“Good choice on that salad,” I compliment her after we’ve placed our orders, and the waiter’s left. Ugh! Who orders a mostly vegetables salad when there are so many other yummy and sastisfying things (tartines, sandwiches, pasta) on the menu? She must be one of those carb-hating, “eat light” people I find so annoying. No wonder she’s such a tiny thing. Her growth was probably stunted at a young age by her rabbit food diet.
“I love heirloom tomatoes when they’re in season.”
I like them when they’re stewed for a ropa vieja. Mmmmm, beef!
Gillian’s phone buzzes, and she winces. “I thought I shut that off. Sorry.” She pulls her purse up onto her lap and extracts the phone from the side pocket, turning it off. She returns the phone to its resting spot and pulls out a five-by-seven inch card I instantly recognize.
“Thanks for sending this to me.” She holds up the engagement announcement, which has a photo of Eduardo and me on one side and a turquoise background on the other with “We’re tying the knot!” in white script written across the top with all of our details below.
“You’re welcome. They turned out nicely, don’t you think?”
She flips the card around to look at it. “I do. This picture of the two of you is really sweet. You both look so happy and in love.”
Ha! Fooled her. Not about the happy part, of course, I am thrilled to be marrying Eduardo and I have no doubt he feels the same. The mushy stuff is a stretch, though. At least the photo is getting the desired response from people. Eduardo’s mother cried when she saw it, and mine proclaimed it was the most gorgeous photo she’d ever laid eyes on. She even joked she was going to get it turned into wallpaper for her powder room so that she could be inspired by our beautiful love story every day. (At least, I think she was joking; I should probably check that room the next time I’m at her condo.) Anyway, I’m just relieved that even though our engagement photo shoot got off to a rough start, Eduardo and I pulled it together in the end. In fact, we had several terrific shots to choose from. I ended up going with the one Eduardo liked best where he’s got his arms wrapped around me from behind and he’s nuzzling my neck while I’m laughing like he’s either said something funny (he didn’t) or I’m ticklish (I’m not), which just goes to prove that I’m a better actress than viewers (and critics) of Éxtasis y Engaño thought.
“We are. Thanks. It’s all been a whirlwind.” I try not to look too smug since my lunch companion is single and will probably remain so until she does something about her hair and wardrobe. It’s not that Gillian isn’t pretty. I actually see some great makeover potential in her. She just needs to ditch this drab businesswoman look and give her appearance a big, sparkly shot of pizzazz so that she can catch the right guy’s eye.
“And so unlike Eduardo. He’s dated plenty, of course, but never been serious about anyone. I think what happened with his mother last year was a game-changer for him.”
“How so?” I have no idea what she’s talking about in regards to Eduardo’s mother, but I can’t admit that without revealing that Eduardo and I don’t have a lot of heart-to-hearts.
Gillian takes a sip of iced tea before answering. “Well, you know how close Eduardo is to his parents, so it was really scary for him when he thought he might lose his mother. Thankfully, that growth on her thyroid turned out to be benign, but that whole experience made Eduardo want to seize the day and stop putting off things like getting married and starting a family. It’s also why he decided to come back to Miami for good. He wanted to be near his parents and spend as much time with them as he could while they’re still here. It’s always been their greatest wish to see their son married and settled, so I think that’s another reason why he’s willing to take that path now.”
“Lucky me that I met him when I did then.”
“Yes, lucky you.” Gillian sounds almost wistful when she says this, which makes me wonder . . .
“You and Eduardo never had anything romantic going, did you?”
“What?” Gillian squeaks, her eyes bulging out while her face turns crimson. Seeing that color on her makes me think she should go with a darker red for her hair, a nice, rich shade of copper would really make those light green eyes of hers pop.
“Just curious.” Which is true. I’m not accusing her of anything, nor will it bother me if they did get busy in the past since I’m the one he’s marrying. “You and Eduardo have known each other forever and you seem to be really close.”
