by Tara West
"Uh, yeah." I definitely caught it. I was drowning in her venom the whole night.
"Don't worry about Marie." Andrés looks at me and winks. "She grew up with a bunch of boys. I think she likes being the only girl, and she's jealous you're getting so much attention.
"Great. So how do I get her to back off?"
"Just ignore her. She'll come around."
But I don't like the edge of doubt in his voice. I also don't like the uneasy tension that clings to him like a second skin. I can see the way his shoulders stiffen and the veins protrude in his neck. Andrés looks like he's got a lot on his mind, too, so I decide to drop the topic of Marie. Talking about her makes my stomach sour, anyway.
"You don't look happy, either, Andrés." It's a statement, not a question, and I wait with bated breath for him to answer.
If anything, the tension in the truck cab thickens, so much that I can feel his nervous energy snaking up my spine.
"I had a rough day at work." His jaw is so tight, I'm amazed he can even speak.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. I want to forget it." His tone is clipped, firm, leaving little room for me to argue.
This pregnancy, this wedding, can't be helping his stress, and lately he seems very stressed. I admire how Andrés acts like a different man at work, focused, authoritative. But having worked with him so long, I'm starting to see through his tough guy veneer. Andrés is a strict boss, uncompromising with his employees. I used to think his style was a product of his military training, but more and more lately, I'm noticing the weariness in his eyes, the stoop of his shoulders every time something goes wrong at one of the shops. Andrés hates his job.
"So what's going on with the wedding?" Andrés cuts into my thoughts. I look at him with a weary gaze. His aunts weren't thrilled with my mom's wedding plans. I wonder what Andrés will think. After all, this is his wedding, too.
"We're still looking at February first." I pause as I summon the nerve to hit him with the latest news. I know he wanted the wedding at the ranch. "Nora is talking about having it at a hotel on The Riverwalk."
"We can't do it at Tio's ranch?"
Damn. He didn't miss a beat.
I try to keep my tone even, though my body and soul are weary. I don't feel like discussing this wedding anymore. All I want to do is curl up underneath my blankets, fall asleep, and pretend this wedding isn't turning into a nightmare. "My stepdad has a large family. My mom wants it someplace bigger, more formal."
"The ranch has a lot of room, and you can make it more formal. That's your job now, isn't it?" There's no denying the accusation in his voice. I want to get mad at him, to argue, but he's right. It is my job to decorate weddings. I know I could make the ranch look just as beautiful as any hotel. But my mom is so set on having it in San Antonio. She wants to give me an extravagant wedding because she's missed out on all of the other milestones in my life, and she feels if she spends a lot of money, she'll somehow make it up to me. I'd feel bad denying her that.
"I don't know. I think The Riverwalk sounds nice." I lean over and try to look into his face, but Andrés doesn't so much as blink, much less look in my direction. "That's where we went on our first vacation together, remember?"
"I remember, mija," he says, "but Tia's not going to be happy."
I stiffen my spine. "This isn't her wedding."
He finally looks over at me, and a knot tightens in my chest at the accusation in his gaze. "It's not your mom's wedding, either."
"I know," I say as I look away. The weight of this wedding is pressing so heavily on my chest I fear I may suffocate, especially when I realize there's no way I can make everyone happy.
***
After we get home, Andrés fixes me a virgin sangria. We climb into bed, and he asks me to fill him in on our wedding plans. I tell him all about Nora. I sense he doesn't like the idea of this woman planning our wedding. I try to emphasize that she and The Cobra are no longer friends, but somehow I get the impression he's not buying it. I don't blame him, either. I wish I could find a way out of using her.
We discuss the wedding party. I tell him I want my brothers to be ring bearers and he wants his little cousin Amelia to be the flower girl. I only want one bridesmaid, Grace, since I don't talk to my other sorority sisters anymore and, besides Andrés, she's my only good friend. Andrés is going to ask his cousin Cesar to stand up with him. He hints he wants to see my dress, but I think back to what his aunt said about it being bad luck. I'm starting to think this wedding doesn't need any more bad mojo, so I smile coyly and tell him he'll have to wait until the wedding.
