Bloom of love, p.17
Bloom of Love, page 17
What a small world we live in…
“Are you okay?”
Christian’s voice finally penetrated through the haze of memories, pulling Carla back to the present. “Oh! Yes. Sorry. We’re good. I was just remembering how Abby lived here all through school, and all of the sleepovers I’ve had here.”
“It is a small world,” Christian agreed, and Carla grinned at how his words mirrored her thoughts exactly.
“What?” he asked, cocking his head to the side quizzically.
“Nothing. Let’s go. Time to meet the family.”
She opened the truck door and felt the wall of mariachi music slam into her. Instinctively, she pulled the door back shut and turned to Christian, eyes wide. He gave her a grimacing smile.
“My family likes it loud,” he said by way of explanation. She thought that was rather understating the situation, but she nodded anyway and opened her door again. This time, she was ready for it, and only gasped a little at the sheer volume pouring out of the speakers everywhere.
Christian hurried around to her side of the truck and helped her down, already treating her like glass that could easily be broken. It made her feel loved, and just a little bit smothered. Four and a half more months of this? Being able to breathe was going to have to come up at some point.
With her arm tucked inside his, they began wandering through the throngs, hugging everyone, Christian shouting, “¡Les presento a mi novia, Carla!” again and again.
Everyone seemed so friendly, hugging her, welcoming her into the family, and even switching over to English when they realized her Spanish was painfully limited. In turn, Carla quickly figured out some of the elderly in the group didn’t speak English any better than she spoke Spanish, so they ended up nodding and smiling at each other a lot. She made a mental note to become more serious about her Duolingo time.
Christian didn’t have an accent when speaking English, which made it easy to forget that it wasn’t his native tongue. But his family? They were a different story. She needed to up her game and meet them halfway. At least be able to ask them something more than “What is your name?” in Spanish again and again.
As Christian got deep into a discussion with a cousin? Uncle? She wasn’t quite sure – about the future’s market for beef, Carla spotted Nieves slouched in a chair pulled up to a propane heater, tapping away on her phone, looking bored as always. Without anything else to do, Carla decided to head over to say hi.
“How’s the cleaning of the mansion going?” she asked.
Nieves shrugged, not even looking up from her phone as her thumbs bobbed and weaved in a blur over the screen. “Keila’s got someone else helping her ‘cause school’s started.”
“Someone else?” Carla repeated, surprised. How had she missed this tidbit of information? She thought back to the Early Spinster’s meetings, trying to remember if Keila had discussed cleaning out the mansion at one of them and Carla had just forgotten in the meanwhile, when Yesenia came hurrying over with a huge smile on her face. “Hi, Carla!” she said enthusiastically, giving Carla a big hug. “I’m so glad you could come tonight. How are things going?”
“Good, good,” Carla said automatically. “How is school?”
Yesenia rolled her eyes. “If I could just find one person to explain to me how organic chemistry will help me teach new immigrants how to speak English, I’d be a lot more enthused about the class. As it is, it’s kicking my ass. Either I graduate, or I go nuts.”
“How much longer do you have?” Carla asked, knowing the answer but politely acting as if she didn’t have the date burned into her brain.
“May of 2024,” Yesenia said glumly. “Not that I’m counting or anything, but that’s three years and six months from now. I could give you down to the day, if you really wanted to know.”
Carla chuckled even as she gave her young friend a one-armed hug. “It’s hard, I know. It’ll all be worth it, though. Just think about all of the people you’re going to be able to help once you’re a teacher.” She didn’t breathe a word about how much easier life would be if Yesenia wasn’t attending college and Christian wasn’t her primary support for tuition. Her friend would never know how difficult this made Carla and Christian’s lives; she would never accept the help if she knew just what a burden it was.
Yesenia’s face lit up at the mention of her goal. “Helping others is what I’m passionate about. That’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
Just then, the mariachi music died off and everyone turned to the front porch of the old farmhouse automatically, where Christian’s father was standing. Just then, Christian appeared at her side, handing her a hot chocolate. She smiled her thanks at him and snuggled into his side, happy just to be there.
As his father spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, Christian kept up a running translation in Carla’s ear. “He says welcome to everyone. Thank you for coming. Tonight is a special night, where we meet our son’s girlfriend.” A cheer rose up from the crowd and everyone turned to Carla and Christian, laughing and waving and calling out greetings. Carla felt her cheeks go red as she waved back. She was a total people person and loved being around others, but being the sole focus of fifty pairs of eyeballs was a totally different kettle of fish.
