Cohen decides to end the handshake in a bear hug, and, while Jordan gasps and squirms, Maren scoots in and decides to make it a group nice-to-meet-you-for-the-first-time-ever bear hug. Because that would never freak anyone else. They both embrace Jordan like she’s always been around forever, Cohen even lifting her off her feet a little.
I can tell she’s freaking out a little, but the best way to go through Rodriguez initiation is quick trial by bear-hug, so I decide not to intervene. I feel a twinge of relief because showing back up after leaving the way I did might not be as hard and dramatic as I’d expected.
That relief is short-lived once I catch sight of my father.
He’s sitting at the head of the table, arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed. Even his mustache looks agitated by my unannounced resurrection from no man’s land. The rest of my family sits around the table in the places that are always set for them. My other siblings have varying reactions to seeing me.
Lydia, my oldest sister, gets up and hugs me quickly. I know she missed me, even if her trademark bitchy resting face seems to imply otherwise. There’s a dude next to her who looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ. He looks at Lydia like he wants to skip dinner and lock her away somewhere private, and my sister gives him a look like she wishes she could. Ah, this must be the young foreign professor who apparently painted a bunch of scandalous nude paintings of my straight-laced sister. That art show was another thing I missed during my time in Napa.
Thank God. I love my sisters, but that’s a line I never want to cross.
Gen and her husband Adam practically knock each other over in their effort to run and tackle-hug me. Deo and his wife, Whit, smile and wave, knowing it’s safest to keep some distance between Rodriguez siblings when they’re fighting or being affectionate. We’re a little wild that way.
My sister Cece kisses my cheeks and hugs me so tight, I’m afraid she’s going to pop one of my ribs. She’s the only one without a significant other, probably because she’s the most laid-back of all of us and doesn’t have any time for the bullshit we all put ourselves through in the name of love. My siblings are assaulting Jordan with frenzied love while I wait for Mami.
“Where have you been, Enzo?” she asks, putting her hands on my cheeks.
“I’ve been in Napa, Mami, working hard.” I wrap my arms around her. “But eating shitty. I missed your cooking.”
“Quit trying to charm me, motek.” Her voice is husky. “You could call your mother now and then.”
“I’m sorry. I really am.” I look over my mother’s shoulder and see Jordan, looking a little shell-shocked and rumpled.
I peel myself out of my mother’s arms, and introduce her to Jordan.
“It’s lovely to meet you, dear.” My mother holds Jordan’s hand, and I watch her trying to hide her surprise.
My usual type is…well, really different from Jordan. I can tell my mom is trying to figure out what prompted me to switch things up. I want to tell her; I met the one, and every other girl, past, present, and future, pales in comparison.
“It’s so kind of you to have me for dinner. I’m so sorry I have nothing to give you,” Jordan apologizes earnestly. “I would have brought you a bottle of wine from my family’s vineyard to thank you for having me.”
My mother’s smile is warm and wide. “Enzo bringing such a beautiful young lady to our home is gift enough.”
Jordan gets all melty. Score, Mami. Well done.
“I’m so glad you guys are here! Hattie and Ryan will be in next week to visit and for the baby shower!” Maren claps her hands, her blue eyes shining. “I can’t believe we’re all going to be together again. This is just awesome. I mean, that’s why you’re here, right?”
Shit. When Cohen mentioned the shower, I didn’t realize it was this soon. I figured I’d send a gift. I never even wrote down the date. Because I’m very clearly the world’s biggest asshole.
And the expression on my dad’s face only solidifies that.
“Let them sit down, baby,” Cohen says, gently tugging Maren down. “You need to eat. You’ve barely eaten today.”
Maren looks at my brother with patient, loving irritation. “Blame it on your daughter. She’s sitting on my stomach, I swear if I knew I’d be this uncomfortable, I never would’ve let you touch me.”
Deo snorts, and Maren looks up at Jordan in horror. “I’m so sorry!” she rushes. “I’m just kidding. It’s the pregnancy, I’ve totally lost my filter!”
