“Rowan?” He’s waiting. Eddie never lets me off the hook. Crap.
“Do your parents know anything about me? Do they know we’re dating? Do they know who my father is?”
“I’ve mentioned that I’m dating someone,” he replies. “No, they don’t know who your father is. Why would that matter?”
Now I feel stupid for even mentioning it. I don’t want Eddie to think I’m trying to get out of meeting his family, even though that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Well, I’m not trying to avoid them altogether. I’m just trying to put it off as long as possible.
“I want to meet your family, Eddie, but it would be nice to have a little bit of notice. I want to look decent before I meet them for the first time. Besides, don’t you think they’d appreciate having some warning before I show up?”
“I guess. Sometimes, it seems like you don’t want to have anything to do with them.”
“That’s not true. I just want you to plan something in advance. Let them know I’m coming over before I show up. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable.”
“Okay. You’re right. Maybe we can have dinner at my house over spring break. Since we don’t have rehearsal, we can hang out at my house so you can get to know my family.”
“Um, yeah. Sounds good,” I stammer. Crap. What did I get myself into?
“I’ll talk to my mom about it this weekend. What days do you have to work that week?”
“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but only until two. I was going to try to pick up a few more hours, but I’ll wait until you see when your mom wants me to come over.” If she wants me to come over.
“Don’t stress, Row. They’re going to love you. I promise,” he insists.
I manage a weak smile. Love me? Somehow I doubt that.
***
The inevitable dinner with Eddie’s parents is tonight and I can’t decide what to wear. Eddie’s no help. He just keeps telling me that anything I wear is fine.
“Seriously, girl. You need to stop freaking out over nothing. My family is chill. They don’t care what you wear.”
“So, jeans are okay?”
“Yeah, you know. Just normal clothes.”
Normal clothes. I pull out a pair of jeans from my dresser drawer, but it seems too casual for a first time meeting. Of course, I don’t want to be overdressed and look out of place. I hate meeting people for the first time, but with Eddie’s parents, it’s even worse. I want so badly for them to like me. I want to make a good impression. I’m shy around new people and can sometimes come across as stiff or awkward. I can’t do that tonight.
I finally settle on khakis and a nice shirt that I’ve worn to church. Not too dressy, but not too casual. After all, I don’t want to appear sloppy, or look like I don’t care. I put on light mascara, but no lipstick. I leave my hair loose because Eddie says he likes it down. I can’t seem to still the tremors in my hands, and I’ve developed a nervous twitch in my eye. So much for looking calm, cool, and collected.
Eddie knocks on my door at five o’clock and we walk over to his house together. It’s a short, fifteen minute walk, but I wish either Eddie or I had a car to drive. I don’t want to show up at his house sweaty and disheveled. By the time we’re halfway there, I’m out of breath, but it’s from nerves, not from the walk.
The houses on Eddie’s street are small with postage-stamp size yards. Elementary school age kids are riding their bikes up and down the street, while middle-schoolers, teens, and young adults are sitting on front porches, staring at us as we walk past. A few people holler greetings at Eddie as we pass.
Eddie’s hand clasps mine firmly. I want to pull it away and wipe my palms on the front of my pants. Cars fill the driveway in front of his house. I recognize Carlos’ car. Crap. I thought this was going to be a small family dinner, just me, Eddie, his parents, and his younger siblings. I didn’t realize Carlos was going to be here as well. I wonder if his wife and kids are here too, and if they’re all staying for dinner. I hope not. There’s only so much I can handle.
Eddie leads me inside. I linger on the threshold, taking in the small, but immaculate and tastefully decorated living room. A cream-colored sofa is pushed underneath the wide front window. Throw pillows in vibrant green, blue, and red line the back of the sofa. A small loveseat is similarly decorated, but with less pillows. A bright red chair is pushed into the corner and next to it is a small table with a large potted plant. The walls are stark white with bright, lively framed pictures. I look closer at one of the pictures. Desert flowers come to life, so detailed, it takes me a minute to realize it’s a painting and not a photograph.
