Come What May: A Standalone Age Gap Romance

by LK Farlow

  “Do you want to pursue art as a career?”

  “Maybe. Big goals, I wanna play for the WNBA. But if that doesn’t happen, I’d like to teach art or something. Or maybe run a place like this.”

  We hand our pieces over to the employee on duty so they can be fired in the kiln, with instructions to pick them on Friday.

  As we walk back to the truck, my mind wanders to Desi’s mom. She must have been a wonderful woman and while I’m not trying to replace her—not ever—I can’t help but feel I have big shoes to fill.

  “What kind of art do you like the most?” I ask as we approach the truck.

  Desi answers once we’re both buckled into our seats. “Well, before today, I would have said mixed media, but I think I really like sculpting, too.”

  “I don’t know much about art, but I bet you could combine them.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “Maybe so.”

  “What kind of art did your mom do?”

  “Oh, man, she was a painter—watercolor. Dad says her work was mostly abstract, but whenever I look at the pieces Dad saved, I always feel like there’s something more to them. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so. What about Silvi?”

  “She paints too, but she prefers oil.”

  “That’s really cool. I don’t think I have an artistic bone in my body.”

  “Clearly.” Desi snorts out a laugh, no doubt recalling my pathetic sculpting attempt. “But you know cars and you’re really good at makeup.”

  “I’ll give you the makeup thing; but trust me when I say, I know about cars. I get how they work and how to make them work. I do not know how to make them pretty.”

  “Whatever. Dad showed me pictures of Willow’s Jeep. He said you helped paint it.”

  My cheeks heat recalling the other things we did in the paint booth. “Oh, um, yeah. Beginner’s luck.”

  “Whatever. You gotta love yourself a little more, Spaz.”

  I pull the truck into the garage. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

  Desi hops out before I’m fully into park. “Duh. I’m always right.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mateo

  I lean against the doorjamb to the bathroom, watching as Seraphine twists her hair around some kind of curling iron. “You almost ready?” I ask, loving the way she’s so at ease in my space.

  Over the last month, she’s spent more time here than at her place. Hell, she’s one drawer away from being moved in. Which, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind.

  “Almost.” She wrinkles her nose and presses a hand to her belly. “Just gotta spray my hair and change.”

  “Estás preciosa—you look beautiful.” I mean it, too. She’s had this glow about her recently and it looks damn good on her.

  “Thank you.” She stands from the vanity stool and unplugs her iron. “Let me get dressed and we can go.”

  “Perfect. Let me go check on Desi.”

  Sure enough, my daughter is laid back on the couch, playing on her phone while she waits on us. “Time to go?” she asks.

  “Just about.”

  “Cool. Can I drive?”

  “Feels good outside; I figured we could walk.”

  Desi lifts one shoulder and then the other. “Yeah, a walk sounds nice.”

  I kick back into the seat beside her and discreetly glance down at her screen. She’s thumbing through articles on the ESPN app, and not for the first time, I thank God for blessing me with such a good kid.

  A few minutes later, Seraphine walks into the room. Her long legs are wrapped in a pair of leather leggings, and a thick cream sweater clings to her every curve. “Sorry I took so long.”

  “The end result is more than worth the wait, mariposita.”

  “Y’all are gross.” Desi pretends to dry heave. “Let’s go, abuelita promised me rajas.”

  “What’s that?” Seraphine asks as we all walk toward the door.

  “Girl!” Desi cries. “You’re in for a treat. It’s poblano peppers and onions and crema and so good. Just trust me.”

  “Sounds tasty. But I’m fairly certain anything Lety cooks is divine.”

  Seraphine and I walk hand-in-hand behind Desi, who is dribbling her basketball down the sidewalk.

  “You think Tío Arrón will wanna pick up a game with me?”

  I feign hurt. “Why only Arrón? I can play, too!”

  Desi pivots around and passes the ball my way. I catch it effortlessly and check it back to her. “Fine, maybe we can all play.”

