She scoffed. "I grew up in the city. The outskirts, and in a neighborhood, but still. There's nowhere I feel more at home. I guess that Christian felt exactly the opposite. When he first met Daniel, he gushed about his house just as much as he gushed about the actual dates with him. We still tease him about which one he fell in love with first."
My amusement turned into awe as we came to the end of the drive and saw a house that looked like it belonged in a modern architecture magazine. The roof was flat, dark wood, and the outer front wall was 2/3 glass with another wooden panel making up the bottom. There was a traditional stone walkway leading up to the heavy wooden door, and as we got out of the car and walked it, I realized there was an actual moat surrounding the place. Okay, it wasn't a moat, but it was a stream fed by trickling water coming from somewhere and, as far as I could tell, housing actual fish. I'd have to ask. Or maybe I wouldn't.
Natalia and I weren't holding hands. We weren't even walking close enough together to touch fingers. But that didn't matter, because three seconds after Natalia made her signature hard, business-like rap on the door, Amalia swung it open, her flawless white teeth showing in wide grin. "You made it!" she trilled, and I couldn't help but think it was directed at the both of us. She snagged our hands in hers and pulled us over the threshold. Music blared from some hidden, flawless-sounding speaker, and the biggest TV I'd ever seen hanging on a wall played some video of scenery from around the world.
Natalia’s entire family was there – that much, I’d expected. On top of that, though, there was a party. I counted two adults I didn’t know for every adult I did, at least. Some guy played a guitar softly while a lady sat next to him, singing. A dozen kids under ten years old ran around, the older ones playing a game of keep-away that bordered on teasing the smaller ones, but still had them entertained. Their squeals of delight at trying to snatch the small Nerf football away from the big kids filled the air. Another adult I didn’t recognize stood at the counter helping Daniel mix drinks, while another passed them around.
“What is happening?” I asked to Natalia when Amalia finally left us alone, having guided us into the wide, open living room and taking Natalia’s bag.
“What do you mean?” Her brow furrowed as she waved to Christian, who applauded and smiled our way.
“Took long enough to get here, Nati! The sorullos are getting cold.”
Natalia bent down to where a plate of what looked like tiny, stickless corn dogs sat on the coffee table and shoved one whole into her mouth. “Whatever, chotas,” she called, which sent Rodrigo and the three guys surrounding him into a fit of laughter.
With that, Natalia plunked herself down on the couch. Seconds later, Amalia shouted from some unseen corner into the kitchen, “Ay, what is your problem? You don’t want Natalia and Ethan to have a good time?”
The room went quiet for a split second, and then Rodrigo said, “The boss has spoken!” Within a minute, margaritas appeared on the table in front of us. Natalia shook her head and sighed, but took hers anyway.
She took a long pull from her drink and then leaned back on the couch, humming and letting her eyes drift closed. As always, she was stunning, and it occurred to me that it was because she was in her element. Not the same as at the gym, but despite the fancy house and the bustling crowd, the conflicting sounds of the TV and the chatter and the guitar and singing, Natalia very clearly felt at home here. At peace.
Which was insane, because by most people’s standards, this would be the party of the year.
“What is happening?” I repeated.
“Papá’s birthday?” she said, her eyes closed, her entire body conveying much more relaxation than I would have expected given her nervousness over the whole thing. Maybe all she’d needed was a little liquid courage. When I stopped to think of it, I’d almost never seen Natalia drink. This may have actually been the first time. Or maybe she’d had a glass of wine at one of our dinners.
“Natalia, this is, like, bigger than any party any of my friends’ families threw my entire childhood. Bigger than a party at Joey and Hawk’s, honestly. Is this… normal?”
She sat up and eyed me curiously. “Yeah. It’s Papá’s birthday. This is what we do for everyone’s birthday.”
“Who are these people?”
“Friends? My brothers have lots of friends. Especially Christian and Daniel, but I think they just love to have people over. Obviously.”
“But this is pretty normal?” I asked, processing.
“Well, yeah. All these people will stay for a while and then about halfway through the football game they’ll start to leave. We’ll have cake and then the rest of them will leave. And then the family will stay until Christian and Daniel kick us out. It’s sort of the tradition. They’d be offended if we didn’t.”
My brain worked to process all this, and now I was shaking my head back and forth too. But my disbelief was accompanied by this warm pressure in my chest, like a hug from the inside.
The guy with a guitar in the corner started playing a catchy song, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Sebastian take Sarah’s hand and pull her to standing. She still balanced Camila on one hip, and the little family danced together with fluid, practiced steps while Mariana looked on, teasing them while filming them with her cell phone camera. A few other couples joined them, and Natalia dragged her eyes open to watch them. I tugged on Natalia’s hand.
“Want to go watch them?”
Arturo shuffled by with some blond-haired woman wearing a tight pencil skirt and tank top.
She laughed. “They’re only dancing because they’re halfway drunk.”
“Well, if they’re halfway, you’re a quarter,” I teased her, wondering if she’d object if I planted a kiss on her neck right here. I so rarely saw her like this, relaxed, outside of bed. When we’d gone on “her” dates she was always keyed up, trying to impress me, maybe, or to prove something. When we were in bed, we were alone. This was like seeing an iteration of comfortable Natalia that I never imagined seeing. I liked it. No. I loved it.
