When they join me, loaded down with food that looks so delicious I know I’ll want to lick the plate clean, I realize I should have been thinking of exactly what I’ll say to Rafaela. Especially when after we’ve all enjoyed the meal with superficial conversation, she looks at me expectantly.
“You’re up, Surfer Boy,” Ava teases.
“Oh, I, uh …” I say before taking a deep breath and starting fresh. “So, first, you should know how much I adore and respect your daughter.”
Rafaela nods cryptically. Doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to soft-pedal my way out of this.
“And I’m just going to be brutally honest,” I continue. “This all started as a way to sort of mess with her ex, Bryce.”
With that, Rafaela raises her eyebrows and looks at Ava.
“I knew from Ava that he didn’t truly understand what a remarkable woman she is. So, when I saw him approaching her, and frankly, getting kind of handsy with her, I interrupted and said I was her fiancé. Just to make him back off and prove him wrong about what Ava was capable of.”
Glancing at Ava, I see she looks embarrassed by me sharing all of this. I figure, though, that the only way to get Rafaela on our side is to tell her everything.
There’s a tense moment of silence.
Finally, Rafaela says, “I never did like that Bryce.”
I laugh. “See,” I tell Ava, “mothers know. They just know.”
Ava smiles, giving in to that notion without objection.
“Then, my father came around, and I urged Ava to keep up the … lie—let’s just call it what it is.”
“Why?” Rafaela asks simply.
I struggle for a moment to explain this part. How honest should I be? Should I tell her that if my father thought he was being toyed with over something like this that it’s possible he could do something to hurt Ava’s career? Wouldn’t she instantly dislike me for putting her daughter in this precarious position?
“I just, uh, truthfully, it was the path of least resistance. My father is a very powerful man. He hates to be caught by surprise. If he were to think he’d been duped as part of a joke, well, no good would have come from it. So, we just need to play along with this whole thing until I can finish up my business here.”
Rafaela nods thoughtfully. “When you finish your business, you’ll do what?”
“I’ll go home to Maui.”
She looks at Ava. To my disappointment, Ava is quick to reassure her, saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You could always come.” The words come out of my mouth before I can process what I’m saying. “You could get out from under the corporate legal machinations with all its sexism and racism and open up your own practice. Be your own boss. And have all the control over your career. In Maui.”
I watch as Ava’s eyebrows come together in confusion. “Ford, that’s crazy.”
“A little,” I admit. “But—”
“We just met,” she says.
Shit. What have I done? Did I just suggest that Ava move to Maui to be with me? In front of her mother.
I laugh, and it comes out forced, even to my ears. “I was just throwing out possibilities. You should come, too, Rafaela.” I pat my stomach. “I clearly cannot get enough of your enchiladas.”
Rafaela’s mouth quivers, telling me she’s fighting off a laugh. And that’s when I know I’ve screwed up. She knows her daughter well enough to understand that my attempt to backtrack isn’t going to get me anywhere.
“Possibilities?” Ava says, incredulous. “No, what you’re doing is casually suggesting I give up my whole world. For a man I barely know. You’re seriously suggesting that I give up on the place I’ve earned at my law firm? I have put my life into this career.”
It’s irrational, but I can’t help how much her quick dismissal of me as someone she “barely knows” stings. Yes, this thing of ours has been a whirlwind, but it was more than some surface-level connection almost as soon as we met. We’ve shared real confidences with each other. And now she’s ready to disregard all that. She’d rather pull up her walls and close herself off than give it a chance to be something real.
Because I have that annoying habit of saying things when I shouldn’t, I push the issue, focusing on the thing I know she cares about more than almost anything else: her career.
“And you’re saying that there’s no other way to have a career, but there is. You don’t have to follow that path to be satisfied with your work.”
“Says the man who walked away from everything in order to do nothing,” she snaps back.
“Ouch,” I half-moan, half-laugh. That characterization hurts, but at the same time, I can’t help but admire her fighting spirit. She’s tough and sexy at the same time. That combination has left me hesitating to respond, even as we stare at each other.
“Mija, did I ever tell you how I met your father?”
Ava and I break eye contact as we turn to Rafaela, her apparent non-sequitur catching us both off-guard.
“Uh, yeah,” Ava says, clearly confused. “You met him in Mexico. In Zacatecas, the town where you’re both from.”
“Si, very much by chance, in fact. We were both at El Jardín—” She stops and looks at me. “That’s a sort of town square, near the church. There are some nice trees for shade, and everyone ends up there as the evenings cool off. It becomes a marketplace for homemade food. The kids run around and play. The adults gossip and hope to run into friends.”
“It’s a very nice spot,” Ava agrees. “But, I’m not sure—”
“Your father and I ran into each other. Like, actually bumped into each other as he was turning away from getting horchata as I was passing by. He spilled it all over me.” She laughs at the memory. “He was always a little clumsy.”
“Oh, that’s why you’d always joke with him about not spilling the horchata!” Ava says.