“My mom painted that,” Eddie says, noticing where I’m staring.
“Are you serious? It’s amazing. She’s really, really talented.”
“Yeah, she is. She’s self taught. Never took a single art class,” he says. I can hear the pride in his voice.
“Wow. I’m in awe.” Now I know where Eddie gets his talent.
Noise comes from the back of the house. I follow Eddie through the kitchen and through a set of sliding glass doors out to the backyard. I stagger back a step when I take in the vast number of people congregated around patio tables and lounging in lawn chairs. Roughly a dozen people are here, but in my anxiety-ridden state, it seems like more. And it seems like everyone has turned to stare at me.
A barrage of English and Spanish assaults me as people try to figure out who I am.
Eddie says something in Spanish before switching to English. “Everyone, this is Rowan. Rowan, this is my family.” He gestures to the people standing closest to us. A girl who looks about fourteen steps forward. “This is my sister, Magdelena.”
“Maggie. Everyone calls me Maggie,” she says in perfect English with no discernible accent. “Hi, Rowan. Nice to meet you.” Her smile is warm and friendly.
“You too,” I reply.
“This is Miguel. Tomas.” Eddie gestures toward two boys. One is about twelve, the other ten. I’m not sure which is which. They barely acknowledge me and go back to tossing a baseball over the heads of the people milling around. “You know Carlos.”
“Whassup,” he says, smirking and bending down to scoop up an adorable little girl who is barely old enough to walk.
“My niece, Jessica,” Eddie says. Jessica tucks her head into her daddy’s neck and pops her thumb into her mouth. A boy of about three pulls on Carlos’ long jean shorts. “My nephew, Alex. This is Carlos’ wife, Elena.” Eddie points to a woman carrying a tray of cooked hamburger patties.
“Hola,” Elena says.
“Hi.”
“This is my ma,” Eddie says, putting his hand on the small of my back and steering me toward the grill. “Ma, this is Rowan.”
“Hola, Rowan,” she says, placing her hand on my upper arm in greeting. She’s a short woman, just an inch or two over five feet tall. Her dark hair has streaks of gray and is pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She’s dressed in what looks like hospital scrubs, and it’s evident she recently arrived home from work. “You’re in the play with Eduardo?” she asks in halting, heavily accented English.
“Yes,” I reply, not knowing what else to say.
“She’s Juliet,” Eddie says proudly.
“Juliet to your gay-ass Romeo,” Carlos interjects. “What a waste of freaking time.”
“Bite me, Carlos,” Eddie says with venom in his voice.
Eddie’s mom rambles a short, but angry-sounding reprimand in Spanish. Carlos’ wife joins in, shaking her finger at her husband.
“Leave your brother alone. Sheesh, you’re just like one of the kids,” she scolds.
Carlos, not looking the slightest bit contrite, meanders to the other side of the yard and engages in conversation with a young man who looks about his age. Eddie at least has the good grace to look repentant as he mutters an apology.
He guides me to a large, detached one-car garage in the back of the yard. A gray-haired man is hunched over the open hood of an old,
rusty car. He turns to look at us when Eddie says, “Hola, Pops.”
“Eduardo. This your friend?” His gaze travels the length of me, but not in a creepy way. Just in an assessing way, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not I’m good enough for his son. I can appreciate his critical appraisal, because it’s the same thing my dad has done to all my prospective dates.
“This is Rowan,” Eddie says. “Row, this is my father.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Velasquez,” I say. He picks up a rag from his workbench and wipes the grease and oil from his hands. His handshake is firm, but he offers a brief smile as he squeezes my hand in his.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he replies.
“Papa, Eduardo, come eat,” a voice calls out.
Eddie grabs my hand and pulls me toward the cluster of people on the other side of the yard. Everyone is forming lines by a picnic table laden with food. Hot dogs, grilled chicken, chorizo, and buns are grouped on one side, while chips, refried beans, and potato salad take up the other side of the table.