“Papá wants you,” Rodrigo said as he plunked down next to Natalia. She let her head fall back on the couch and made a grunting sound.
* * *
“Why the piggy noises?” he asked. Natalia, eyes still closed, punched him on the arm. He hissed and rubbed it. “You’re crazy. Seriously, Papá heard you were here and is grumbling that you didn’t say hi yet.”
Natalia sat up again and looked at him carefully, like she was trying to discern some truth from his words just by looking at him. “He is?”
“He is. You know you’re his favorite, Nati.”
“You are? His favorite?” I asked.
“It’s stupid. Of course I am. I’m the only daughter. I’m the jewel in his crown. The apple of his eye. I just… I don’t know,” she said, turning to her brother. “He hasn’t been the same and I think it’s my fault.”
“And with all that, you really think he’s mad at you? Because of the changes to the gym?”
She pressed her lips in a line and nodded.
“Well,” I said. “Those changes are happening no matter what. You’re here. I’m here with you. No better time to go see him, wish him happy birthday, and find out.”
Natalia gave me a long look, took a lingering sip from her margarita and nodded once. We stood, and though she didn’t hold out her hand for mine, I could feel the pull between us – like she needed me next to her in order to move. I followed her through the living room, maneuvering around the small clusters of people talking, laughing, and dancing.
A dozen people sat in a semicircle of couches, ottomans, and chairs in the next room, including Christian and Alejandro. Kickoff for the Eagles game wasn’t for another hour, but you wouldn’t know it from watching these guys. They were engaging with the pre-game commentary as though the players were making breakaway runs down the field and perfectly completing passes.
Natalia's dad sat in the corner of the leather sectional, nestled ba
ck deep with a blanket on his lap, like he'd been tucked in there by someone. But he smiled and chatted with the men around him about the game, responding with trash talk when one of his sons would tease him about a player he had apparently bet on. He chuckled softly as the pre-game clips started to play, relaxing back into the cushion. He seemed... small, somehow, but that was probably just because I was standing, looking down at him. Not to mention the last time I'd really interacted with him, he'd been in an actual business meeting.
This was a different kind of get-together with Natalia's family. This is what I had wanted.
I caught Natalia's eye and moved my head a fraction of an inch toward the small empty space next to her dad. I couldn't hear her shuddering breath inward, but I could imagine it, just by watching the small tremble in her lips. It occurred to me that I didn't know Natalia well enough to know if she had a legitimate reason to be worried about talking to her dad about the business again.
Just another reason why I'd wanted to come. Family mattered to everyone, but Natalia was different from most people. Even when she was halfway across the country, her family and what they'd think of her affected every one of her actions.
After all, that was the reason she'd come back to Philly in the first place.
And, I realized as I watched her talking softly with her dad, watched her give him her hand and thread her fingers through his and rest her head on his shoulder as he kissed the top of it... it was one of the reasons I loved her.
Suddenly, it felt like the entire world had been reduced to me, and Natalia, and this house, and this party, and this moment. Her taking her rightful place in the family's livelihood, and me supporting her. The two of us showing up together and, later, going home together.
Natalia laughed at something her dad said and my heart felt like it would burst from happiness. Hell yes, I loved her. I wanted her, I respected the hell out of her, and half the time, I wanted to talk some sense into her. But, so much more than all those things, or maybe because of them, I loved her.
If I was lucky, she’d tell me she felt the same way. There were so many “ifs,” so many things to worry about, but the enormity of the realization kind of knocked all of them out of their usual orbit around my brain. I was so awash in my feelings, they were so powerful and all-encompassing – that I struggled to focus on the game on TV. I made small talk with Natalia’s brothers for another quarter. As much as I loved being with her family, I wanted to be alone with Natalia so much more.
Finally, out of the corner of my eye, I watched Natalia carry on an increasingly animated conversation with her dad. She sat up and they both began to talk with their hands, something that made me grin. At one point she even pulled out her phone and started tapping at it, showing her dad something on the screen every few seconds. During a time out, Natalia pulled him into a hug, and I noticed again how small he looked, how his body sagged against hers. She held him, instead of him holding her.
She stood up the, walking toward me, and her radiant grin inspired one of my own.
"Wanna get out of here?" she asked. She didn't hold out her hand to me, but I knew what she was asking. By the looks of the people in the room, I wasn't the only one who knew, either. Her brothers watched me carefully. Alejandro’s look might have even been called approving, if still deliberating.
Hell, that was good enough for me. I walked out of that party on a cloud. I was practically catching air under my feet when she threaded her fingers with mine in full view of the front porch, where several people were hanging out. It was almost like any stress she'd had over what people would think of her bringing me to the party was gone.
It was almost like we were a team.
And, seeing as how I'd just decided that I loved her, that felt like the best possible outcome of this whole day.
Chapter 21
Natalia
Papá was okay. He really was okay.