“It’s okay,” Jordan assures her. “I’m sorry to hear you’re uncomfortable.”
Deo is cackling like a middle schooler. Typical. “Little Dea is just practicing bringing the thunder!”
“Deo,” Whit hisses, used to her husband’s craziness by now. “They are not naming that child after you. Stop it.”
My mom rushes settings over to us, and I go to grab an extra chair from the back room. I’m settling down next to Jordan when I happen to look back over at my father.
Who is stone cold scary as fuck.
“Hey, Pop,” I say, giving him a small wave. How the hell does this man make me feel like a five-year-old with one twitch of his moustache?
My father only nods back at me in response.
Shit. Squared.
“Eat, eat!” Mama orders everyone around her. That’s pretty much her favorite word in every language she speaks. “So, did you drive here? You must be starving!”
I’ve missed my mom’s cooking more than anything. She’s heaping rice onto the empty plates and my taste buds perk up at the familiar sight and smell that makes my parents’ home the most comfortable place in the world.
I rest my hand on the small of Jordan’s back as she accepts the plate my mother hands over with a sweet, “Thank you.”
“See? Everything’s good,” I reassure, whispering close to her ear.
She glares at me and looks over at my parents, setting her fork to the side of her plate like she’s about to make a big announcement. “Thank you so much for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez. I’m so sorry we didn’t give you notice, Enzo and I were just in the area, and—”
“In the area?” Papa scoffs. “You only come by now if you’re already in the area?”
“Pop,” Cohen says in his warning voice. Sometimes my brother is a really stand-up guy.
“No, sir, that’s not what I meant, I just—” Jordan is trying to backpedal, but there’s no point when it comes to Padre Rodriguez.
I roll my eyes, wishing she’d brush him off the way the rest of the women in the family always do.
I rest my hand over hers and face down my father. No matter how intimidating he can be, I’m not about to let him snap at Jordan when he’s clearly pissed at me.
“We weren’t sure we’d have the time, Pop. I had a job interview over in Temecula. They flew us down, so we were kind of at their mercy time wise. But we’re here now.” I hold my hands out, hoping he’ll let it drop and we can eat in peace.
Or relative peace. You can’t ask for too much from a Rodriguez dinner.
But, of course, that would be too easy. My nosy family—blood and extended—has to wring every detail out of me. I guess this is fitting punishment, since I failed to give them any information for a few months running.
“You got flown down for a job, E? Whoa.” Deo whistles loud and long. “Fancy now, aren’t ya? You hear that, Cohen? Sounds like you’re not the only respectable Rodriguez kid now. I think your baby brother may be showing you up.”
Cohen reaches over and knocks the fork out of Deo’s hand just before he puts it to his mouth.
“That was low, bro,” Deo says, frowning at the food he can’t stuff in the endless pit that is his stomach. How a guy can pack away as much as Deo does and still be a trim dude is one of the great mysteries of the world.
“What job?” Papa asks, the frown under his moustache so severe, it even looks like his moustache is frowning.
He’s still butt hurt that I turned down the chance t
o own and operate my own Rodriguez Furniture Emporium. I don’t want to crap on the work my dad does. He’s amazing at what he does, and he built a great life for all of us doing it. But armchairs and sectionals are his bag, not mine.
“It’s a fantastic position.” Jordan says it in that calm, boss-lady way that makes me want to take her somewhere where she can boss me around in private.
Everyone looks from me to her. She doesn’t mean to, but she is so used to taking over talking about details at Golden Leaf, she’s doing it here too—in my family home. “I guess you should probably fill them in.” She raises her eyebrows in alarm. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s no big deal.” I shrug and concentrate on my rice. “It’s nothing. It’s a job, really nothing special.”
“Don’t do that,” Jordan says under her breath, her face contorted with confusion.
I guess she wonders why I wouldn’t brag a little, give my family some information when they’re clearly so interested in every minute detail of my life.
What Jordan fails to realize is that the more info I give my family, the more explaining I’m going to have to do about why they hell I’d even be considered for a job of this caliber with my work history—or lack thereof.
