by Magan Vernon
Chris
Waking up in my old bed at my mother’s house wasn’t my favorite thing in the world. It was even worse that I was sporting major wood from a dream about Mary, and my little brother was sleeping in the bunk bed above me so I couldn’t take care of it.
At least not being able to sleep any longer meant I could get up early and see the text from Mary.
Mary: Be there at noon. Convinced Brian and Lance to go to the shore, so sorry if you’ll miss them.
Finally, Mary without any bodyguards. Though we’d still be with my entire family, which could go horribly wrong.
After relieving myself in the shower, I headed down the narrow stairs to the tiny, outdated yellow kitchen where Mom and Aunt Teresa were already chopping peppers and seasoning meat to go on the grill.
“Mijo! You’re awake! Good! You can help your father and uncle set up the tables and chairs out back!” Mom said, barely looking up from her chopping.
“Yeah, I guess I can do that,” I grumbled, sliding on my shoes and heading out the squeaky door to the backyard.
Most of the area was covered with cement except for the tiny patch of grass where Abuela planted as many flowers as she could. She also tried and failed, multiple times, to plant an avocado tree that never got past infancy.
I’d strung lights from the house to the chain length fence that led to the alleyway by the garage along with some colorful crepe paper. Now, dad stood on a ladder, putting up a piñata in the old maple tree.
“Here, Pops lemme help you with that.” I rushed over and held the rickety ladder in place so Dad could hang the brightly colored paper donkey from one of the branches.
“Thanks, son. Why your abuela needed a piñata, I’ll never know. I guess she wanted something to keep all of your little cousins busy,” Dad said, taking a few steps down from the ladder.
I didn’t see my dad often and not just because I lived in the city now. The man was a workaholic and not because he wanted to be.
He came to New York with my mom after he turned eighteen, since his older sister, my Aunt Teresa, was already here. He’s worked dozens of odd jobs in the last thirty years he’s been in this country, and I don’t remember him ever being without an aching back that Mom was putting some chili powder on, something they swore helped, or being gone from sun up to sun down on a job.
He did it so that my brother and I could have a better life. I always felt like I was disappointing him when I didn’t go off to college and instead went to New York to pursue a career as a model. When that failed, I knew I couldn’t go back if I didn’t make something of myself. Moving up to a senior associate would hopefully do that. That is if I could still get the position.
I’d barely even thought about the promotion since I started talking to Mary, though that’s all my relationship was supposed to be with her. To get her some good press, then move up to the next position in the company with a corner office.
Now that she was getting the job in LA, what did that mean for me? For us?
“Your mama tells me that you have a girlfriend coming today,” Dad said, wiping his worn hands on his faded jeans.
“Uh. Yeah. She’s not really a girlfriend, per say.”
Dad’s eyes widened, his graying, bushy eyebrows raised. “You’re bringing a fun buddy to your abuela’s birthday?”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my throat as I shook my head. “First off, that’s not the right term. Second of all, no, she’s not that kind of friend either. She’s kind of my client. The actress Mary James.”
If I didn’t think Dad’s eyes could widen anymore, they did. “The one with the sex tape?”
“I don’t even want to know how you know about that, but yeah, that’s the one. But it wasn’t actually a real sex tape. Anyway...she’s kind of my client. I was tagged to be her PR person and Mom called in the middle of our first meeting, then one thing lead to another, and we decided to do this whole ‘let’s be a couple for the media sort of thing.'” I put my hands in my pockets, unsure why I was spilling all of this to my dad, but I guess keeping it in for so long was starting to wear on me.
“But you like her? At least I assume you do because no one brings a girl to meet their abuela unless they’re really sure about her.”
I sighed. “Yeah. I do. I really do. But I don’t know if it’ll actually amount to anything. I think I’m something to pass the time for her.”