He hadn't been angry at all. Just busy, he told me as he brought up change after change I'd implemented in The Knockout over the past several weeks. Granted, he said, he'd never imagined The Knockout becoming the kind of gym with a sauna and a daycare and a space that was clearly going to turn into a juice bar, for God's sake, but he was happy with the rising enrollment numbers. Toby had taken some flyers to her engineering TA sections, and we had a steady trickle coming in to see the renovations we'd done, take a class schedule, and eventually sign up for a membership. I played him a clip of a hip-hop dance class a friend of Amalia's had come in to demo, and though he made racist remarks about the music - "How do you even understand what they're saying?" - when I pointed out the attendance, and that in time, each attendee would pay at least eight dollars to be there, he grinned. "I guess the music is fine," he conceded, nodding at my phone. "What else do you have there, querida?"
Several minutes later, and I could tell he was getting tired of talking about the gym, which honestly, was a good thing. If he was upset about it, he wouldn't have been able to stop ranting.
Ethan walked silently by my side to the car, then opened the door for me. I normally hated that, rushed to get to the door before he could, but tonight, there was too much buzzing through my head to even plan that far ahead. The door softly closed and a few moments later, he was in the driver's seat.
"Okay?" he asked.
It was only then, supported by the solid car seat, in the contained, safe space of the car under only Ethan's eyes, that I realized I was shaking.
I held out my hands in front of me, fingers spread, and watched them tremble.
"Better than okay?" he amended.
"I think so," I said softly. "I mean, yes. He's okay with the gym, all the changes. I know it might seem silly to you, but to him, this was a big deal. Having his youngest kid take over what he and Mamá had built. And the youngest kid being... me," I finished, self-censoring.
"You mean, a woman?" he asked softly, as he blessedly turned the key in the ignition. I didn't mind having this conversation with him, was grateful he was here to have it, actually, but I didn't want him looking at me while we did.
He pulled out of his parking spot and I sighed at the rumble of the car beneath me. "You know that's what I mean," I said.
"Yeah," Ethan replied, softly. "Baby steps, I guess. It's only been a few weeks."
"It feels like forever," I groaned, finally letting my body settle into the ache that all the tension of going to the party in the first place had left for it.
"Does it?" he asked softly. "Seems like it's flown by to me."
His meaning washed over me like the rapidly darkening night. "I don't mean the time with you," I said. "If anything, you've made it as bearable as it could have been. I'm glad I ran into you."
"I can't tell you how glad I am," he said in an impossibly soft voice. It was this sort of tenderness that Ethan was capable of accessing, and expressing, on the turn of a dime. In the beginning, it had made me feel uncomfortable. Feelings expressed by men were certainly not something I'd grown up with, and the stunt double, adventure, cliff-jumping types of guys I was used to dating weren't scared of anything nearly as much as they were discussing emotions. I'd always dated those guys because that's what I'd liked. No muss, no fuss, no messiness.
But now my whole life was a mess. Suddenly, hearing a guy talk about his feelings for me, explicitly or implicitly, like Ethan was doing right now, felt more like a rudder keeping a boat steady than the waves making it rock.
I'd always been my own rudder when things got a little rocky, but that was because for the most part, I knew what I was doing, what path I was following through life, however winding it was. Now I was busy bailing water out of my boat. I needed another rudder. And Ethan had volunteered.
"You hungry?" he asked. I hadn't even thought about food the whole time we were at Christian and Daniel’s, despite the incredible appetizers Daniel had cooked up. The margarita I'd downed had gone past making my head light and my thoughts fuzzy, and the traces of the tequila left in my system now jus
t highlighted the empty pit in my stomach.
"I am," I said carefully.
"I have stuff to make mac and cheese at home. Not the box kind. The ooey gooey homemade kind, that you cut into squares to eat the next day." I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn't say so. Comfort food in our house had always been empanadas, and arroz con pollo. The way Ethan talked about this mac and cheese, though, just sounded so full of love.
"Do I get to sit and watch you cook?" I asked, shooting one of those little smiles I knew he loved his way.
"That's actually the only way I'll cook," Ethan said.
Twenty minutes later, I was perched on a bar stool next to Ethan's kitchen island, wearing his sweats, which covered my feet completely so that I didn't even need socks. I still wore my tank, and I'd shrugged my bra off just in the name of regaining a little bit of my sanity. Sometimes I thought that if I had more body fat, the pinch of the straps and clasp against my skin wouldn't be quite so bad.
Ethan wore a pair of identical sweats, and a soft t-shirt that clung to his back muscles as he moved around his small kitchen, boiling noodles and stirring up a cream sauce on the stove.
The back of his shirts listed the members of the Penn-Tones, an a capella group he'd sung baritone in during his sophomore and junior years of college. Fittingly, he was swaying his hips at the stove and singing along, one of those songs about spending a lazy morning in bed with someone.
"Did you love it? Singing?" I asked. My voice came out louder than I'd expected it to.
"Huh?" he asked. He turned around, holding a dripping pasta fork. Steam rose from the pot behind him and his face was the perfect blend of sleepy and attentive. My chest tightened.
"Did you love singing? Or, like, do you love the radio show?"
"I like both, yeah," he said. "Why?"
"Well, you're good at it, right? Why didn't you try to... do it? For a living?"
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