“Not that kind of close,” she assures me, her face having settled down to a rosy pink. “Eduardo has only ever dated Latinas. I’m not sure if that’s because he’s attracted to them exclusively or because that’s what his family expects of him. The Sandovals are very proud of their heritage and culture.”
This I already know, but I feel kind of bad for Eduardo that he didn’t get to sample all the flavors before deciding which one he liked best. Variety is the spice of life and all that. Although come to think of it, I should probably thank Maria and Eduardo, Sr. for encouraging their son to focus on one small subset of available women. Because of that, I ended up being the perfect candidate for Eduardo’s wife.
“I’m sure you have some great stories to tell about Eduardo since you’ve known him through so many stages of his life. What was he like as a child? As a teen? Did he go through any awkward phases? Was he a jock in high school, a nerd, a rebel?” Before Gillian can respond, our waiter arrives with our lunch. “Thank you. This looks amazing,” I tell the waiter when he sets a plate down in front of me. I’m so hungry that I dive right into my Cuban sandwich, groaning with pleasure when the tried and true flavors of ham, roast pork, Swiss cheese, pickle, and mustard hit my taste buds.
“So, tell me about Young Eduardo,” I prompt Gillian who’s picking through her salad with her fork.
“He’s always been as you see him now—handsome, outgoing, a natural leader, generous to a fault, and very kindhearted.” She picks up her knife and slices off a hunk of burrata cheese to pair with a bite of tomato drizzled in balsamic vinaigrette. “If Eduardo was your friend, you could always count on him, you didn’t even have to ask; he was just there when you needed him.” She puts the bite of food in her mouth and chews thoughtfully for a minute.
“I remember, a week before my prom, I found out that my boyfriend, the one I’d been seeing all through senior year, was cheating on me with my best friend. I was in shock and before I could even process what a betrayal it was, he broke up with me, saying a lot of really horrible, hurtful things. I was completely devastated, not just over losing the jerk, but over missing out on prom, which I’d been dreaming about for years. The whole night had been planned—I had the perfect dress, the limo had been ordered, and I’d told Todd what flowers to get me and what color his bow tie should be. I was the only one of my friends who wouldn’t be going and I knew how left out I was going to feel when they were all talking about that night for months afterwards.”
“So, what happened? Did Eduardo give a beatdown to that loser Todd and make him follow up on his promise to take you to prom?”
Gillian chuckles. “That is not Eduardo’s style. Instead, he flew home from Princeton (and this was the weekend before finals for him, so he should have been staying put to study) and he surprised me by showing up on my doorstep on prom night, in a tux, with a beautiful corsage. He said it would be his honor to escort me to the dance. It ended up being one of the most incredible nights of my life, and I will always be grateful to Eduardo for stepping in like he did.”
There’s a look of pure besotted bliss on Gillian’s face, and that’s when I realize she’s in love with Eduardo. Then, now, probably since she was a kid if he was always around being dashing and wonderful. Sucks for her that he’s marrying me, but she had her chance, right? She could have told him how she felt. It’s not like she hasn’t had ample opportunity in the twenty-odd years they’ve known each other. She probably didn’t think he’d reciprocate, which would have screwed up their friendship, as well as the
ir working relationship.
“He’s a good guy,” I say.
“The best,” she concurs, then quickly drops her eyes to her plate and busies herself slicing up more tomatoes.
Although I don’t view Gillian as any kind of a threat, the thought of her pining hopelessly for Eduardo after he and I have said “I do” doesn’t really appeal to me. Maybe I’ll do her a solid and help her find someone else. I could even make a project out of it! That’s what wealthy ladies of leisure do, right? Find a worthy cause and devote their time and energy to it. We’ll have to start with that makeover I was thinking about earlier, and it needs to be H2T (head-to-toe, Tyra Banks™).
I pick up the piece of dill pickle that’s just oozed its way out of my scrumptious sandwich and pop it into my mouth while I survey Gillian with a critical eye. “Have you ever thought about cutting your hair, or punching up the color?” I query.