I’m Enzo Rodriguez, perpetual drifter, jack of all trades, master of none.
“Enzo interviewed at Angelino Vineyards,” Jordan says. She takes a bite of my mom’s famous juevos hebreros and lets out a little moan that makes me think inappropriate things that I shouldn’t at my parents’ dinner table. “This is amazing, Mrs. Rodriguez.”
“Thank you, Jordan. Please, call me Dinah,” Mom says with a proud flutter.
Jordan nods sweetly, I can tell she’s feeling a little more at ease. My family sort of does that to you. They welcome in every random lost soul and hungry traveler as soon as they pass through our front door. You might have to hear about our flatulence and put up with our bear hugs, but you get my mom’s incredible home cooking and the love of a bunch of loving, busybody crazies in exchange. Fair trade, I’d say.
“So premier vineyards are flying out busboys for interviews now?” Lydia asks with one evil eyebrow crooked.
I’d have been happy to let Lyd stew in her own evil villainess questions, but Jordan just can’t help interjecting. “Oh, it’s not a busboy position! Enzo was interviewing to be the department head of marketing.”
“Enzo! That’s fantastic,” Mami exclaims. She blots her lips with her cloth napkin then rounds the table to hug my neck.
“You have like, less than zero experience in marketing,” Lydia presses. I guess early retirement from her law firm means she can train all her smart-ass lawyer brains on making my life miserable.
“Always the charmer, Lyd,” I say with a scowl. She shrugs in this genuine ‘what did I do’ way that makes me feel sorry for Isaac, since he has to deal with her insanity all the time. How can someone who has a genius IQ be such a moron?
“Enzo has been working at my family’s winery. He’s learned so much since he started,” Jordan brags, covering for me again as usual.
At some point, this lie will have to come to an end. At that moment, whenever it comes, it’s going to kick my ass. Hard.
“How do you feel about it, bro?” Cohen asks, sitting up straight and looking at me like I’m an equal. Shit. That feels pretty awesome. Too bad my big, impressive job is based on a sham.. “Did it go well?”
I try my best to evade, stay neutral, make this all so boring, they just drop it. “I think it was good. People are nice, pay is rad, guess we’ll see.” I shrug and nod to the rice bowl. I’m way too stuffed to eat another bite, but I’ll risk bursting my intestines to derail this line of questioning. “Could I have some more rice, Mami?”
She’s delighted to spoon enough rice to feed a family of twelve for a month on my plate.
“How do you feel about moving back down south?” Adam asks, a wicked grin tucked in the corner of his mouth. Dude’s not an idiot. He knows I’m being sketchy, and, even if he doesn’t know why, he’s going right for the jugular.
So there is it. The exact question I’ve been hoping most to avoid. Well, if someone had to throw me under that bus, I guess it’s only fair it was Adam.
“I…I… I don’t know, man.” I shovel rice in my mouth and stare Adam down, but everyone in my constantly talking family keeps their yaps shut, waiting on me to elaborate. “I’ve got a pretty sweet gig up north. And this…well, I just wanted to see what they’d have to offer, I don’t know if I’d seriously take it.”
“Of course you would,” Pop says, banging his fist on the table. His mustache heightens the fear factor of his scowl. “You belong here.” Another thump of the fist on the table. “With your family.”
I feel Jordan tense up next to me.
Of course. Why would I ever want to escape from your constant, judgmental, suffocating meddling? I think.
That’s not what I say, because I do not have a death wish.
“We’ll have to wait and see, I guess,” is what I say. I rest my hand on Jordan’s leg under the table and desperately try to change the subject. I turn to Maren and Cohen. “And you! We know ‘Dea’ is off the table, so what’s on the list? I don’t want to be biased, but I think Enzo is a prime choice.”
“I’m not naming my daughter Enzo,” Maren laughs.
“You’re right. Too masculine.” I nod. “Enza then?”
“The shower is at Marigold’s. I hope you’ll both make it.” Cohen narrows his eyes like he’s daring me to use some lame excuse to try to wiggle out of this.