“Oh yes. That was our running joke.”
“I love that,” I say.
Rafaela smiles, acknowledging me. “That’s all it took for us, is what I’m saying. He spilled the horchata and spent the rest of the night apologizing and somehow convincing me not to run home to change. We were … drawn together after that. It was truly hard to pull us apart.”
“Aw, that story makes me so happy,” Ava says, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“The only problem was that he was planning on moving to America less than two weeks after we met. I thought we had no chance.”
“No, but you moved here together. After you were married in Zacatecas,” Ava says, clearly trying to sort out her recollection of her parents’ love story.
“That’s true,” Rafaela says. “But only because he broke down a few days before he was due to leave and told me he thought the universe had put us in each other’s paths, horchata and all.” She laughs. “He said it was crazy, but he was sure he had fallen in love and that if I took a chance by marrying him and coming with him to America, he would make me happy for the rest of my life.”
I hand Ava a clean napkin to wipe the tears she’s no longer able to fight.
“And so, I did. I loved him, too, of course. But I also knew that he used the word ‘chance’ well, because isn’t that what we all do when we fall in love? We take a chance, hoping that our hearts will be cared for by that other person.” She takes a deep breath and stares up at the sky. “I’m so glad I took that chance. It wasn’t the longest life with him, but I can’t imagine ever having a better one.”
“Oh, Mama,” Ava says and scoots her chair closer, so she can hug her.
I sit quietly as they hug and murmur comforts to each other. Looking up at the night sky, I watch as a commercial airplane slowly makes its way past and contemplate Rafaela’s purpose in telling us the story of how she and her husband met. She sure seems to be on the side of doing the unexpected for the sake of love. Could she be in favor of Ava trying to work something out with me? The idea tugs a smile from my lips.
But then Ava’s accusatio
n that I’m doing nothing reasserts itself and I slump in my seat. If I’m not one of those manipulative bastards in the glass offices at work, then apparently, she thinks I’m not doing much with my life. How do you get around that? As much as I like her, I can’t imagine having to convince her that my life is meaningful. Because if you have to make a case for something like that, you’ve already lost.
* * *
Not much later, I help clear the dishes. I start to wash them, but Rafaela won’t hear of it. She’s made flan, and we sit at the kitchen table to eat it. It’s the thickest, creamiest flan I’ve ever had. Much more like a cheesecake than the watery, Jell-O style flan usually found in restaurants.
“What do you do for work in Maui?” Rafaela asks casually.
“I help my mom with her music school. There’s a group of students that I’ve taken on. Ava saw them perform when she was there.”
“Really?”
“There’s one boy who is something else,” Ava says. “What’s his name? The clarinet player.”
“Eli,” I offer. “Yeah, he’s a little mixed up on what constitutes confidence. He’s got this whole wise-beyond-his-years-thing. We’re working on that.”
“Ford is really good with the kids. And you can see that they all look up to him. It’s very sweet.”
“And would you consider moving back to Los Angeles?” Rafaela asks, throwing us both again with her way of suddenly changing the topic.
“Mama,” Ava says reproachfully.
“Well, we do have children here in need of a good music teacher,” she says, putting on a face of innocence.
I laugh and shake my head. I really like this woman. She’s insightful and clever. I can see that Ava gets those traits from her.
“I’m committed to Maui and to the kids at my mom’s school,” I say. “We’ve come a long way together, those kids and me. I think we’ve both benefited from our work.”
Rafaela watches me for a moment before nodding. Then she looks at Ava and says, “So, he doesn’t really do nothing, does he? Seems like he’s making an impact in the lives of children.”
Ava looks confused. “What?”
“Earlier, you said he left everything, so he could do nothing.”
Her hand flies to her mouth and she looks regretful. “I, um, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not what I even believe. I’m so sorry.”
I wave it off. “It’s okay. I understand that we have different views on the place work should have in our lives.
She drops her hand and lifts her chin. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that your commitment to work is your only priority.”
“Only priority?”
I shrug. “You had to be forced to take a vacation by your own boss. You have a generic apartment in downtown LA of all places, because you spend more time at the office than at home. It’s pretty easy to see that you’ve let work define you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s a little true,” Rafaela says just as she rises to clear our plates.
Ava gives her mother the side-eye and crosses her arms over her chest. She practically huffs but holds back when Rafaela stops on her way to the sink and squeezes her shoulder. It appears that they’ve talked about this sort of thing before. When Ava squeezes her mother’s hand in return, I can see their unconditional support for each other. It’s nice. It reminds me of my relationship with my mom.
“Okay, it might be a little true,” Ava concedes to me. “But I have been trying to figure out a better balance, I swear. You have been a big part of that lately.”
She’s got the cutest impish smile on her face. I can’t resist leaning over the small kitchen table and giving her a quick kiss.
“Ford,” she whispers, and glances at her mother.
Rafaela still has her back to us, but leaning back, I can just make out a pleased expression on her face.
“It’s okay,” I whisper back. “Your mother loves me.”