  “I might sit it out,” Seraphine says. “I feel a little tired.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask, stopping midstride to check her over.

  She tugs on my wrist until I start walking again. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

  “If you say so.”

  She nods. “I do.”

  We walk up to my mother’s house right as Arrón pulls in on his motorcycle. He kills the engine and toes the kickstand down before stowing his helmet. “Desita! Rumor has y’all are undefeated this season?”

  “Duh,” she scoffs, as if her team’s winning rank is a given.

  “Congrats; I’m proud of you.”

  “Come to a game then,” she says, passing him the ball.

  He, too, catches it and bounces it back. “Consider it done.”

  Mamá opens the front door, greeting us warmly, before we even step foot on the porch. “Hola, adelante, adelante—hello, come in!”

  We all stop and kiss her weathered cheeks before stepping into her home, but she pays Seraphine extra attention.

  “I am glad you are here,” Mamá tells Seraphine, clasping her hands.

  Seraphine dips a shoulder. “I’m happy to be here. Thank you for asking me back after how I behaved last time.”

  Mamá releases Seraphine’s hand and dusts her own together. “It was nothing. Come, let’s eat.”

  The familiar scents of my mother’s kitchen greet us as we venture past the threshold. I groan in appreciation.

  “Smells good, huh?” I ask my beautiful date, but when I look her way, she looks a little green. I stop and turn her face toward mine. “Are you okay?”

  Her brow dips but she forces a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

  “Are you getting sick or something?”

  Mamá chuckles as she sweeps past us. “Or something.”

  I wait until my mother is out of sight before asking, “Are you sure you’re okay? Do we need to go?”

  She laughs, but it sounds like a lie. “No, I’m good—promise.”

  I’m on the verge of calling her out when Silvi sticks her head out into the hall. “C’mon, everyone is waiting for you two!”

  Seraphine tugs on my wrist, nodding toward my sister. “You heard her; let’s go.”

  I relent and follow her into the kitchen.

  The island is once again full of food. In addition to the rajas, there’s also pollo con mole, chicharron en salsa verde, and papas con chorizo. In short, it’s a feast fit for a king.

  Unfortunately, Seraphine stills looks a little off. “How about you sit and I’ll make you a small plate?” I ask, rubbing the small of her back in comforting strokes.

  “Yes, please.”

  I lean in and kiss her lips, uncaring that we have an audience. “Anything for you.”

  A rosy blush blooms across her cheeks and she refuses to meet anyone’s eyes as she slinks away to the table.

  “Is she okay?” Silvi asks.

  “Just tired.”

  Mamá snorts. “Not yet she isn’t.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “In time, Mate; in time.”

  With those cryptic words ringing in my ears, I make myself a plate with heaping portions of everything and Seraphine a plate of fruit along with some rice and tortillas.

  I place hers in front of her on the table and claim the seat next to her.

  She murmurs a softly spoken thanks between sips of water.

  Mamá leads us in prayer an
d we all descend on our plates like starved vultures—with the exception of Seraphine, of course. She merely moves her food around with her fork.

  She skips dessert as well, which is unfathomable since it’s her famous pay de límon. Consisting of frozen layers of vanilla cookies and a sweet lemon sauce, it’s as refreshing as it is tasty.

  Once every plate has been all but licked clean, Desi announces it’s time to play ball. Seraphine stays inside with Mamá. Which, if I’m being honest makes me a little nervous. I know she’s in good hands—they just happen to be very nosy, meddling hands as well.

  We play two-on-two—Desi and Silvi against Arrón and me—and while Silvi isn’t too athletic, Desi more than makes up for it.

  “So, it’s serious?” my sister asks, half-ass guarding me while I dribble the ball.

  “What is?”

  She shoulder checks me.

  “Foul!” I cry, but no one cares.

  “You and Seraphine,” Arrón answers for her.

  Desi steals the ball and shoots. “Duh, they’re like, in love.” The ball swishes through, nothing but net.

