by A. E. Radley
She looked like she was about to refuse, then settled into her chair, actually seeming kind of proud of herself. I wasn’t going to wind up dating Sutton, but we could practice flirting a little bit. I hadn’t had a serious girlfriend since I had to call the police on Melania. I needed to get back into dating shape.
The third drink loosened Sutton’s tongue so much it almost fell out of her head. She was leaning against me as the sun started to set behind the mountain, and she spoke softly. “You really don’t like my sister, do you.”
“I really don’t,” I admitted. I wouldn’t normally tell someone that, but given it was a deal-breaker, I thought I had to be honest. “But I think it’s sweet that you run along behind her and clean up.”
“Well, I am older,” she said, laughing harder than the joke demanded. “Three minutes.”
“Um, do you like her?”
She started to nod, then that gesture died out slowly. “Like her?” Sutton bit at her bottom lip for a second or two, then shook her head. “I’d never choose to spend time with her, so I guess I’d have to say no.”
“So it’s an obligation?”
Now she seemed very confident when she nodded forcefully, making her hair bob around her head. “That’s exactly what it is. I’m obligated to Paisley. She’s not very nice, she says things that make me cringe, she’s cheap, she’s demeaning…”
“Don’t forget racist,” I said, giving her a poke in the side.
“Oh, I never forget that. She’d defend herself against that charge to her dying day, of course. She’s great at turning the argument around to prove that I’m racist for pointing out the awful things she says.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I’m still holding out hope.”
“For…?”
She turned and faced me, gazing deeply into my eyes. “My parents never gave up on her, and they had reason to. My mom used to remind me that if they weren’t around, it was just me and Paisley. That stuck with me,” she said, with her jaw starting to quiver. “I keep thinking that if I show her love, maybe she’ll learn to be more loving.”
“Do you really believe that? Do you think someone can change just because of an example?”
“God, I hope so,” she whispered, breaking my heart when a few tears skittered down her smooth, pale cheeks. I’ve got to remember to thank god for giving me a sister I not only loved, but liked. I was a lucky woman.
Luckily Jessica was stone cold sober, and able to drive us home. If Sutton and I’d had to wait until we could manage the task, it might have been midnight.
When we got back to the condo, I gobbled down the remains of my previous night’s doggie bag while standing in front of the refrigerator, then staggered into Jessica’s room when she tugged me along by pulling on my sweater.
“What in the heck happened to you two?” she asked, looking at me like I looked at other people who got stupid-drunk in the afternoon.
“Altitude sickness?”
“Did you say alcohol? How many did you have?”
“Just four. But we didn’t eat, and I was kind of dehydrated from skiing…”
“I’ve never seen you like this. It’s…an interesting look.”
“Thanks,” I said, realizing I was still wearing a knit beanie. “No wonder it’s so hot in here.”
“I think you should lie down. Need help getting to your room?”
“Couldn’t hurt.” I put my arm around her shoulders, and Jessica guided me to my room—right next door. As I was trying to get my boots off, their complex laces giving me a heck of a tough time, I said, “You made a good call about Sutton. She’s a keeper.”
“Really?” Jessica looked like she was about to high-five me, but she probably realized I’d miss. “That’s so cool!”
“No, it’s not,” I said, falling down onto the bed. It wouldn’t kill me to sleep with my boots on. “If you’d gotten your butt in gear and made this happen before now, I might have been hooked on her before I even met Paisley. But now that I have, Sutton seems like she’s surrounded with a toxic fog. It’s not her fault, but getting too close could be lethal. It’s kind of tragic,” I grumbled. “I finally meet a cool woman, and I don’t own a Haz-Mat suit.”
I distinctly remember pulling the covers over my head when Jessica tried to drag me out of bed early this morning. While I wanted to learn how to ski, careening wildly down a hill with a head the size of Lake Tahoe didn’t sound terribly appealing. And paying over a hundred bucks for the lift ticket didn’t make it one bit more enticing.