As tired as I am, I fall into him and wrap my arms around his neck when he kisses me goodnight. I try to deepen the kiss, but he pulls back and plants a chaste peck on my forehead. What the heck? He doesn't even bother making a move.
"Goodnight, mjia," he says.
When he gets out of bed and pads toward the living room, I bite on my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, trying my best to stifle my tears. A few slip out of the corners of my eyes, anyway. I keep my eyes shut; I don't want to open them and see Andrés is gone. I squeeze my pillow as fatigue overtakes me. It's been a long day, and I fear the time between now and the wedding may prove to be even more demanding.
Chapter Eleven
Christina
"Merry Christmas, mija."
I stretch my arms above me as I slowly open my eyes. Andrés is lying beside me, and even though I know he spent the night in the other room, I try to pretend he was with me all night long.
"Merry Christmas," I say as I inhale the tempting aroma of warm butter and cinnamon. "Something smells good."
"Mmmm," he answers as he massages my lower back. "I made you breakfast."
I roll into him and wrap my arms around his neck, nuzzling that little patch of hair on his chest with my nose. He is warm and inviting, and as I press my ear against his chest, I can hear the steady and reassuring beat of his heart. I sigh into him. He kisses my temple and continues to rub my back. How nice it would be to lie here together all day long, but I know my family is waiting for us in San Antonio. Andrés is supposed to help my stepdad prepare dinner, and my mom and I are going to decorate the dining room. I can't wait to try out my new designer skills today. This is, after all, what I'm supposed to be doing for my new career.
Despite the stress from the wedding and the pregnancy, I have the feeling today will be my best Christmas ever. This holiday has never meant much to me, mainly because I spent most Christmases listening to my adoptive mother and father getting drunk and swearing at each other. But this time is different. This time I'll be surrounded by people I love who love me back. In some ways, it feels like I'll be celebrating my very first Christmas, and the excitement rises in me like effervescent bubbles. I have a lot to be thankful for. I squeeze Andrés's neck tighter, and giggle when he tickles my ribcage. I spring from the bed, feeling like a child anxious to open presents from Santa.
But my excitement is short-lived as I'm hit by a wave of dizziness. I fall back onto the bed and groan.
"Should I bring you breakfast in bed?" he asks, concern lacing each word.
"No, just give me a minute," I say as I close my eyes and will the nausea to subside.
"Your breakfast is ready, mija. I'll go get it."
Andrés rolls out of bed with an ease that makes me jealous and he returns a few minutes later with a tray of food. Mmmm. It smells even better close up. I can't believe the spread he's made: French toast, eggs, hash browns, and real pork bacon (not the fake crap). Best of all is the steaming cup of coffee, which looks to be twice the size of my daily limit, but I'm not complaining.
He props up some pillows behind me and my mouth waters as he sets the tray down. I scoot up against the headboard and reach for my coffee. I frown at the tea bag floating in the liquid.
"Got it at the vitamin store. It's supposed to help with morning sickness," Andrés says, as he puffs up his chest, looking adorably proud of himself.
"I sweetened it with honey."
"Thanks," I say, stunned. "I guess it's worth a try." I try not to make a face as I swallow the bitter liquid. I've never been a big fan of tea, but since Andrés went through all the trouble, I know I'll have to finish it. Besides, the sweet honey makes the flavors somewhat bearable, and masks most of the funky aftertaste.
I close my eyes and take several sips, while I tell my morning sickness to piss off. After a few minutes, and nearly half the cup, I feel slightly better, so I open my eyes to see my smiling fiancé holding a forkful of French toast topped with syrup and whipped cream just below my chin. I open my mouth and gladly take a bite, groaning as I bite into cinnamon, warm butter and cream. Damn, he can cook.
