However, it isn’t Aaron’s smarmy presence that invades our get-together. It’s…
Edgar…?
I blink again. Why does he keep popping up where he’s not supposed to? Did he put a tracker on me? How else would he know where I am? And why is he dressed in a pinstriped navy three-piece Brioni suit, like he’s a law firm partner ready to face a particularly difficult jury? Manny’s Tacos isn’t the kind of place where you put on a fifteen-thousand-dollar suit, no matter how delicious it makes you look.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“To do the right thing,” he answers calmly.
Papa clears his throat. Disapproval twists his lips. His gaze moves back and forth between me and Edgar like he’s debating which one of two naughty school kids he ought to give a tongue lashing to first. “Is this the fiancé?”
“No,” I say quickly.
Edgar frowns at me.
I tilt my chin belligerently. He can frown until he gets permanent wrinkles, but I have to do this, at least until Papa retires. To make up for it, I’ll refer Edgar to a great cosmetic dermatologist in the city who specializes in filler and Botox.
“Then who is he?” Pablo asks.
This time, Edgar speaks before I can. “I’m the father of her baby.”
A jolt goes through my family and relatives. He might as well have thrown a live wire into a swimming pool. Everyone’s face turns red and furious in unison, except for Angel and Hugo. Angel has already accepted that I occasionally have sex. The only thing he asked me is to not get pregnant by a guy I don’t like, and if somebody mistreats me, to let him know so he can shove the guy’s leg up his ass. As for Hugo…
Well. He’s the one who told Edgar about the baby. And he looks contented and pleased.
After a lot of huffing and other miscellaneous sounds of outrage from the family, Rafael finally says, “Jo? Pregnant? Ridiculous! Jo’s a virgin!”
“Yeah,” Pablo says with aggression more suited for a pit bull that had its favorite treat stolen than a cartoon-tie-wearing pediatric cardiologist. “Total slander. Jo’s not that kind of girl.”
My cousins all nod, even Hugo. What the hell… He’s so ridiculous. They all are.
I take a glance at Edgar. He’s watching them all with impassive green eyes. Underneath the calm mask, he’s likely rolling those eyes. Or even sneering the way the born-rich do when they’re confronted with what they believe to be time-wasting foolishness.
Flee, Edgar! My cousins and brothers are crazy, so flee!
Papa looks sternly at Edgar. “How do you explain this, young man?”
Edgar grows as serious as a bishop about to announce that without penance there can be no salvation. “Immaculate conception with my sperm.”
I gape at Edgar. Hugo has a coughing fit. I can’t decide if Edgar is joking or serious, like when he offered to put on a dress to join me and the girls at the bar.
My parents and uncle and aunt look vaguely impressed—although it’s hard to tell if they’re impressed with Edgar’s solemn delivery or his balls. Regardless, I can see the room swaying in Edgar’s favor. He has an ability to make people think that his way is not only sound but inevitable. It must be the solid, rocklike quality he radiates. You can’t argue or be flexible with rocks.
Suddenly, Angel says, “What make
s you think you’re good enough for her?”
The hostile question seems to break the spell, making everyone start, including me. I’m curious what Edgar will say.
“I thought Jo said he wasn’t her fiancé,” Tía Bea says.
“But he’s the father of her baby. Who else is she going to marry?” Tío Manny says.
“Exactly!” Hugo says with near desperation. “Let’s talk about the baby!”
A desire to strangle Hugo and the need to put hands over my ears and pretend I’m not here tug at me from opposite directions.
“Imagine!” Hugo continues. “The first grandchild! So exciting!”