Boss Meets Her Match

by Janet Lee Nye

  A look of complete confusion spread across Sadie’s face. “What? Huh? How did we get from your family setting you up to you being racist?”

  Lena sank down on the edge of the bed. “My mother. I was mad at her because she said I shouldn’t be dating white guys. That I should date and marry a Hispanic man because he would understand me. And I said she was being racist.”

  Sadie sat down beside her and took her hand. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Go on.”

  “But I did the same thing. When I met Matt. I assumed he was all these really bad things simply because he was white and came from a wealthy family. That’s racism, right?”

  Sadie shrugged. “Maybe. A bit. I don’t know, Lena. Sometimes white guys who come from money can be sort of dickish.”

  “Sure they can, but that’s not everyone. And it doesn’t mean I should start from that assumption.”

  Sadie flopped back on the bed. “I see what you’re saying. I wouldn’t say you are racist. Maybe it’s more of a case of realizing a stereotype isn’t always true? I mean, if you were racist would you be feeling bad about it? Or would a real racist even consider the question?”

  Lena flopped back too. “Now my head hurts. I don’t know.”

  After a long beat of silence, Sadie spoke. “You have real feelings for this guy. That’s why it hurt so much.”

  A lump rose in Lena’s throat and she tried to swallow it down. Maybe. But now she knew she’d never get her family’s blessing. “It feels so fragile, Sadie. Like if I make one wrong move, it’s all going to break into a million pieces.”

  “What’s going to break, honey?”

  She wiped at the tears running down her cheeks and into her ears. “My heart,” she whispered.

  Sadie’s hand closed around hers and squeezed. There was a tentative knock on the door and Lena let out a muffled groan. She was done with people.

  “Momma Sadie?”

  Sadie propped up on her elbows. “Come on in, Jules.”

  Lena hurriedly wiped her face.

  “What are you doing? Is Abuelita mad?”

  “We’re staring at the ceiling,” Sadie said. She moved over on the bed. “Come stare with us.”

  Jules squeezed in between the two of them and they all stared at the ceiling. “But is she mad?” Jules whispered.

  “Maybe a little. It’s okay. People get mad. She’s not mad at you.”

  They stared at the ceiling some more.

  “This is boring,” Jules said. “Why are we doing this?”

  “Because my brain broke and I can’t do anything else,” Lena said.

  “If your brain broke, you wouldn’t be able to talk,” Jules countered.

  “True.”

  “The tamales are ready,” Jules said. “Want me to bring you some?”

  “Can you just grab a pitcher of sangria?” Lena asked.

  Sadie stood up. “Come on, Jules. Let’s raid the kitchen and we’ll bring back food and have a picnic.”

  After they left, Lena looked at her phone. Matt must be in the air because there were no new texts. Her finger hovered over the phone for a moment before she began to peck out letters.

  Can’t tonight. Might be late getting back from Edisto.

  She wanted to add more but couldn’t pin down a single thought. Hitting Send, she dropped the phone on the bed. This was a big, fat mess. Rolling to her side, she brought her legs up. You just need a nap. That’s all. This will all make sense once you’ve had some tamales and some sangria and a nap.

  Sadie came back, balancing a plate in one hand, a pitcher in the other and a couple of red Solo cups between her teeth. She was alone. Good. Not that she didn’t love Jules. She wasn’t quite up to an inquisitive nine-year-old at the moment. The scent of her mother’s corn-husk-wrapped chorizo tamales propelled her out of the bed.

  “Where’s Jules?”

  “Playing with the other kids. We’re boring.”

  Sadie sat on the floor and poured them each a healthy shot of sangria. She pulled a handful of napkins from the front of her shirt.

  “Eww,” Lena said.

  “I only have so many hands.”

  Lena pulled back the husk and bit into the tamale, a little moan of pleasure escaping her. Say what you will about her meddling mother and aunties, they could cook. “How’s the mood down there?” she asked around a mouthful.

  “I don’t think anyone really noticed anything. Y’all are always yelling at each other. Your mom and aunts are playing it cool.”

  They gorged on tamales in silence. I should go down there. Apologize for yelling at them. But they deserved it.

  “So tell me what’s going on with this guy. How’d he go from annoying the general hell out of you to maybe being the one?”

  Lena washed down the last bite with a healthy swig of sangria. How did this happen? “I don’t think I even realized how I felt about him until my mother started her rant about not dating white guys.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at Sadie.

  “What?”

  “Oh. My. God. Do you think I just like him now because my mom doesn’t want me to? Am I adolescent rebelling here?”

  “Give me your phone,” Sadie demanded, holding her hand out.

  “Why?”

  “Give it to me.”

  Lena handed it over. “Hey! Stop. How’d you get my password?”

  Twisting away from Lena’s grabbing hands, Sadie laughed. “Like I haven’t watched you unlock this phone a billion times. Oh? Frat Boy? Is that him?”

  “Don’t look at those!”

  “I’m going to assume it is then. Shouldn’t you change that to something more sensitive? Like his name?”

  “Seriously, don’t scroll through those. It’s personal.”