I savor the flavors as long as possible before begging for more. Andrés and I share the rest of the meal this way, and morning sickness be damned, I eat until I can't fit in another bite. After I take a quick shower and get dressed, I find Andrés in the kitchen, cleaning the last of the pots and pans. I feel bad I didn't get to help, but I doubt I can work at his speed anyway. It is as if life is in slow motion, and I don't have the energy to do much in the morning.
Andrés hands me another steaming cup, and this time I smile in relief when I smell the aroma of roasted almonds and vanilla. I take a deep drink, savoring the richness as if it's the last cup of coffee I'll ever drink.
Andrés watches me drink with this expectant look in his eyes, and the nervous energy roils off his skin in waves. My chest tightens and my heart starts to race. It's present time!
He wordlessly reaches for my hand, and I follow him into the living room. My last thought before we sit beside the small tree sitting on top of a side table is I hope Andrés likes what I got him. But before I can give him his present, he pulls a small box, wrapped in red velvet and topped with a gold bow, from behind the tree. I gasp as I take it from his outstretched hand while looking deeply into his warm eyes, swirling with amber and honeyed gold flecks.
"I hope you like it," he says in a low raspy voice.
I bite my bottom lip as the warmth of his words coats my senses like rich, maple syrup. "I'm sure I will." I untie the bow and peel back the paper.
I gasp when I open the box. Inside is a bracelet and matching earrings. Each has the same diamond and emerald flower pattern as my engagement ring. I don't even have to ask if these are real; I know they are. I hold up the bracelet and the stones sparkle as they catch the reflection from the tree's glowing lights.
"Andrés. These must have cost a fortune."
He runs a hand down the side of my face. "You're worth it, mija."
I lean into him, relishing the feel of his touch as it sends ripples of pleasure across my skin. I'm so very tempted right now to postpone opening the rest of our presents and drag him into the bedroom. If only my mom wasn't expecting me.
After Andrés helps me put on the earrings, and I lavish him with many, many "thank you" kisses, we open less expensive presents, like jeans and scarves. He bought me a Spanish tutorial CD for the computer, and I can't wait to learn enough to have a conversation with him, even if I'm not able to master the accent. I love that smoky look in Andrés 's eyes when he opens the black lace nightie, that is technically a present I bought for myself, but more for his enjoyment. Finally, comes the last present, the largest one, and the one that makes my gut twist with apprehension. This present cost me my entire last paycheck, so I hope he likes it. If not, I've saved the receipt.
Andrés's face lights up when he opens the box, a collection of bronze pots and pans. The guy at the upscale culinary store told me it's what the professional chefs use.
He lets out a low whistle as he reads the words on the box. "You bought me bronze, mija? These are expensive."
He looks lost in thought as he stares at the box. He must be thinking I've spent too much, but his present couldn't have cost more than mine. Besides, he's such an awesome cook, he should have nice cookware.
"Your food deserves the very best. You should have been a chef, you know," I add, thinking he'd be more accepting of my gift with a little boost to his ego.
My heart sinks to my stomach as his face contorts into one massive frown.
"Don't you like them?" I hesitantly ask.
He pats the top of the box before setting it on the coffee table. I'm rendered speechless when he looks back at me. There's a sadness behind his smile I can't define. Why would pots and pans make him so melancholy?
He clasps my hands in his and kisses my cheek. "They're perfect, mija," he rasps into my ear. "I love them."
But his words lack conviction, fizzling like a balloon running out of air. I don't understand how my present could have soured his mood, but I definitely sense a change in him, like a dark haze has settled over his soul. And now my soul is hurting, too.
***
That big breakfast still weighs heavily in my stomach as we pack the car with presents and head to my mom's house. I end up sleeping the entire two hour drive. By the time we pull into my mom's circular driveway, I'm feeling rested and refreshed. I stretch my arms, relieved to see Andrés smiling at me. "Did you enjoy your nap?"
"Yesss," I say through a yawn.
My brothers bound toward me before I have one foot out the door. They're bouncing around the car like jackrabbits on speed, chanting something about "more presents."
