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of different spices and fried peppers as she put her hand on my back, leading me down a small hallway and through an outdated kitchen to a back porch.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. “You 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.

Rico and the older men laughed, barely even getting splashed by the water.

I wiped my face, looking at the globs of mascara on my hands. “Do you have a shower?”

Even though it sucked that I was doused and my cigar was now burnt out, there was something funny and completely real about the whole situation. This was the most normal day I’d had in a long time

“Yeah. Let me take you upstairs.”

With that, he took my hand and led me into the house, while the kids with buckets got the verbal lashing of their lives from their parents.