Eddie and I are the last in line, so there’s limited seating by the time we finish filling our plates. Unfortunately, lack of choice means we’re forced to sit with Carlos and his small family. Elena smiles at me and pats the spot next to her on the picnic table bench. I return her smile and gladly sit next to her, grateful to have an ally. Carlos fixes me with a smirk before turning his attention to his heaping plate of food.
“So, Juliet,” Carlos says through a mouthful of food. “Are you a senior?”
“It’s the senior play,” Eddie cuts in before I can speak. “So, duh. She’s a senior. And her name is Rowan.”
“Rowan.” Carlos lets the name roll off his tongue. “That’s an interesting name. Is that Irish?”
I shrug. Eddie is silent. Elena saves the day by saying, “I think it’s pretty. Rowan. Like a tree?”
“Yeah.” My voice is raspy and almost too soft to hear. I clear my throat. “Yeah, like a rowan tree.”
“What’s your last name, Rowan?” Carlos asks.
Again, Eddie is silent and I can’t catch his eye. He’s glaring at Carlos. “Um, Murdoch.”
“Really? You don’t sound sure.” He looks at me for a minute and an evil look spreads across his face. “Murdoch. Murdoch. Why does that name sound familiar, Rowan?”
“Shut it,” Eddie snaps.
“Is it possible that you might be related to Coach Murdoch?” Carlos asks, stroking his goatee ironically.
Does Carlos know my dad? Did he go to Ocean Front when he was in high school? Maybe he just remembers hearing my dad’s name from Eddie bitching about the badass football coach who gave him a hard time. That still doesn’t explain how Carlos knows I’m Coach’s daughter. It’s obvious Carlos knew that little fact about me before he ever began this conversation.
I glance at Eddie. His jaw is rigid. His fists are clenched.
Carlos continues. “My little brother must have a very forgiving nature if he’s willing to date the girl whose father cut him from the team.”
I want to argue that my father didn’t cut him from the team. It was an administrative decision that came down from the principal, and probably from even higher than that. My dad might have cut him if given the choice, but my dad would cut a lot of guys if he could. People are always getting in trouble and my dad has no tolerance for shenanigans, but I don’t tell Carlos that. I just sit there swallowing nervously and waiting for someone to change the subject.
“Carlos, can you go inside and get Jessica’s juice bottle?” Elena asks, rising to my rescue. But Carlos ignores his wife and forges on, undeterred.
“Oh, Rowan.” Carlos shakes his head slowly. “If you’d heard some of the things Eduardo has said about your daddy.”
I finally find my voice. “Half the student population has had something to say about my dad at one time or another.” I shrug. “He has a reputation, not only as a coach, but as a strict teacher and a harsh grader.”
Carlos’ eyes narrow for a moment. Then he smiles. “I understand. Strict father. Rebellious girl looking to make daddy angry. Thinks maybe she’ll get down with the ex-player daddy hates the most.”
“Oh yeah, Carlos? Wanna talk that shit about my girl? Let’s go.” He moves to the other side of the picnic table. Carlos is already standing up, with Elena beside him tugging at his shirt, begging him to calm down.
Eddie pushes Carlos. Not hard enough to knock him down, but it doesn’t matter. The whole family is watching. And, of course, Eddie looks like the bad guy, the instigator.
“Eduardo,” his father shouts, striding to the scene of the altercation and insinuating his body between the warring brothers. Carlos, Eddie, and their father snap back and forth in rapid Spanish until Eddie turns away.
He grabs my hand. “Let’s go.”
I glance toward Mr. Velasquez. Pock marks of disappointment riddle his face. He catches my eye. His eyes are hard, unwelcoming. Any chance I might have had to make a good impression is over, thanks to Carlos.
What did I ever do to him? Why does Carlos hate me so much? Maybe it’s because he hates my dad for some reason. My dad might have failed him back when he was in school. Or maybe he just blames my dad for Eddie being cast off the team.
