“Why don’t we go into the living room?” my father suggests. “Can I interest you in a drink, Eduardo? I have a really nice bottle of thirty-year-old rum that I received as a gift earlier today.”
I had no idea Eduardo sent a bottle of El Clásico to Papá. What a great way to earn some brownie points in advance! I glance over at him, and he gives me a little shrug and smiles sheepishly.
We all file out of the foyer into the living room, and I’m heading over to the couch when I hear, “Ka-pow, ka-pow, ka-pow!” and my youngest nephew, Theo, crashes into me.
“Woah!” I have to grab the corner of the couch to keep us both from toppling over, and while I’m struggling to regain my balance, I’m hit with a blast of cold water right in the crotch. I look down to see a dark wet spot that seems to be spreading on the magenta-colored fabric. Now I look like I peed myself!
“You’re dead, tía!” David, Theo’s next oldest brother, calls from behind a chair a few feet away, where’s he’s hiding with a water gun.
“Ana,” I grind her name out between my teeth. “I thought you were going to leave the boys at home tonight.” I told both her and Pilar in no uncertain terms that there were no children allowed at this dinner with Eduardo. On a good day Ana’s boys are rowdy and unpredictable; on a bad one . . . well, let’s just say that they’ve been responsible for an inordinate amount of mayhem and destruction through the years, including but not limited to fires, floods, pets dyed a variety of unnatural colors, car-sized holes in both the garage door and the front wall of their house, and too many trips to the emergency room to count (usually to have a strange object removed from an orifice).
With an evil smirk that tells me she did this on purpose, Ana replies, “David and Theo were having such a breakdown about us leaving that I had to bring them. They’ve promised to behave. Right, boys?” Instead of a response, she gets a faceful of water from a trigger-happy David’s gun. Ha! I think Ana’s kids dislike her as much as I do.
“That’s enough. I’m confiscating these.” Ana’s long-suffering husband, Raymond, rips the plastic weapons out of the boys’ hands.
Theo wails in protest, and his father heaves an exasperated sigh. “You know better than to play with these in your abuelos’ house. Now, let’s go back to the den and you can watch a movie until dinnertime.”
Raymond tries to scoop up his son, but the little one is too slippery. “Noooooooo!” Theo screams, running away.
“David, catch your brother,” Raymond orders, and the boy gives chase, throwing himself on top of Theo and tackling him to the floor. They knock into a side table on the way down, which causes a vase to go flying off the other side.
“The Waterford!” my mother shrieks as it crashes to the hardwood floor and splinters into a million crystal shards.
We all freeze in place, too shocked to react for a few seconds. Of course, it doesn’t take Mamá long to recover her voice.
“That was a wedding gift from my parents. They’re dead, and now so is this beautiful symbol of our marriage!” With a sob, she flings herself into the nearest man’s arms, which are Eduardo’s, not my father’s. He stares at me over my mother’s head, with a terrified look in his eye, and I wince in sympathy. To his credit, he does try to comfort her by awkwardly patting her on the back.
“Don’t I always tell you to put away the breakables when the boys are coming over?” Ana asks peevishly as she kneels down to check on her prostrate sons, who are now playing dead to avoid getting into trouble.
Twisting her head to the side and leaving a trail of tears behind on Eduardo’s striped dress shirt, Mamá snaps, “I didn’t know they would be here tonight, did I? This was supposed to be an adults-only—”
“What’s all the ruckus?”
I look back over my shoulder and see three middle-aged, stained apron-wearing Latinas standing in a row, their thick black brows knitted together disapprovingly. Groan. The aunts. Three more family members who were supposed to have been excluded from this shindig. I told my mother—immediate family only!—but apparently, no one listens to me.
“The boys just had a little accident—,” Pilar starts to explain.
“Little!” Mamá takes exception to her word choice. “That vase is worth close to a thousand dollars, and it was one of my most prized possessions!”
“What’s done is done, Luisa,” Aunt Drina, who’s never had much patience for my mother’s histrionics, says. “Now, dry your tears and come to the kitchen because we just took the vaca frita out of the slow cooker.”