  “I’m not reading them. I’m just looking at them.”

  Lena leaned back against the bed and poured more wine. No. This wasn’t new. She’d known there was something different about Matt from the time she’d bumped into him at the Pineapple Fountain and told him why she wouldn’t accept his apology. She’d never had a man be truly grateful for enlightenment. That was when she really knew, in her heart, that he wasn’t what she thought him to be.

  Sadie handed the phone back. “One. No, this isn’t a reaction to your mom. Two. You two are beyond cute together. Three. That man is hot as sin on Sunday.”

  “But what do I do now?”

  “I don’t know. Are you going to get drunk on sangria and spend the night here? I can have Wyatt pick Jules up so I can stay with you.”

  “No. I have an early meeting in the morning. I need to apologize to my mother and get out of here before they make me mad again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MATT CHECKED HIS phone for about the millionth time. He’d had no response to the text he’d sent Lena yesterday after his plane had landed. She’d said she was staying late at her parents but that was the last he’d heard. Dude. It’s Monday. She has a job. Stop checking your phone like a... Stuffing the phone back in his pocket with a grimace, he straddled his bike and pulled on the helmet. Lovesick puppy were the words he’d shut down.

  He needed to focus. He had a lot to do today. A shift at the hospital and two private lessons. Plus, he needed to get a couple more of his abstracts ready for a showing. Lena’s and Eliot’s one-two sales punch at the church had cleared out several of his larger works. Which led him to the other thing on his to-do list: meet with the hospital’s social worker to identify the neediest of elementary schools so he could begin approaching the school district about bringing art therapy into the classroom. And he was only halfway done with the written proposal on that project.

  In other words, man, get your head out of the clouds and focus. He steered the bike out into the street, where
focus was definitely needed. He felt good. He’d dreaded the trip home but it had turned out to be a good thing. He felt like the black cloud that hung over his relationship with his parents had lifted. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but much improved. The weight of his guilt had lifted and for the first time in a long time, he felt he had his family back.

  As he set up the art table in the playroom and the kids began to show up for the session, he looked around. A cold wisp of dread drifted through him. “Where’s Clarissa?” he asked. Always a dangerous question with the cancer kids.

  One of the boys spoke up. “She went home. Her labs were good.”

  He was relieved, but still he’d seen the looks on all their faces. His question had reminded them that they might not go home one day. They’d seen enough of their fellow patients not go home. Mentally kicking himself, he made a note to check in with the unit’s charge nurse to get updates if he’d been gone awhile.

  He got the kids started on their choice of projects and circled the table, encouraging and helping out where necessary. His phone buzzed and he stepped back to check it. A smile crossed his face. Lena.

  Sorry. Crazy day. Glad you made it home okay.

  He looked at the words for a while. The message seemed rather flat. The teasing was gone.

  It’s all good. I was going to offer to cook dinner for you tonight.

  A shocked face emoji showed up.

  You can cook? On top of all your other skills?

  I can demonstrate any skill set at your demand.

  He looked up to check on the kids. They were all involved in their projects. Except Keesha. She was watching him. If she was smiling, it was hidden by the mask that she wore to protect her fragile immune system. Her eyebrows were raised almost to her forehead. His phone buzzed again.

  I’ll make up a list. Seven?

  He sent back a thumbs-up.

  “Mr. Matt?”

  “Whatcha need, Keesha?”

  “Were you talking to your girlfriend?”

  He tucked the phone back into his shirt pocket. Time to start being more careful. These kids noticed everything. “Just a friend,” he said.

  “Oh. Because I heard two of the nurses wondering if you had a girlfriend, so I can tell them if you don’t. I think they would be your girlfriends if you wanted.”

  He managed to keep a straight face. “That’s okay. I like to get my own girlfriends.”

  “Okay, but I can tell them if you want.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t need to do that.”

  * * *

  “OW! YOU PINCHED ME!”

  Lena grinned and took a sip of wine. “I couldn’t help it.”

  And she couldn’t. All broad shoulders and tight abs, hair up in a messy, sexy man bun standing in her kitchen unpacking a paper bag of food that wasn’t in little boxes already cooked, he couldn’t be real.

  “I had to see if you were real or if I’m dreaming.”

  Matt rubbed his backside. “I think you’re supposed to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming.”

  “Oh? Is that how it works? Sorry.”

  “Not sorry.”

  “Not a bit.”

  “Make yourself useful then. I’m going to need a cutting board. And a pot. A big pot. And a baking sheet.”

  Lena blinked and shook her head. “Did you start speaking Mandarin or something? Because I don’t even know what you just said.”

  Matt moved around the small kitchen, opening cabinets. He found the cutting board. “How do you not know how to cook?”

  “How do you know how to cook?”

  “Pots?”

  She sighed and set down the wineglass. Bending, she pulled the nest of pots she’d received as a housewarming gift from...someone. Probably her mother. “For someone who offered to make me dinner, you sure are demanding a lot. I thought I’d be on the couch, feet up, drinking wine and watching you prance around the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron.”