As we walk away, I can’t forget the looks on Eddie’s relatives’ faces. Looks that clearly mean they think I’m nothing but trouble. And maybe they’re right.
“Sorry about all that,” Eddie says, tugging on my hand and pulling me close to him. He hooks his arm around my shoulder.
“Not your fault,” I murmur, feeling oddly embarrassed by the encounter. I can’t help it. I care what his family thinks of me, and right now, they probably think I was antagonizing Carlos.
“It is. I should have made damned sure Carlos wasn’t going to be there. I should have sat somewhere else—anywhere else than next to him.”
“What’s his problem? I mean, why does he antagonize you like that?”
Eddie takes a deep breath. “I wish I knew. He’s a jerk. He’s the oldest, so he thinks he knows what’s best for everyone else. When we were younger and Carlos lived at home, he was always taking care of us while our parents worked, so he got used to pushing us around. And since I’m the closest in age to him, he messes with me all the time. Especially after I got arrested. He’s the one who bailed me out and made the calls to the police station and all that other shit. So I kind of owe him, which makes it even worse.”
“That sucks. It really does.”
“Yeah, it does. I feel like I can’t argue with him, not only because he’s my big brother, but because he’s helped me out so much. But then when he pulls this kind of shit…”
The arm around me tightens and I know Eddie’s barely keeping his anger at bay. I understand where he’s coming from. He should have better control over himself, but why does Carlos have to bait him like that?
“I’m sorry about tonight, Row.”
“Again, not your fault.”
“That’s debatable. Anyway, I really wanted you to be able to get to know my family. Epic fail, right?”
“There’ll be other times,” I say, hoping there won’t. This evening was stressful enough, thanks. Next time will likely send me into full blown panic mode. Nope. Not looking forward to a next time, and after the way it all went down and the way his family looked at me, there probably won’t be a next time.
Nothing is ever easy.
Chapter Fifteen
It’s Thursday. Two days after the Disaster Dinner from Hell. Aside from working, I’ve done nothing but hang out at the park or the taco shop, enjoying my time with Eddie, but wishing we had something else to do. Something new to see. I’m hoping to go out tomorrow night, but Eddie doesn’t want to ask Carlos to use the car, and he seems opposed to me driving.
“I do know how to drive, you know,” I say.
“Yeah, but I want to drive you around. I don’t want you to have to do the driving,” he insists.
“Why? Because I
’m a girl? You want to be the macho man and do all the driving while I just sit in the passenger seat looking pretty?”
Eddie doesn’t know about the car I’m getting for graduation. If he’s this opposed to “his girl” driving him when we go on dates, how is he going to feel when he finds out that I’ll probably have a car before he does? Well, guess what? He’ll have to get over it. I’m not going to give up my transportation just to appease his ego. Nope. It’s better we hash this out now.
“You’re going to need to get used to the idea of me driving sometimes. I happen to like driving when I get the chance. And besides…well, I felt weird mentioning this before because we spent so much time joking about it, but my parents are giving me Mom’s old car when I graduate.” I feel uncomfortable telling Eddie this, especially since so much time has elapsed between my birthday and now.
“That’s great,” Eddie replies without missing a beat. He sounds like he really means it.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You totally deserve it, Row. Why are you looking at me like that?”
I’m shifting nervously on the picnic table bench, relieved by Eddie’s reaction, but still not daring to believe he’s for real. “I don’t know. I just feel like a hypocrite or something. The way we made fun of the people at school for getting cars as birthday presents.”
“That’s different,” he says.
“Why? There’s no difference.”
“I disagree. We were making fun of the practice of gifting brand new cars to inexperienced new drivers. How stupid can someone be to give a BMW to someone who barely has a license, or in some cases, doesn’t even have a license yet? With you, it’s different. You’ve been saving for a car and insurance. You’ve already proven to your parents that you’re responsible and reliable. The car isn’t a gift. It’s a reward for your hard work.”
I can’t help but smile. When he puts it like that, it seems completely different. Eddie has a way with words.
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