Tossing the covers off, I stood, testing my balance. Not bad at all. But maybe that was because I had on hiking boots. Sitting back down to take them off, I realized my head wasn’t too bad now, with the extra hours of sleep helping a lot. I changed into a fleece and a pair of sweats, then headed for the kitchen, hoping against hope that someone had not only made coffee, they’d left some for me.
There was no coffee maker on the counter, much less one sending out the fantastic scent of roasted beans toward my nose. After rifling through the cabinets, I had to concede I was out of luck. I was just about to go back to my room and try to sleep the day away when Sutton appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Were you jumping up and down on the floor with cement shoes?”
Her hair looked pretty normal, obviously being gifted with tresses that fell into order all on their own. But the rest of her was a mess. Swollen eyes, blotchy skin, her sweatshirt on backwards.
“I wasn’t making much noise,” I said. “But I regret to inform you we have no coffee.”
She stared at me for a long time, her expression somewhere between a snarl and a plea for mercy. “Comb your hair. We’re going to find some if we have to drive to San Francisco.”
I raised my hand to determine how bad my hair looked, but when I didn’t feel a single strand on the right side, I realized I was going to need more than a comb to go out in public.
The shower I’d taken must have set some kind of speed record, and I was clean and dressed in just fifteen minutes. My hair was now properly divided between both hemispheres of my head, and dripping wet. But I didn’t want Sutton to have to wait for me to dry it, so I was going to risk having it freeze solid on the short walk to the car.
Sutton reacted to being hungover by clamming up, and the only voice in the car was the computer-generated one that gave us directions to an espresso shop. Thank god it was only fifteen minutes away. Sutton might have driven right off the mountain if she’d had to wait much longer.
Our luck was turning, since the coffee was not only hot and delicious, it cost less than we had to pay at the shop right by our office. After she’d gulped down two large cappuccinos, Sutton finally loosened up enough to speak. “I haven’t had a hangover since I was in college. And I only had one then. I thought I’d learned my lesson.” She was a little less green-tinged now, and her eyes were fully open.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry if I led you down the road to ruin. I’ve had more hangovers than you have, but it’s been a while for me too.” I extended my hand and we shook. “Let’s take a pledge that we’ve just had our last.”
“As god is my witness,” she said soberly. “If there is no god, I’ll take caffeine as my witness. It means everything to me. This morning, at least.”
I took a look at my phone, seeing it was just nine o’clock. “We’ve got the whole day. I’m not up to skiing, but if you want to drop me off at the condo and go meet Paisley and Jess…”
“Not going to happen,” she said firmly. “I want something full of carbohydrates and grease for breakfast, then I want to watch TV with the sound very low.”
“How do you feel about cooking?”
“I do it, but I’m not crazy about it. Why?”
“Because I miss having my grandmother’s cooking for Christmas. While you’re watching TV, I’ll make some family favorites. Good?”
She finally revealed a smile. “I might be persuaded to help. But first I have to give into my cravings. There has to be somet
hing around here that will clog my arteries.”
“This is America,” I said, returning her smile. “Clogging arteries is what we’re best at.”
After wolfing down fried egg, cheese, and sausage sandwiches, we searched for a Mexican grocery. I’ve found them in a lot of out-of-the-way places, and was pleased to locate one in South Lake Tahoe. It was forty-five minutes from our condo, but they had every single thing I needed.
After I bought a nevado for Sutton, a little smile settled on her face and she almost had a bounce to her step as we raced back to the car in the cold.
She took another bite, nodding with pleasure. “This is called what? Nevada?”
“Close. Nevado, which means snowy. It’s a concha, but the cookie crust is sweeter than usual, and the way it’s affixed makes it kind of look like a mountain top.”
“It’s delicious. I’ve never had one of these, even though I see them in shop windows all the time.”