  “Oh, it’s like that?” Silvi asks, as Arrón takes the ball and checks it to me.

  I shoot the ball, but it bounces off the rim, right into Desi’s hands. “Yeah, it’s like that.”

  My siblings exchange a look before breaking out into matching grins.

  “Good,” my brother says, “I really like her.”

  Silvi nods. “I think Imani would like her, too.”

  We all fall quiet at the mention of my late wife. A peace thrums deep within and I know they’re right.

  Choked with emotion, all I can do is nod.

  Desi manages to score again while I’m lost in my feelings, making her and Silvi the winners, leading us twenty to fourteen.

  “Play again?” my daughter asks, not even sounding out of breath.

  “I’m gonna go check on Seraphine, y’all have at it.”

  “Horse?” she asks her aunt and uncle as I head back into the house.

  I find Seraphine in the living room. She’s out cold on the couch, sleeping deeply. I guess she really was tired.

  Mamá is in the kitchen, washing dishes.

  “Let me help you,” I say, nudging her aside so I can take over. “You cooked, the least I can do is clean up.”

  She dries her hands and pats my cheek. “You’re a good boy, Mate.”

  “I’m a man, Mamá.”

  She clucks her tongue at me. “You will always be my boy.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I packed some leftovers for you; make sure Seraphine gets some.”

  “Of course.”

  “You need to make sure she is eating well.”

  My eyes slide from the sudsy, dish-filled water to my mother. “She is a grown woman who can feed herself.”

  “Ouch!” I rub the back of my head. “Why did you just smack me with the dish towel?”

  “Open your eyes, Mate, and see! Take care of her.”

  I feel like she’s saying one thing and meaning another. Unfortunately for both of us, her hidden message is lost on me.

  Chapter Thirty

  Seraphine

  “Are you sure you’re okay to go to the party today?” Mateo asks for what feels like the hundredth time.

  “I’m not missing my niece’s birthday party.” I mulishly cross my arms over my chest.

  “You’re not still tired? You were so puny last night at my mother’s—I’m worried.”

  I shake my head no, but a yawn betrays me.

  “We can both stay?” he offers, but I won’t be swayed and he sees in the defiant tilt of my chin. “Fine. But if you feel worse, I’m taking you home.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I grumble, “now let’s go or we’ll be late.”

  “If you say so.” Mateo eyes me long and hard. “Let me load up the Jeep.”

  I follow him outside in case he needs help. But the sight before me is so comical, all I can do is laugh.

  “You like?”

  He has a trailer hitched to his truck with the sparkly pink Jeep—along with a trailer of its own—ratcheted down in the center.

  “I love.”

  “Me?” He smirks. “I know. I love you, too.”

  “C’mon, Casanova.”

  We get a lot of honks and waves on the drive out to Magnolia’s. People are loving the pint-sized custom ride we’re hauling. If the reactions of this many strangers are anything to go by, Willow will absolutely flip for the thing.

  Simon meets us in the drive and lets out a low whistle. “Now that’s a damn Powerwheel.”

  “It’s nice, right?” Mateo asks, pulling him into one of those weird back-slapping man hugs.

  “Nicer than nice.”

  “Sweet. Help me get it around back?”

  “You got it.”

  While they set to work unloading the Jeep, I grab our gift—a Willow-sized racing helmet, painted to match her new ride—from the back seat.

  Magnolia meets me at the door with a warm hug. “I’ve missed you!”

  “Miss you, too. Where should I put this?”

  “I’ve got it.” She takes the box from me and carries it out back, where the party is already in full swing. Luckily, they rented an inflatable bounce house, so the kids don’t even notice Simon and Mateo wheeling the Jeep back.

  “Mags, you’re out of spinach dip—Seraphine, you’re here!” Azalea wraps me in a hug.

  “There’s more in the fridge.”

  “On it!” Azalea bounds off into the house.

  “Let’s catch up.” Magnolia leads me over to a set of chairs. “How are things?”