Although the sudden change in topic makes her brow furrow with confusion for a second, she rolls with it. “Not really. I’ve never been very adventurous with my hair. I’ve been wearing it the same way since, well, I guess I’ve always worn it like this.”
That explains why she looks like she’s sporting Lindsay Lohan’s ‘do from Parent Trap, a movie that came out almost two decades ago. The woman is wearing a headband for Cristo’s sake! And her all-one-length hair is doing this little flip-up thing at the end. I just can’t . . .
“I’m not proposing anything too radical. I just think that getting a few inches chopped off and layering your hair with some long fringe bangs would really draw attention to your eyes and flatter the shape of your face. Here, I’ll show you what I’m talking about . . .”
I grab my phone from my purse and do a quick Google search for pictures of fashionable mid-length haircuts on red-haired women. I’ve just found one that looks exactly like what I pictured on Gillian when a text from Mamá appears on my screen.
‘!Emergencia! !Emergencia! Tienes que ir a la casa de tu hermana ahorita!!!!!!!’
All Spanish? Dramatic much?
‘Which sister are you referring to and why do I have to come to her house? Has somebody got a hangnail?’ That’s usually my mother’s idea of an emergency.
‘This is no time for your sass! Pilar needs you; she had to go to the hospital this morning.’
For once in my mother’s life, she isn’t exaggerating. This really is serious!
‘Is she OK? What about the baby?’
‘They’re fine . . . for now. Will explain everything when you get here.’
‘On my way.’
I stuff my phone back in my purse and signal our waiter. “I’m sorry, Gillian, but something’s happened with my sister who’s pregnant and I need to go to her. Can we get the check please?” I ask the waiter and am relieved when he already has it prepared and hands it to me.
“Of course, I understand. You should be with your family.”
She reaches for her purse, but I stop her. “No, this is my treat.” Technically Eduardo’s, but whatever. I slap down my platinum AmEx and the waiter trots off with it. “Please stay and finish your meal. Order dessert if you want. ¡Ay, mierda! I forgot that I drove.”
“It’s okay.” She reaches out to pat my hand. “I can handle walking a few blocks back to the office.”
“Thanks.” I scribble my signature on the charge slip as soon as the waiter sets it down in front of me. “I hope we can do this again sometime.” I push back my chair and take off, only to screech to a halt and reverse back to the table. “I’ll e-mail those pictures of haircuts and colors to you, along with the number for my hairstylist,” I tell Gillian, then bolt for the door again.
CHAPTER 25
“She hasn’t even been born yet, and my niece is already being a drama queen, demanding everyone’s attention. The Alvarez force is strong with this one,” I say with a smirk after walking into Pilar’s bedroom to find her lying in bed propped up on what looks to be every pillow in the house, with Mamá, Ana, and two of the aunts hovering over her.
Pilar gives me a weak smile. “I think this baby’s going to give us all a run for our money.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask, bending down to give my sister a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m okay.”
“She is most certainly not okay!” Mamá exclaims. “She has an abrupt placenta, which is very serious. I never had that, or any other complications, with my pregnancies; I was perfectly healthy. Why? Because I didn’t work or push myself too hard like this one does.” She purses her lips disapprovingly at Pilar who shakes her head.
“Plenty of women work all the way up until their delivery dates, Mamá.”
“What the hell is an abrupt placenta?” That’s a medical term I’ve never heard before, but then I do my best to avoid any discussion of pregnancy or related womb parts.
“Language, mija! The baby can hear you.” My mother gives me an admonishing look, and I roll my eyes at her.
“She doesn’t have an abrupt placenta,” Ana, the know-it-all, corrects Mamá. “She has a partial placental abruption, which means there’s been a separation of the placenta from the uterine lining in one area. I had that with Theo.”
“So, it’s something that happens to older women when they’re knocked up?”
“Hey!” Pilar protests. “Who are you calling old?”