“Ha! Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions there, Surfer Boy?” Ava says with a laugh.
“Ford,” Rafaela says as she turns to us. “Una quesadilla?”
“Si, por favor. Muchísimas gracias,” I reply.
That gets a huge smile out of Rafaela. I watch as she looks at Ava and imagine she’s silently telling her, yes, I do love him. In turn, I give Ava an I told you so expression, and she just shakes her head.
29
Ava
I’m up in the morning before Ford. We’d gone back to my place after Ford ate not just una quesadilla but tres quesadillas. He was so full, but so happy.
Now he’s lying on his stomach in my bed, his bare tanned back exposed all the way to his beautiful pale butt. His face is turned away from me as I quietly go to the kitchen to start brewing coffee. As I watch the drips of the dark brew drop one by one before becoming a steady drizzle, I try to sort out my conflicting feelings.
We hadn’t talked about Ford’s surprise suggestion that I move to Maui. I sputtered out a quick and harsh rejection of that, after all. And he had made clear to my mother that he was committed to returning to Maui. Neither of us made any attempt to talk about the fact that as of now, we are set to go our separate ways in a few days with no plan to see each other again. Instead, we’re living in a weird state of denial where we’re sleeping together, enjoying each other’s company, and playing each other’s fiancée. It’s that whole investing in each other thing that I had tried to avoid before throwing caution to the wind when he took me to the Dodgers game. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m going to get hurt with this thing. Because there’s just no good answer for how we can make it work.
With a sigh, I do my best to pull together breakfast for us but have to use what I’ve got, including bagels pulled from the freezer and bananas that are more brown spots than yellow.
“I’ll understand if you want to call off the engagement because of this paltry offering,” I say when Ford has roused himself and joined me at the dining table.
“Nope, not a deal-breaker. Especially knowing my future mother-in-law is so talented.”
“That was such a smooth move last night, speaking in Spanish to her like that.”
He laughs. “What? It was totally appropriate in the moment.”
“Speaking of appropriate … what should I expect with the party tonight?”
Taking a contemplative sip of his coffee, he thinks about my question for a moment. “Here’s how I expect it to go: Just like any other dinner party my father typically throws. Which means, a very nice catered event where the conversation is focused on him, and with guests that literally line up to tell him how wonderful he is. And I’d guess that after dinner but before dessert, he’ll do some sort of toast to us. That’ll be about the gist of our ‘engagement party’ since he never really intended to do this at all.”
“Oh,” I say with relief. “That sounds bearable.”
He rubs my hand. “We’re almost to the finish line with this thing.”
“Yep.” I force levity I do not feel into my voice. “Mission almost accomplished.”
“Honey, I know it’s been a bit of a roller coaster these last few days. But I sure have enjoyed taking this ride with you.”
I smile at that. I know he means it sincerely, but I can’t take any more of his sweet talk, so I steer my response toward something I know he’s happy to indulge.
“You never did make me scream your name,” I tell him and arch a brow.
He laughs. “That is so not true. You have screamed it plenty.”
I shake my head with mock solemnity. “Nope.”
“Oh, I see.” He stands, and I watch him warily. “Challenge accepted.”
When he reaches for me, I dodge out of the way while scrambling to my feet. He lurches left, and I go the opposite way. He lurches right and I go left. Then he comes straight for me and I let out a playful yelp and turn to run toward the other side of the apartment.
Of course, he cat
ches up to me almost right away. He grabs me around my waist and lifts me in that way that he can, making me feel like I’m light as air as he carries me to the bed.
“What I am going to do to you,” he says into my ear, his voice a sexy growl, “is going to make you scream so loud the windows will shatter.” He drops me unceremoniously on the mattress. “You have homeowner’s insurance?”
I’m laughing so hard that tears come to my eyes. At least, that’s what I tell myself—that the tears are from laughing. But a part of me knows this reaction is because I know that I’m going to miss him and that my life will be dimmer without him in it.
* * *
I wanted to spend the day with Ford, but he had to go back to his place where he has the proper clothes for tonight’s party and I need to spend an hour or so at the office since I have uncharacteristically neglected my work this week.
I’ve been at my desk for almost two hours when the rumbling of my stomach motivates me to get up and go to the communal kitchen. It’s always well stocked with fresh fruit, granola bars, nuts, crackers, and even assorted cheeses in the refrigerator. I make myself a plate that includes a sampling of all of these things, grab a bottle of Pellegrino, and am on my way back to my office when I hear rustling in Randall’s office.
“Couldn’t stay away, either, could you?” I ask, smiling as I push open the door.
I expect to see Randall, my mentor and boss. Instead, I see Manny Kahn.
I’m frozen in place as I take in the scene. He’s crouching down behind Randall’s big desk, almost completely hidden. Except I can see the top of his balding head, the long strips of hair that he combs back from his forehead greasy from product meant to stick it in place. And I can also see that he’s been rifling through the cabinet behind Randall’s desk.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Manny stiffens before slowly straightening up.
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