“And you said we shouldn’t fry the meat because you wanted to do that yourself.” Aunt Brigida purses her lips, clearly offended by this directive from Mamá. Anytime we have a family meal, there’s a power struggle of epic proportions going on in the kitchen, a Game of Chicharrónes rather than Thrones. My mother likes to do things her way, but the aunts always want to “help” because they think their culinary skills are superior.
“We shredded it for you, though,” Solana, the youngest and the nicest of the aunts, adds.
“Thank you.” Sniffing, my mother wipes the tears from her cheeks. Kind of amazing that she could go on a crying jag like that and her makeup wasn’t affected at all—not a streak or smudge to be seen. She must shellac that stuff on!
“If you’ll excuse me, Eduardo, I must see to dinner.” Not surprisingly she doesn’t apologize for her dramatic outburst or for snotting all over him because she expects everyone, even complete strangers, to just roll with her theatrics.
“Arturo, pour me some sangria! I need something to calm my nerves. Ana, there’s a broom and dustpan in the front closet. I expect this,” she stabs a finger at the broken crystal on the floor, “to be cleaned up by the time I return.” Taking the goblet of red wine, rum, and fruit out of my father’s hand, Mamá swans out of the room. In her head, I’m sure she imagines she’s still wearing a tiara.
“I’ll take some of that sangria, too,” Brigida tells her brother.
“Lemonade for me,” Solana places her order.
“The same. I hope Luisa didn’t make it too tart this time,” Drina murmurs cattily as Pilar helps Raymond hustle the children away from the scene of their crime and Ana goes off in search of cleaning supplies.
While we wait for our drinks, the aunts zero in on the fresh meat in the room. “Izzy, aren’t you going to introduce us to your date?” Drina wonders.
I don’t really have a choice, do I? I just hope they don’t say anything to embarrass me. Who am I kidding? Of course, they will.
“Eduardo Sandoval, these are my aunts: Drina, Brigida, and Solana. They’re my father’s sisters.”
“Younger sisters,” Brigida asserts.
“But you’re the eldest of us girls,” Drina reminds her.
“We were born the same year; we’re practically twins!”
Although Drina refrains from making a comment, she does a very exaggerated roll of her eyes. (I had to learn it somewhere, right?)
“I saw that!” Brigida declares.
“Are you sure? Because those cataracts have been clouding up your vision for years now. You really should get that surgery.”
“How dare you! I’m not old enough to have—”
“Solana is the aunt who owns a panadería in Little Havana,” I tell Eduardo in order to stop the bickering and guide the conversation back onto less shaky ground.
“Ah, yes, Isidora often raves about your breads and confections.”
Solana blushes with pleasure. “I hope you’ll both enjoy the chocolate tres leches cake I brought for dessert tonight. It has a dulce de leche frosting.”
“My mouth is already watering,” he assures her.
“You’ll appreciate this, tía. Eduardo and I were brought together by a coconut flan.”
He chuckles. “I should probably confess that the flan wasn’t what attracted me to that dessert table; it was this mujer hermosa.” Threading his fingers through mine, he lifts my hand to his mouth and places a kiss on th
e back of it.
“So, the truth is out. You used that flan to hit on me.” I feign outrage.
“I figured it was my best bet since the way to a Cuban woman’s heart is . . .”
“ . . . through her sweet tooth,” the aunts complete the sentence for him.
“I like this one.” Solana casts a vote of approval for Eduardo and Brigida nods in agreement, but Drina still doesn’t look entirely convinced.
Narrowing her eyes at Eduardo, she says, “I understand that you’ve been living in the Caribbean for the last few years.”
He takes a fortifying swig of the rum my father just handed him before answering, “Yes, I worked in our office in the Dominican Republic for four years. It was a wonderful learning experience, but I’m glad to be back home.”
“Four years is a long time,” Solana notes.
Drina’s still squinting at Eduardo, which makes me think she might be the one with cataracts! “A man with your charm and good looks . . . I’m guessing that you weren’t lacking for female companionship on all those sultry island nights.”