“And Mom isn’t cooking, scout’s honor,” Deo says, holding up his hand in what I think is the Vulcan salute.
Cohen laughs and points at Deo. “Hey, man, I still owe your mom for saving the day at my wedding when the cake—” He stops mid-sentence, and all eyes are on me in an instant.
When the cake didn’t show up because my pastry chef girlfriend who was hired to bake it flaked out once her not-so-estranged husband confronted her about the affair she was having with me.
That’s what they’re all thinking. It’s taken just under an hour for them to bring up one of the most humiliating, painful days of my life. I know Cohen didn’t mean to, but this is how it is when you’re in a big, interconnected family.
And it’s exactly why I decided I needed time and space separate from them. I love them, but a fresh start was going to be impossible unless I set out on my own.
I laugh through tight lips, trying my best to brush this off. I’m hoping a little humor will help to show how unaffected by the mention of Jess I am, even if it’s only half-true that it doesn’t bother me. “Well, I hope you vetted the baker this go-round. Those pastry chefs can be shady as fuck.”
“Enzo, language,” Mama scolds.
“Sorry.”
I know she’ll let it slide without further comment though, because I’m her youngest boy and because she knows that particular shady-as-fuck pastry chef took a piping tip to my heart. She just nods and hands me another roll. My mom shows love through food. That roll is a peace offering I’ll surely take.
Cece folds her napkin neatly on top of her empty plate.
“Speaking of the baby shower, I was wondering if a plus-one is welcome?” She asks carefully, and I know a loaded question when it’s trying to not get dissected at a family dinner.
“Of course, Cece, the more the merrier!” Maren beams, as always the tolerant sunshine in our little band of suspicious assholes.
“Is this a friend plus-one or a romantic plus-one?” Gen asks, because she’s always the first Rodriguez sibling to jump on asking whatever question everyone else is still debating asking.
Cece weighs the question before answering, “Both, I guess.”
“Those are the best kind,” Whit, Deo’s wife, pipes in, rubbing her husband’s tattooed arm.
“Hey now, has this mystery guest been Deo-approved? Have we met this plus-one?” Deo asks.
Cece nods slowly,
almost like she’s embarrassed. It isn’t like Cece to be so reserved. If she wanted to throw everyone off the scent, she should have done a better job playing at being her normal self.
Whether she wanted to be the new bone the gossip hyenas are mining for marrow or not, I’m just thankful all the limelight is focused on the Cece Plus-One Mystery.
“You have,” Cece answers, looking directly at Deo in this quietly challenging way that makes him frown and shut the hell up.
Score Cece.
“Did I tell you Isaac has painted the most beautiful mural in the baby’s room?” Lydia asks, switching gears. She and Cece trade conspiratorial smiles.
I guess Lydia is reserving her dark magic to help specific siblings. Well, good for her and Cece.
“Oh, my gosh, it’s stunning!” Maren actually gets a little teary, then laughs as she swipes at her eyes. “Sorry! It’s these darn hormones. But, honestly, this is the most amazing mural you’ve ever seen. I’m not kidding when I say it could be in a museum. You all have to come by and see it. Thank you so much again, Isaac.”
“It was my pleasure,” Isaac says, modestly, smiling his Armani smile.
“Fine! Stop pressuring me. It’s my roommate!” Cece yelps out of freaking nowhere.
Everyone had moved on from the topic of her date and her secret was safely in the bag, but now, all eyes shift to her.
“Your roommate is… Andrea?” Mama says it like a question, even though it’s not.
“Yes,” Cece says, now staring down at her plate and twisting her hands together. There’s a long moment of silence. Everyone looks to Mami.
She clears her throat and nods slowly, like everything is clicking for her. She looks over at Papi and they do one of those freaky “I’m talking to you with my eyes and it’s a whole conversation” things.
“Okay.” Mami nods like she’s the judge and jury and this is her final verdict. “Well, everyone is welcome.” She reaches across and covers Cece’s hands with her own. “Always, neshama.”
Almost Lover Page 19