“Like that Eddie Justice song! He has such a beautiful voice that country singer! Some of the houses I’ve worked on like to play that music and I never thought I liked it until I heard him sing-talk,” Dad said, talking enthusiastically with his hands.
I cringed, thinking of the fact that Eddie was Mary’s ex-fiancé. The one who she wanted to make jealous with a fake sex tape. It turns out he was still hung up on his high school girlfriend and that song about passing the time with someone else while he was waiting for his dream girl was probably about Mary. At least that’s what social media said.
“Yeah. I guess you can say that ” I muttered.
Dad clasped his hand on my shoulder. “Son, no girl who is just passing the time is going to come meet your family. She would make up an excuse or anything she can. The senorita likes you, Mijo. Maybe even loves you.”
Every hair on my arms stood on end. I’d never thought about the love word. Hell, I don’t think I’d ever said those words to anyone.
But the feeling I had when I was with Mary when I even thought about her, was unlike anything that I’ve ever felt before. Not that I was going to tell her that, or my dad for that matter.
“Well, we should probably stop chatting and get this stuff set up. Your mama likes to boss me around when I’m home, and if she see’s us standing here, she’ll get to yelling soon,” Dad said, nodding.
“Sounds good to me, Dad.”
Chapter 21
Mary
Lance pulled up to the dilapidated row house with lively music coming from the backyard, that if the large hand-painted sign over the door that said “Garcia” didn’t give it away, the melodies definitely did.
“You sure you don’t want us to come in with you?” Brian asked, leaning out of the passenger side window.
I pulled down my dress. The lavender sundress looked festive and not too revealing with its boat neck collar, at least I hoped it didn’t. “No, you two go have some fun. I’m sure there’s nothing to be worried about.”
Brian creased his brow but nodded. “Okay. We’re just a phone call away if you need us.”
“Thanks, Bri. I’m sure I won’t. Have a good time,” I said with a smile before waving.
There were a few broken cement steps leading up to the front door. A homemade tissue paper wreath hung from the old wooden door and light filtered through the small window.
I’d lived in New York most of my life, but never been to this part of New Jersey or a neighborhood where kids were riding their bikes and basically staring open-mouthed as I walked by.
Before I could even bring my hand up to knock on the door, it was thrown open, and I looked down to see a little girl in a bright yellow dress and missing a few teeth as she smiled up at me. “Are you Cinderella?”
I blinked down at the little girl. “Oh. Um. No. I’m Mary. Is Christiano here?”
“So your Christiano’s gringo girlfriend. My mama said you were pretty and had big chi chis. That’s why Christiano likes you,” the little girl said, pointing a plastic wand at my chest.
Before I could say another word, luckily, I was saved by an older Hispanic woman who put her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Maria, what are you saying to Christiano’s girlfriend?”
The woman met my eyes with hers. “Come in, hija. He’s in the back with the other boys.”
She closed the door behind me, and I took in the smells of different spices and fried peppers as she put her hand on my back, leading me down a small hallway and through an outdated kitchen to a back porch.
Though the backyard
was smaller than my closet, it was filled with people laughing, holding plastic cups, and listening to the music that streamed from an old school boom box.
Dozens of twinkling lights and colorful crepe paper hung overhead, and a few little kids danced around in twirly dresses or hit a bright piñata with tree branches.
“Hey, you made it.” I shivered, hearing the familiar low timbre of Chris’s voice as his arm went around my waist.
I closed my eyes for a brief second, inhaling his manly scent. For a moment, I could pretend that this was real. That we were a real, normal couple at a family celebration.
“Yeah,” I breathed out, trying to steady my feet as I opened my eyes.
“How was LA?”
And just like that, we were back to our reality. The actress and the PR agent. In a fake relationship.
Maybe I was stupid to even come to the party.
“It was good. Really good,” I said as a thick silence fell between us.
“You hungry? Mom made enough to feed the entire neighborhood,” Chris said, breaking the awkward pause.
“Definitely!” I said, letting out a deep breath.