“We all sow a few wild oats when we’re young, don’t we, Eduardo?” My father gives him a convivial nudge with his elbow.
“You never had any oats, wild or otherwise, Arturo,” Drina scoffs. “You’ve been under Luisa’s spell since your cojones dropped.”
“To love only one person your entire life is rather sweet, I think,” Solana, ever the romantic (because she’s never been married) says. Brigida and Drina are a lot more jaded when it comes to men as the former has been widowed twice (not a tragedy since both men were total losers) and the latter has a husband who’s so fat and lazy that he’s taken up permanent residence on their couch where he watches the Game Show Network and shouts answers at the TV (always the wrong ones!) while inhaling boxes of king-size Mounds bars from Sam’s Club.
“What about you, Eduardo? Did you have any serious romantic entanglements when you were in the Dominican Republic? Did you fall in love? Get married? Is there a secret family down in the Caribbean you haven’t told Izzy about?” Brigida barks the questions in quick succession as if she’s some hard-boiled detective trying to scare a confession out of a perp.
“N-n-no,” Eduardo stammers, looking a bit rattled. “Absolutely not. I’ve never been married, although I hope to be some day.”
“So, you just have bastardos scattered all over the island then,” Drina accuses rather than inquires. “Children you fathered, but don’t acknowledge.”
Eduardo’s jaw drops, and Brigida pounces. “Aha! He does not deny it!”
Rushing to his defense, I say, “He’s not denying it because you’ve rendered him speechless with your insulting questions and presumptions. Of course, Eduardo doesn’t have any illegitimate children. You don’t, right?” I whisper as an aside to him and am relieved when he shakes his head ‘no.’
“There have never been any bastardos in my family.” He doubles down on the denial.
“What’s this about bastards?” my mother asks, sweeping into the room, her sangria glass now empty and in need of a refill. “Are we talking about Nita’s latest? He’s much cuter than the other two. At least he doesn’t have Diego’s pointy rat face.”
All the color drains from Brigida’s face, and her sisters rally around her, each of them clutching an arm in a show of support.
“Mamá,” I throw her a quelling look, “you know you’re not supposed to mention that name around Aunt Brigida.”
“Which name—Nita or Diego?” she queries innocently while pouring herself another drink.
“Both!” Drina and Solana shout.
“They are dead to me!” Brigida declares emphatically.
“It’s been six years,” my mother takes a sip of sangria and swallows before adding, “and she’s your daughter. Don’t you think it’s time you forgave her?”
“She behaved selfishly and destroyed her sister’s marriage! Would you forgive Izzy if she had an affair with one of her brothers-in-law?”
“I would never sleep with Raymond. No offense, dude,” I say as he and Pilar walk back into the room. “Ford?” I scrunch up my face while I think about it. “That’s not outside the realm of possibility, but only if Pilar was dead, or got amnesia and forgot who Ford was.”
“Gee, thanks,” my sister deadpans.
“Hey!” Ana, who’s been on the floor sweeping up crystal this whole time, rises to her feet and places her hands on her hips, striking a confrontational pose. “Why wouldn’t you sleep with Raymond and try to break up my marriage? He’s just as attractive as Ford.”
Uh, no, he’s not, but I can’t very well say that in front of the poor man.
“Hola! We’re here.” The sound of the front door slamming shut is followed by the rat-a-tat-tat of heels crossing the foyer.
Great! Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse . . .
CHAPTER 15
“Sorry, we’re late,” my cousin, Raphaela, apologizes as she totters into the room on a cheap-looking pair of leopard-print stilettos, “but my last client was a talker. Yap, yap, yap, yap the whole time I was doing her hair. And she changed her mind about what color she wanted halfway through the process, so I had to start all over with the Black Cherry instead of the Red Mahogany. After all that, she only tipped me five dollars. Can you believe that? Those viejitas are always such penny-pinchers!”
She gives Brigida (her mother), the other two aunts, and my parents hugs, then has to hike up the front of her strapless dress, which is really nothing more than a glorified tube top, because leaning forward made the fabric slide down and her boobs are on the verge of popping out—not that she would mind if they did. Raphaela has always been an exhibitionist. Ana thinks I dress slutty? I look like a nun compared to my cousin.
