wears on, she can almost see his mind tallying up the cost of each champagne bottle popped, each cocktail served at the open bar. Every time a tuxedoed waiter brings yet another dish or a new bottle of wine to the table, Ernesto sighs, shakes his head, and rolls his eyes at Sara. Watching Ernesto’s various grimaces is the only enjoyable part of the evening for her. That, and seeing her mother laugh.
During one of the old Mexican rancheras, Mami leans over to Sara and says, “Whenever I hear that music, I think of your father.”
“Does that make you sad?” Sara puts her hand on top of her mother’s.
“Yes, but not in a bad way.”
Sara lets her mother listen to the song, watches the beautiful, peaceful smile on her face. That smile makes Sara remember a conversation with Linda after her mother signed the divorce papers. They were in Sara’s backyard, sitting sideways on a hammock tied between two elm trees.
“It’s sad, but your mother’s right, you know,” Linda said. “Love’s not enough.”
Sara leaned away to look at her. “What else is there?”
“I don’t know what you call it. People have to hope and want similar things.”
“And Papá and Mami didn’t?”
Linda shook her head quietly. “Think about everything you’ve told me. All the ways they’re so different.”
“My dad is outgoing. My mom is shy and quiet. Is that what you mean?”
“No, it’s not about personality. It’s about what each of them wants out of life. Your mom is happy with what she has. If she has a roof over her head, some beans and tortillas, and her family—what else is there?”