“Come on; Mary lemme show you how a real Mexican family eats.” His arm looped around me and guided me back into the house.
The intoxicating smell of sizzling meat and spices hit my nose before we even entered the outdated yellow kitchen where every counter and table space was covered with different dishes in colorful bowls.
An old woman in a long red, floral dress sat at a small wooden table that was covered in cornhusks and barely looked up before waving at Chris and rattling off some things in Spanish.
Chris laughed, putting his hands on my shoulders, edging me toward the older woman. “My abuela told us to eat our fill.”
“What is she doing?” I whispered.
Chris laughed. “Abuela, my girlfriend has never seen anyone make tamales. She just asked me what you were doing.”
Abuela pulled out a red-painted wooden chair and nodded to me. Chris squeezed my shoulders, and I took the seat next to the old woman, watching her work with the cornhusks and meat, rolling them up before putting them in a metal basket.
“Shouldn’t you be doing this work instead of her since it’s her birthday?” I asked, looking up at Chris and meeting his eyes.
His beautiful brown eyes that were locked right on me with a smile that was a mixture of pride and something else. “Abuela loves making tamales. She loves having parties but would rather spend her time in the kitchen than outside with everyone.”
“Maybe we should eat in here with her then?” I asked, blinking slowly.
Chris glanced in Abuela’s direction and asked something in Spanish.
Abuela nodded “Si. Si!”
“All right. Want me to make your plate?” he asked.
“Sure.”
I continued watching Abuela work with such intricacy; it was as if rolling the tamales was an art form. I was completely lost in my trance and didn’t get out of it until Chris placed a steaming plate of food in front of me that had my mouth watering just from the scent.
“This looks amazing,” I said, picking up the plastic fork he sat down next to me and picking up a piece of charred meat.
“That’s carne asada, and I also got you a little bit of pollo. Some arroz. Some barbacoa. Basically a little bit of everything.” He laughed, sitting down.
I bit into the meat and moaned, taking in the spicy flavor. “This is amazing. I’ve been to Mexico and haven’t had this good of food.”
Chris smiled. “My family is a bunch of amazing chefs. Abuela’s the best though, and she knows it. Just don’t tell my mom or my dad who spent all day grilling.”
“What was that, Christiano?” An older man with bushy gray eyebrows and a dark stained t-shirt entered the kitchen. He looked like an older, very tired version of Chris with a lot more hair in his ears.
“Hey, Pops. I was just telling my girlfriend how good of a griller you are,” Chris said with a laugh.
Abuela mumbled something in Spanish then laughed.
“I can’t believe you would lie to me in front of your abuela and this beautiful woman who must be blind if she’s dating you,” Chris’s dad said, patting him on the back before putting his hand out to me.
“I’m Juan. Christiano’s dad, as you can see where he gets his good looks from.” Juan shook my hand with a big belly laugh.
“Please to meet you. I’m Lourdes, but I go by my middle name, Mary,” I said.
“A beautiful name for such a beautiful girl. What are you doing with my bullhead of a son?” Juan laughed, putting his hands on Chris’s shoulders.
“He’s a really good guy and a great dancer. He even danced the salsa with me on the streets of Brooklyn,” I said, noticing Chris’s cheeks redden.
“Christiano! Your mother will be proud that all those Quinceanera and backyard dance lessons paid off! Aqui! Let’s put on something we can dance to in the yard. Abuela?” Juan looked to Abuela who finally glanced up from her work.
Juan said something too fast to for me to understand and it was all in Spanish anyway.
Abuela looked at Chris, then to me, and then nodded, standing up and taking Juan’s arm.
“What’s going on?” I asked as Chris pulled out my chair.
“You shouldn’t have told them about the dancing; now we get to work it for a crowd of my family,” Chris muttered.
“Oh. We don’t have to. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Chris smiled, putting his arm around my waist. “It’s fine. It’ll be good to get moving, and Mom will be happy.”