  “Which things?”

  She nods her head toward Mateo.

  “Oh, those things. They’re good…really good.”

  “Like, in love good?”

  “Who’s in love?” Myla Rose asks, pulling up a chair to join us.

  I raise my hand slightly. “Me. I am.”

  Myla Rose squeals and scoots her chair even closer. “Since when?”

  Shrugging, I confess, “I don’t know; it just sort of happened.”

  “What did?” Azalea asks, perching on the arm of Myla’s chair.

  “Seraphine is in love with Mateo.”

  Azalea rolls her eyes. “Duh. Old news.”

  We all turn to look at her.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, wondering how she could’ve known—especially when she was so damn blind at the start of her own relationship.

  “Girl.” She shakes her head. “The way you look at that man, he may as well have hung the moon.”

  “He’s pretty amazing.”

  “The real question is,” Myla Rose says, leaning forward, “is it mutual?”

  I can feel myself smiling. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Who said it first?” Magnolia asks.

  “Uh. Well. I almost said it and then felt really stupid, so he said it and yeah…”

  My three friends squeal before congratulating me.

  “Sorry to break up girl talk,” Simon says, “but it’s time for cake.”

  Magnolia smiles up at him with a gaze full of love; I can’t help but wonder if that’s the look Azalea was talking about?

  We all move to the back of the deck where they have the cake set up. Mateo meanders over to me, wrapping me in his arms for all to see.

  “You look happy,” he murmurs against my neck before kissing me there.

  “I am.” I look up at him over my shoulder. “How could I not be?”

  A chorus of the Happy Birthday song starts up before I can reply and Willow blows out her candles like a champ. “Pwesents first?” she asks, puppy eyes and all, and like the sucker my cousin is, Magnolia agrees.

  “Sure, Wills, presents first.”

  At some point, the guys covered the Jeep with a tarp, so sweet Willow hasn’t even noticed its existence.

  She tears through package after package like a tiny tornado—one with manners though, as sh
e pauses long enough to thank each gift giver before moving on to the next.

  Luckily, the helmet from Mateo and me is toward the back of the pile and is the last gift she opens. Even without knowing what it is for, the pink sparkles have her oohing and ahhing before jamming it onto her head.

  “Wook, Daddy! I go fast!” She runs toward Simon and leaps into his arms.

  “Hell yes, you do,” he croons.

  “Dat’s a bad word.”

  “My bad,” he mutters, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Wanna open your last present?”

  Her eyes widen comically. “There’s more?”

  “Yeah.” He tips his head toward the big, blue tarp. “Go and take a peek underneath that.”

  She races over and instead of pulling the tarp off, she scoots under. “Whoa!”

  “Do you like it?” Simon asks.

  Willow crawls back out. “I dunno. It was too dark to see.”

  All of the party-goers chuckle and Simon whips the tarp off with the flair of a magician removing a tablecloth.

  Her little jaw drops as she releases an ear-splitting squeal. “I wove it! I wove-wove-wove it!” She hugs Simon and Magnolia before clamoring into her Jeep. “Can I dwive it?”

  “How about cake first?” Magnolia asks. Willow responds by pursing her lips together and making engine sounds. “Fine, speed demon, take a lap or two.”

  Simon and the other guys all head off to watch Willow test out her new toy while Magnolia divvies up the cake.

  I eagerly accept my plate, knowing she had it made by Sprinkles—A.K.A. the best cake shop in the whole damn county.

  I fork up a bite heavy with icing and bring it to my lips only to gag. I slap a hand over my mouth and toss my plate down before running inside the house to the bathroom.

  My eyes water as acid crawls up my throat. I slam open the door to the hall bath and hit my knees before the toilet right as everything in my stomach comes back up.

  Footsteps sound from somewhere in the house, but I’m too exhausted to care.

  “Seraphine,” Magnolia calls my name from the other side of the door.

  All I can manage is a garbled moan in response as another wave of nausea hits me.

  “Are you okay?”