“I brought an avocado salad, tía.” Sancha, Raphaela’s younger sister and the one who got cheated on by Diego, offers a Saran Wrap-covered dish to my mother.
Mamá grimaces, and I can see why (all of the avocados are brown, which means Sancha forgot to add the citrus), but she accepts the dish with a few gracious words about how delicious it looks. “I’ll just take this to the kitchen.” She gestures for Ana and Solana to follow her.
“So, this is your new man, prima?” Raphaela looks Eduardo up and down, undressing him with her eyes. When she has him stripped naked in her mind, she smiles appreciatively.
“Yes.” I introduce him to Raphaela and Sancha, who’s lurking behind her.
“Where did you meet this fine specimen, Iz? I need to check out whatever club or dating app that was.”
“We met at a party at his parents’ house . . . out on Star Island.” I drop that last juicy tidbit just to let her know that Eduardo’s not only handsome, he’s filthy rich, too.
“I don’t suppose you have any single brothers who are as gorgeous as you are?” she asks hopefully.
“No, just me.”
“Well, then . . .” Slinking up next to him, she wraps her hands around his bicep and pulls it close so that his arm is sandwiched between her big tetas. “Izzy and I will just have to share you.” She cackles then as if what she said was funny, but I’m not amused and I’m about to tell her to step off before she gets her skank cooties all over my boyfriend when Eduardo’s phone dings, alerting him to a text message.
“Sorry, I thought I turned that off.”
“It’s okay. Let me get that for you.” I snake my hand inside his suit jacket, ostensibly to retrieve the phone, but my fingers make a detour, sliding around his waist and down to his butt, where I give one of the firm cheeks a little squeeze to remind him that he’s all mine.
He smirks, letting me know my message was received, and I hand him the phone. “It’s Gillian,” he says after checking the incoming text.
“Exactly how many women are you juggling?” Raphaela queries flirtatiously.
“Gillian is his colleague at work.” I promptly shoot down Raphaela’s theory that my boyfriend has a harem.
&nb
sp; “And she needs my input on this contract she’s drafting. I should probably call her back.”
“Go ahead.” I wave him in the direction of the foyer where he’ll have some privacy and quiet for his call.
“That’s suspicious,” Raphaela murmurs as we both watch Eduardo leave the room with the phone to his ear. “You don’t really think that this Gillian is contacting him about business at 7:30 in the evening, do you?”
“I do, actually. She’s very dedicated to her job, as is Eduardo, and they work long hours because they’re running a company that has offices all over the world.”
By the by, Gillian is Strawberry Shortcake from the Sandovals’ party. She and Eduardo go way back, like to their childhoods, because Gillian’s dad is chief counsel at Sandoval Spirits and good friends with Sandoval Senior. Gillian is now a lawyer, too, and she’s being groomed to take over her father’s position one day, just as Eduardo will succeed his dad. Eduardo is always saying how smart she is and how much he’s relied on her since becoming COO.
“And you’re not worried about him working all those long hours with another woman? She must be fat, or have a face like the back end of a bus.”
“Nita was fat, but that didn’t stop Diego from sleeping with her,” Sancha mutters bitterly.
I shrug. “Gillian’s attractive, I suppose, but she’s not a threat. Eduardo knows he’s got a good thing going with me; he has no desire to look elsewhere.”
“So, you think you’ve got him locked down after what, a month?” Raphaela scoffs, flipping a clump of over-processed hair over her shoulder. “Just because your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard doesn’t mean it can keep them there indefinitely.”
“Time will tell, won’t it? P.S.,” I lean forward to whisper, “I’m going to remember this conversation when I throw the bouquet at my wedding and I’ll be sure it doesn’t land anywhere near you.”
She glowers at me, and I notice that the furrows between her brows are starting to look like trenches—that’s what too much sun and a lifetime of being an uber-bitch will do for you. I’m about to recommend Botox to her when my mother sails back into the living room to announce, “Dinner’s ready! Everyone, please take a seat on the terrace.”
Izzy As Is Page 14