“Stick with me, kid. I can introduce you to more pan dulces than you’ll know what to do with.”
“I’ll know to eat them,” she said, clearly loving her nevado. “That’s all of the introduction I need.”
An hour later we started to cook our pork. I found a notebook and started to make a schedule, trying to make sure I could get everything finished at around the same time. “Will you soak the corn husks?” I asked. “Just cover them with water.”
“I’ve never made tamales.”
“I bet you’ve never made pozole, either. But that’s about to change.”
She got the husks soaking without further instruction, and I eventually got my list ready, with lots of help from my grandmother’s recipes, which I carried in my phone. You never knew when you were going to have to whip up some salsa verde.
“I think we should divide the work right down the middle. The pozole is pretty easy, and if you can follow a recipe, you should be fine.”
Sutton had a very sober look on her face, like an earnest student trying to please a tough teacher. “I’ll do my best.”
“We’ll have fun,” I assured her. “Next week, I’ll be with around fifteen people, all crammed into my grandmother’s kitchen, most of them not helping at all. But trying to get your cousin to move her butt so you can fill your tamales is part of the fun.”
“God, I’d love to have a big family,” she sighed. “It must be so reassuring to know you’ve got a lot of people who care for you.”
“It is,” I said, gripping her arm as I looked into her eyes. “I’m going to take Jessica with me on my next visit. Maybe you’ll come, too.”
“I’d love that,” she said softly, and I caught sight of another few tears gliding down her cheeks. It was remarkably easy to make Sutton cry, but that wasn’t the worst trait to have in a friend. She sniffled as she got all of her ingredients lined up like little soldiers. “Do you feel Mexican? Or has being born here made you feel more American?”
“Mmm.” I thought about that for a minute, pleased the question didn’t make me feel defensive. Sutton clearly was just curious about how I identified. “I’m not allowed to feel just American,” I said. “Someone’s always reminding me I’m not white. But I don’t think I feel Mexican the way my parents do. I’ve never actually spoken to them about it, but I’m pretty sure we have different experiences. I think in English, and that alone has to change my identity. My parents are always translating when they aren’t speaking Spanish.”
“So you speak Spanish exclusively when you’re with them?”
“Pretty much. Most of my relatives speak only Spanish, so my sister and I might tell each other secrets in English, but that’s about it. I’m definitely fluent in Spanish, but I’m always a little behind with idioms and slang. It takes me a few days to be comfortable when I visit.”
“I took Spanish all through high school and college, but I’m a long way from fluent. I’d love to be, though. Maybe I’ll start taking lessons again. I love to have long term goals.”
“My long term goal is to have some rocking Pozole al Estilo Sinaloense and tamales with rajas and Oaxacan cheese. Together,” I said dramatically, “we’ll get it done.”
After listening to Jessica and Paisley boast about how epic the snow was, and how we should never forgive ourselves for missing such a great day, we packed them off for naps. As soon as they left, I said, “Once I start cooking with someone, additional hands don’t make the work go faster. We’ve got this.”
“It all smells so good,” she said for the fiftieth time. “Every year, when we went to Colorado for our skiing vacations, we always tried to find good Mexican food. Paisley likes it even more than I do, and that’s saying something.”
“Huh. So she likes Mexican food, but would prefer it was cooked by…?”
“I can’t really speak for her,” Sutton said softly. “She was always a little…” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to characterize her as a kid. Having a chip on her shoulder? Something close to that.”
“And your parents weren’t like that?”
“Not at all. I didn’t know my grandparents, so there might have been some narrow-minded people in that group, but my parents were definitely not like Paisley.”
“I guess it’s not all nurture, huh?”
“I sure don’t think so. But I’m hoping she chooses not to have kids. I’d jump off a bridge if I had a niece or nephew who parroted her views.” She seemed to physically shiver.
“How about you?”
“I’d love to have a baby. Or to adopt. I’m not sure when or how I’ll do it, but that’s another long-term goal. You?”
