“Lety; okay, it’s nice to meet you.”
She pats my cheek tenderly and nods once. “Let us eat.”
The delicious scents clinging to Lety grow stronger as she leads us through the house and into the kitchen. On the long island is a spread unlike any other I’ve ever seen. Platter after platter of food sits there, the wafting steam practically calling my name.
I’m so entranced by the buffet before me, I don’t notice Desi approaching until she’s hugging me. “Seraphine!” She rocks us back and forth. “You came! You’re really here?”
I can’t put my finger on it, but her words feel like they have a double meaning and I’m only privy to one of them.
“I am.”
“Menos Mal—thank God you’re here,” Silvi says, bypassing me. “We can finally eat.”
Even though her tone is cool, my eyes widen and my hands tremor at her words. “Am I late?” I ask, already berating myself for not getting here sooner. “Ma-Mateo said—”
Glaring at his sister, Mateo cuts me off. “You’re right on time. Silvi gets hangry is all. Ignore her. Everyone else does.”
Silvi sticks her tongue out at her brother. “Don’t ignore me, ignore that idiota.”
Arrón struts into the kitchen with a smile on his face. “Ignore them both,” he says as he passes me a plate.
I thank him and step up to the bar, only for Mateo to take my plate. “You sit, I’ll handle this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, go.”
Lety interlocks her arm with mine and directs me to a large oak dining table. She takes the head of the table and places me to her right.
“Tell me about you,” she says, her gaze never wavering.
“Um. I’ve lived here my entire life. I’m almost twenty-one. I like reading, cars, and makeup. Um…”
Lety waves a hand in the air. “I don’t want facts and figures. I want to know you.”
A beat of silence passes between us before I confess, “I’m not sure what that means.”
“I want to know your heart. Your soul.”
I have no idea how to give her what she’s wanting. My confusion must be as clear as day on my face because eventually she sighs and pats my hand. “In time, then.”
I’m saved from answering her by Silvi and Desi walking in. Silvi claims the chair catty-corner from me and Desi the one across from me. The food on their plates looks as good as it smells.
Arrón and Mateo follow shortly after, carrying two plates each. Arrón places one in front of Lety before rounding the table, leaving the spot beside from me open for Mateo.
He places a heaping plate down in front of me and after Lety leads us in a prayer, he begins explaining the contents of my plate to me and forking up little bites of each for me to taste.
Each bite is better than the last, and if his family finds it weird for him to feed me, no one says anything. In fact, the conversation flows so freely, I hardly give it a second thought either.
After tasting a bite of each, my favorite dish, or guisado, as Mateo calls it, is hands down the tostadas de tinga. The toasted corn tortilla—from scratch—is mind-blowing on its own—seriously, I don’t know how I’ll ever eat a tortilla from a bag again—but when you add the refried beans and chicken, which is smoky with the exact right amount of heat, it’s nearly a religious experience.
“Lety, your food, it’s amazing.”
She beams at my praise. “We will make you some to take home.”
“If there’s any left,” Arrón murmurs from his end of the table, sounding full and a little sleepy.
“But first, dessert.”
Desi whips around to face her grandmother. “Did you make pastel?”
“No, arroz con leche.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A damn treat,” Mateo whispers in my ear, but somehow Lety hears him and scolds him for cussing at her dinner table.
As punishment, Lety has him plate out dessert for us.
“Oh, it’s like rice pudding,” I say when he places a small bowl before me.
“Except better,” Desi gushes, spooning up a mouthful.
I take a bite and moan happily as the flavor bursts on my tongue. I happily eat bite after bite until I’m nearly bursting at the seams, I’m so full.
Everyone is chattering quietly until Lety loudly addresses me. “Tell me, Seraphine, do you want children?”
I choke on my sip of water; add to that, it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, and I’m thoroughly mortified.
“Ch-children?” I ask between gasping breaths.
She nods primly. “Desi needs a sibling. A boy would be nice. I’ve always loved the name Javier.”
Mateo pushes back from the table. “Mamá, deja de decir nombres para mi bebé inexistente.”
“What?” I ask, utterly lost.
Desi leans over and whispers, “He told her to stop trying to name y’all’s nonexistent baby.”
“Ours?” I’ve apparently been reduced to single-word replies.
“Well, who else?” Lety asks, humor lacing her tone.
“I already told you,” Mateo says. “We’re not together.”