“You’re thirty-six, and according to The Mindy Project, this,” I wave my hand over her distended stomach, “would be categorized as a geriatric pregnancy.”
“That’s not necessarily the cause of this condition. I was only thirty-three when I had Theo,” Ana says.
“Yeah, but I’m sure your body thought you were older because of all the wear and tear, so it just behaved accordingly,” I snark.
Ana glares at me, her hands balling into fists at her sides, and I glare right back. Before things can escalate, Pilar breaks the tension by announcing, “My mouth is really dry. Could someone please hand me my water?”
“Of course, mija, the doctor did say it was important for you to stay hydrated.” Mamá hands her the bottle of Evian sitting on the bedside table.
“You should eat. I will go heat up a bowl of the fricasé de pollo I brought,” Aunt Brigida declares.
Drina immediately vetoes that idea. “¡No seas absurda! She does not want to eat stew on a hot summer day when she’s not feeling well. She needs to eat something light. I will make her a plantain omelette. That was her favorite when she was a child.”
“Ooooo, a plantain omelette sounds good. I’ll take one, too.” Dropping down on the bed next to my sister, I kick off my shoes and settle back against the pillows with her. When I realize everyone is gaping at me, I say, “What? I’m hungry. I had to leave half of a perfectly good Cuban sandwich behind at Bachour when I got Mamá’s hysterical text about Pilar.”
“I will make you both a Cubano!” Drina asserts.
“Gracias, tía, but I’m not really in the moo—”
“Everyone knows my Cubanos are better than yours,” Brigida cuts Pilar off, more interested in one-upping her sister than in hearing what the patient wants. “You always try to get creative with the sandwich and mess it up.”
“I do not! Adding grilled onions only enhances the flavor of the Cubano, as does using Brie cheese instead of Swiss. You are too stuck in your ways, mi hermana. You need to expand your culinary horizons.”
“I don’t think we have any leftover pork in the—”
Drina waves a hand dismissively at Pilar. “We will make it from scratch if we have to.”
“With your boring mojo sauce?” Brigida scoffs. “I think not!” The sisters continue to squabble as they leave the room.
“¡Ay!” Mamá throws her hands in the air. “I thought they’d never leave. I don’t know why your papá told them what was happening with Pilar. They’re such busybodies. Of course, they had to run right over here to get all the gossip and try to push their heavy food on Pilar and her niños, like I couldn’t cook for my ow
n children and grandchildren if they needed me to!”
Ignoring my miffed mother, I turn to Pilar. “So, you’re stuck on bed rest now?” Ford told me this when he answered the door, looking exhausted and stressed. (Not sure if that was because of the unexpected trip to the hospital with his wife and unborn child, or because he’s now got a houseful of Alvarez women.) He couldn’t say much more because Gabi was clinging to his pant leg.
Pilar makes a face. “There’s an increased chance of a premature birth with this abruption, so Dr. Guerra wants to keep me on bed rest as a precaution and she’ll monitor me closely until the due date.”
“And Pilar’s supposed to avoid any kind of exertion or stress until the baby comes,” Mamá adds.
“No exertion?” I frown. “Does that mean no sex? If so, I’d get a second opinion. Five weeks is a long time to go without.”
“Just goes to show what you know,” Ana says irritably. “The last thing a woman wants when she’s eight months pregnant is sex.”
“Speak for yourself,” Pilar and Mamá retort in unison.
“Ew, really?” Ana looks at them both as if they’re locas. “I wouldn’t even let Raymond sleep in the same bed with me once I hit the third trimester.” She shudders with revulsion at the thought.
“It really is a miracle you managed to get pregnant as many times as you did,” I remark dryly.
“And I’m amazed you’ve managed not to get pregnant with all the slutting around you do,” Ana sneers.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about since I’m a happily engaged woman.” I hold up my left hand and wiggle my fingers, including the one with my big, fat engagement ring, in front of her.
“Yeah, right. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I scowl up at her.
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