We went back out to the yard where Juan pushed aside a few chairs before letting Abuela sit in one of them. He then grabbed the boom box and changed the station, turning it all the way up, so some lively music with Spanish words rang through the speakers.
Then Juan put his arm out. “Christiano, show Abuela what you’ve got.”
Chris turned to me with a smile, giving me his hand. “You ready for this?
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face as I took his hand and let him wrap his other arm tightly around my waist. “Absolutely.”
We glided to the music as if we’d done this a million times before. As if we would always be this in harmony. His heart beat wildly against mine through every dip and spin, his breath so close to my lips that I could practically taste the liquor and spices.
A carnal desire ran through me as I felt his cock harden against my core, even though we were in front of all of his family and friends, his eyes were still trained on me as if I was the only girl in the world. It was the first time I’d ever felt like that, and the desire was so palpable; I had to swallow hard, trying to control my libido.
When the song ended, and he took me into the final dip, the crowd applauded around us, knocking us out of our lustful trance.
“As much as I want to stay in this position, do you want water or a beer?” Chris asked, pulling me up.
“Yeah. Sure,” I said, letting him guide me toward some rusted metal coolers.
“Hey, Christiano! You going to come smoke these with us, or too much of a punta now that you have your woman here!” A young guy in a white fedora yelled from a yellow folding chair as he held up a cigar.
There were a few older men in Hawaiian shirts sitting around him, puffing away and letting a cloud of smoke waft around them.
My father was a big cigar aficionado, but I think every man tried to be when he summered in the Hamptons. Every father was a carbon copy of the next one at those boring parties at the country club with their sports coat, rocks glass, and cigar.
The only way I could ever figure out to bond with my dad was to start researching cigars and bringing them back when I traveled for work. The rich, chocolaty smell of tobacco always made me think of him, even if he didn’t agree with every choice I made; he would always be my dad.
“Yeah. Be right there.” Chris turned toward me. “Yo
u don’t mind if I have a few puffs at least, do you? After that, I promise I’ll get you a dessert plate. You haven’t lived until you tried homemade flan.”
“You don’t think you’re going to have a cigar without me, do you?” I asked, smiling and raising my eyebrows in challenge.
“What?”
Instead of responding, I made my way to the circle of men and stood right in front of the younger guy in the fedora. “What do we have here? Is this a claro?” I plucked the cigar from the guy’s hand before he could protest. “Oh, no, It looks more like a Colorado Claro,” I said, admiring the medium-brown wrapper shade where the term Colorado Claro came from.
I put the cigar to my nose and took in the leathery smell.
“Holy shit, Chris, your girl knows her stuff about cigars,” the guy said, pulling out a lighter and holding it to a piece of cedar wood
I put the cigar between my lips, rotating the cigar on the lit cedar before puffing then leaning back and blowing a cloud of smoke.
“Damnnnnnn.” The guy stared at me with his eyes wide.
“She’s taken, Rico. Don’t even bother asking,” Chris said in a low growl before pulling me down to his lap.
I wasn’t sure when he’d taken the seat behind me, but I gladly let him wrap his arms around me as I melted into him. There was something familiar and comforting about having him hold me. To feel wanted, even if it was just pretend.
Chris took the cigar from my hand, taking a puff and breathing out a cloud of smoke.
“So you going to introduce us to your lady or are you keeping her to yourself?” Rico asked, eyeing me hungrily.
Before Chris could respond, a loud scream came from behind us. “Hey, Christiano!”
I turned to see a bunch of little kids with giant water guns.
Chris put his hands up. “Hey. No water fights right now. I’ll play later, okay?”
“Awwww!” They all collectively whined.
But the second cavalry of kids obviously didn’t get the memo as they came rushing forward with giant buckets. Before I could even scream or move, Chris and I were doused, the cold water hitting me to my very core, causing us to both scream and stand up.