“It’s a goal for me too. But if it doesn’t happen, it won’t destroy me.”
“I’m afraid it might for me,” Sutton said, seeming very reflective. “One way or another, I want to raise a child. Adoption, foster care… I’ll figure it out.”
“Unlike you, I’m dying for my sister to have a baby. If I spend enough time with hers, I might not have to have one of my own. Think of the cost savings!”
“Spoken like a true CPA,” she said, chuckling softly. “Where does your sister live?”
“Oakland. One little ride on BART, and I’ll be able to spoil her kids to death. And once she has one, my parents will visit more often. I’ll have everything I want, with almost no effort on my part. That’s family planning, Gabriela style.”
“I hope that all comes true for you,” Sutton said. “Now I need my first lesson on how to make a tamale, and I’ve got my phone right here to record it. Smile for the camera.”
I hate to lavish praise on myself, but dinner was almost as good as my abuelita can produce. I’ll always prefer her cooking, but I think I’m about neck-and-neck with my mom, no small feat.
Jess offered to clean the kitchen, a job that might take her as long as Sutton and I spent cooking. Paisley made some noises about helping, but I think Jess will have to strong-arm her into doing much. I could stick around and harass her, but Sutton wants to stretch our legs after being stuck in the kitchen all day. I normally wouldn’t go out for a walk when it’s twenty-three degrees, but she’s been an awesome helper, so I owe her.
After putting on all of my winter clothes, I waited by the front door. Sutton finally appeared, once again looking healthy and happy. Apparently, she just needed lots of food to banish her hangover. But since she’s never going to get drunk again, she can forget that handy tip.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Completely. How far do you think we’ll have to walk to burn off the calories we ate today?”
I played along, even though I knew she was teasing. We stepped outside and I pointed into the distance. “If we go to the end of this road…then keep going until daybreak, we might be close.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that. But I like to be optimistic.”
“So do I,” I said, laughing a little. “That’s why I didn’t say we’d have to keep going until tomorrow night, which is probably closer to the truth.”
“T
hat’s harsh, but probably accurate. But I don’t care,” she said, sticking her hands straight out to her sides and tilting her head so her eyes were fixed on the starry sky. “I had a great meal, and I helped prepare it. Now I can whip up tamales any time I feel like it.”
“We only do it a few times a year,” I admitted. “We buy them from street vendors most of the time. Waaay too much trouble.”
“Maybe we can do it if I go to Mexico with you.” She stuck her hands in the pockets of her coat and took in a deep breath, exhaling visible vapor. “It feels like a long way from Mexico here, doesn’t it? More like Norway.”
Sutton had a point. The sky seemed pitch-black, except for the golden lights that dotted the homes surrounding us. The air was crisp and cold, and smelled of pine and logs burning in fireplaces. It was stunningly quiet, with very few cars, and even fewer voices carrying in the light breeze. We were just a few hours from home, but it felt like another world, a quieter, more peaceful one.
“I like it up here,” I said, even though I was freezing my butt off. “I’ve never spent much time in cold climates. I was offered a pretty good financial aid package to go to Princeton, but I was afraid of New Jersey. I thought I might snap like an icicle.”
“St. Louis isn’t as cold as the East Coast, but I always knew I’d head west. I considered Denver, but I’m glad I went with the Bay Area. Having the ocean just a few miles away and good skiing a few hours away makes for a nice combination.” She turned her head and met my gaze. “Maybe you’ll come with me next time. I’ve got a season pass at Sugar Bush. I’ll come back at least five times before the end of the season.”
“I’d like that. I’ll quiz you on Spanish verbs if you’ll teach me to go down the bunny hill without squealing.”
She stuck her gloved hand out. “It’s a deal. We’ll be sober, Spanish-speaking skiers in no time at all.”
“I don’t remember promising sobriety,” I said, chuckling. “Just no more drunkenness. A small, but important distinction.”