"Yeah, I'm happy to see you, too, boys," I say wryly as I bend down and open my arms for a hug. Little Manny is the first rugrat to launch himself into my arms, followed by big brother, Gio. They cover my cheeks, in sloppy, sticky kisses and then tell me to hurry up inside so they can open more gifts. Have I mentioned lately my brothers are the cutest kids ever?
Andrés tells me to go with them while he unloads the car. I feel bad leaving him behind, but my brothers don't leave me much choice as they drag me toward the house. My mom is standing on the front porch, and my stepdad is beside her, dusting his hands on his apron.
"Merry Christmas," they sing in unison, beaming at me with infectious smiles.
It warms my heart to see how much those two are on the same wavelength. More than once, I've watched Doc and my mom finish each other's sentences and both laugh uncontrollably at the same jokes. I sure hope mine and Andrés's marriage will be this solid after we've had kids.
After sharing hugs and kisses with them, I'm anxious to get to work helping my mom with the decorations. She leads me through the tall foyer while Doc helps Andrés carry in presents.
My senses are accosted by the smells of warm cinnamon and nutmeg, and imagine my surprise when my stomach growls loud enough to rival a grizzly bear. My mom and I both stop and look down at my midsection.
"Didn't you have breakfast, dear?" she asks.
My jaw drops as my stomach growls again. "Uh, I had a huge breakfast."
"Well, you are eating for two." Mom winks and pats my stomach.
I scratch my head. "Yeah, but this baby is only the size of a peanut."
Mom's green eyes twinkle with laughter. "I gained most of my pregnancy weight early on with all you kids. My stomach was like a bottomless pit." She starts toward the kitchen and I follow. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."
My heart slams when we pass beneath a pale gossamer curtain and into the dining area. The place looks like a winter wonderland, aglow with twinkling lights and fake snow. The walls are draped in more gossamer curtains, and sparkly snowflakes of every size hang from the ceiling. It's breathtakingly beautiful, and my mom did it all without my help.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she asks with a lilt.
"I thought I was supposed to help." I hate that I sound like a petulant child, but I can't help but feel hurt that she'd left me out.
"Oh, dear, I know how tired you've been lately." Mom pats me on the hand, speaking in soothing tones like she's trying to quell a child on the verge of a tantrum. "I worked on this for the past two days. You would never have been able to finish it in time, especially in your condition." She nods toward my stomach, which,
unfortunately, chooses that very moment to let out another loud rumble. Mom walks over to the buffet against the wall and picks up a big ball of clay. "I saved the sculpture for you. I figured you could make it look like a snowman. The boys would love that."
My shoulders slump when I think back to my junior year in college when my sculpting teacher told me my work had no depth. My assignment had been to mold the bust of one of my parents. I'd chosen to sculpt The Cobra, the lesser of two evils. I figured her image had no depth because it was a reflection of what was on the inside. Either way, I survived that course with a B minus, thanks to tons of extra credit.
I take the clay and let the weight of it settle in my hands. I've always loved the way it felt when I pressed my fingers into the soft, yet firm substance. Maybe I can sculpt something small, but I'm still terrified it will look like crap.
"I've never been that good at sculpting."
Mom frowns, and the pity reflecting in her gaze is so humiliating, I feel like hiding behind those gossamer curtains and never coming out.
"The boys don't care if it's not Michelangelo. Just maybe Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph."
"Okay." I barely mouth the word as I absently nod. My stomach rumbles so loudly this time, I feel like I'm caught in an intestinal earthquake.
"Let's get you some food." Mom tugs hard on my hand, pulling me through the kitchen doors without another word.
I heave a sigh. I had all of these designs in mind for the dining room, but mom's wonderland is pretty awesome. Still, I wish I could have contributed more than a clay snowman. Not only has this pregnancy rendered me a tired eating machine, it has rendered me useless.
***
Dinner is amazing thanks mostly to Andrés's homemade gravy and warm, buttery tortillas that practically melt in my mouth. Yes, our personal chefs decided to skip the biscuits and make homemade tortillas, which Doc said were far better than anything his Mexican grandmother ever made. I believe him, too. Andrés is an amazing cook.