  “Okay, now you are dreaming.” He took the largest pot from the nest. “Put those away and I’ll teach you how to make a tagine.”

  “Like a Moroccan tagine?”

  “See? You know how to cook.”

  “I know how to order off a menu. How do you know how to make it?”

  He pulled a knife from the little block thing that was also an almost-pristine housewarming gift and set it on the cutting board. “There’s this new thing, you may have heard of it, called the internet.”

  “I thought that was for shopping without leaving the house.”

  He stared at her. “Come on, do you really not know how to cook?”

  “Okay. All right. Yes. I was forced labor in my mother’s kitchen all my life. I just don’t like to...” She stopped. She didn’t like to cook for one.

  “Good. Because this is a little labor intensive, so dust off your chopping skills and rustle up another cutting board.”

  “How was your trip home?” she asked minutes later as they stood side by side at the counter. “Is this okay for the onions? Smaller?”

  “That’s fine. It was an interesting trip.”

  “Interesting good or interesting bad?”

  He shrugged. “I talked to my parents. Things are better now.”

  She put a handful of dates on the chopping board. After the dustup with her mother and aunts Sunday, she wasn’t sure what her relationship status was with her own family. She’d spoken to her mother and apologized, but she’d left Estrella and Paula alone. They were the ones behind the most egregious of fix-ups. She was still mad at them.

  “Why’d you lie to me?” Matt asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

  “What? I didn’t lie to you.”

  He motioned to the neat piles of chopped onions, dates and apricots. “You handle that knife like a professional.”

  “If I had a penny for every tamale I had to roll, I’d never have to work again. You grow up in a Mexican household with about a million extended family members either living with you or next door. Food prep is military-level precision.”

  “Sounds pretty awesome, actually.”

  “You still haven’t told me much about your visit. Did the talk with your parents go well?”

  He put down the knife and leaned against the counter. “I did it, Lena. Your family is amazing. Everything I wish mine had been. I think the talk went well. They accepted my apology and we reached some neutral ground. But...”

  She looked into his eyes and saw real pain there. Putting the knife down, she reached up to put her hands on his cheeks. “But what, Matt?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll never have the type of love that your family has for each other.”

  She frowned at him. “I’m having a hard time understanding this.”

  “I don’t know what it is, Lena. The way we were raised. Tradition. We just aren’t the demonstrative type. At least my parents aren’t. My older sister and I get along amazingly well.”

  She held her tongue. Families were different. His wasn’t the hugging and kissing and teasing type. Didn’t mean they were bad. “I’m sure it isn’t that bad,” she said.

  He picked up the knife with a laugh. Bumped her hip with his. “Because you have the best family.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said slowly. She wanted to continue this discussion, but it seemed to be a sore spot. He was trying to make things right with his parents. Give him some space. Time to change the subject.

  “So, what did you have, like, a cook and a maid to serve you? Did your father sit at the head of the table and ring a bell?”

  He stared at her, openmouthed for a moment before he laughed. A big, free laugh that sounded wonderful bouncing around the small kitchen.

  “You’ve been watching too many movies, Lena
.”

  She spread her hands. “I don’t know how rich people act. You’re saying your mother cooked?”

  Matt set the pot on the burner and turned the heat on, still chuckling. “God forbid. She’d break a nail or something and the other ladies would talk about her behind her back. We had a maid. She usually made us lunch if we were home and cooked dinner before she left.”

  “See? I wasn’t wrong. Did she teach you all this?”

  “Okay. Point. No, I learned this on my own. When I was in college, I found that for good, cheap food, the small family-run, hole-in-the-wall restaurants were the best bet. Ate at all kinds. Moroccan, Ethiopian, Indian, Thai, Lebanese. Got to know the spices. Started experimenting.”

  “Now I’m starving. Thai. Drool.”

  He dropped the onion into the heated oil and began stirring. “Noted. Next time, I’ll make you my tom gah kai.”

  “Slow down there, Bobby Flay,” she said. “You trying to get lucky?”

  He caught her around the waist with one arm and pulled her against him. “I’m already lucky.” He kissed her forehead.

  She looked up into his impossible blue eyes, her breath frozen in her chest. Sadie’s teasing words came back to her. The l word. It’s happening. You are falling for him. She felt her mouth open but no words came out. The look in his eyes changed. From teasing to something warmer. Hotter. His hands went to her cheeks and he kissed her. Slowly, deeply. Until she was clinging to him, lost to everything except the feel of him, the taste of him, the...

  “The onions!”

  Matt grabbed the pot off the burner and stirred. “Not burned. Barely.”

  Lucky onions. She was burning right down to ash. “Whew,” she said shakily. “Better toss the chicken in there.”

  “You are too dangerous to have in the kitchen.” Matt pointed at her wineglass with the spoon. “Take your wine, pour me a glass and go sit down. I’ll just toss all this together and get it simmering.”

  She let her gaze move from his eyes all the way down to his feet and back up. “And how long does it need to simmer?”

  “Not long enough for me to do what I’m going to do to you. But long enough to get started.”