“This beautiful woman,” Christian said in her ear as his father started up again, “has made my son very happy. Soon, maybe he will pull his head out of his ass and marry her, eh?” The crowd broke out into gales of laughter and more than a few people slapped Christian on the back.
“Now, we eat!” he said in English, and pointed to a long banquet table with what looked like enough food to feed an army or two.
The crowd surged forward and Carla felt herself being swept along with them. She rubbed her belly absentmindedly. Her nausea had calmed down some since she’d first gotten pregnant, but she still wasn’t always sure her stomach would cooperate. Throwing up on the bushes would probably not impress anyone. Maybe she’d just stick to the bland rice and beans and skip anything with heat in it.
With Christian’s help, Carla picked out some dishes she was sure she could keep down and then they made their way to one of the folding tables with chairs, settling down to eat. Nieves was already there, looking bored, her boyfriend whispering in her ear, but she just shrugged and kept tapping away on her phone. Carla could only be grateful that she was no longer a teenager. There was nothing about that stage in her life that was appealing to her. Nothing at all.
The Spanish rice was flavorful – much better than anything she’d ever gotten in a Mexican restaurant – and she was just starting to dig into it with gusto when she heard a loud commotion break out. Heads were all turning back to the front, and Carla automatically followed the path of their gaze. It was Christian’s father, grabbing at a man who looked just like him. “¡Mi tío!” Christian muttered under his breath.
Carla had at least spent enough time on her Duolingo app to know that mi tío meant my uncle, but instead of this being a phrase of respect, Christian sounded like he very much wanted to shove his uncle’s teeth down his throat.
“Christian?” Carla said uncertainly, putting her hand on Christian’s arm. “What’s—”
Crash!
His uncle, who’d been waving around drunkenly, did a swan dive off the front porch of the farmhouse, crash landing in a banquet table, food and alcohol flying everywhere.
Christian was out of his chair in a flash, sprinting across the crowded, frozen lawn. Yesenia, who’d just come walking up with a loaded plate of food, sent Carla an apologetic smile and shrug, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. “My uncle…he can sometimes drink too much. He got started pretty early this morning. I was worried—”
The shouting at the front tore Carla’s gaze away from Yesenia, just in time to see Christian punch his uncle in the face.
Yeah, this wasn’t going so well.
“No se puede confiar en las gringas. Hermosas pero traicioneras,” the uncle slurred, and Christian punched him again.
Chapter 28
Christian
Life is pain. Anyone who says any different is selling something.
~Westley in The Princess Bride
“No se puede confiar en las gringas. Hermosas pero traicioneras,” Tío Nicolás slurred.
You can’t trust white girls. Pretty but treacherous.
Even as Christian drove his fist into his uncle’s nose again, feeling the crunch of it satisfying beneath his knuckles, he could only hope that Carla hadn’t been spending too much time on her Duolingo app. It was bad enough that his uncle was a drunk. It was bad enough that his uncle fell off the front porch of the house and into a table of food and drink. It was bad enough that Christian was punching his uncle during a family dinner.
The love of his life didn’t need to hear his uncle’s asshole view of her too.
Papá grabbed the front of Tío Nicolás’ dress shirt, the decorative sequins popping off and sailing across the yard as he hauled him to his feet. Telling his brother just what an ass he thought he was in rather detailed Spanish that Christian very much hoped his mother couldn’t hear, Papá hauled his brother up and into the house, most likely to dunk his head under some ice cold water. Tío Nicolás kept shouting slurs even as he was being pulled away, and Christian contemplated “helping” his father sober his uncle up. He would be all too happy to push his uncle’s head under a stream of cold water. Repeatedly, if he could get away with it.
He had more important things to do, though. Searching through the crowd, he felt terror flow through his veins. What would Carla think of his family? He’d met her family. They’d been nice. Normal. Not a single fist fight in sight. What would she think of him?
Duh. The only thing she could think of him at this point: He was definitely not the man she’d want to marry, and she was probably already deeply regretting getting pregnant with his baby.
The shock was starting to set in. He’d acted instinctively when he saw what was happening. His uncle was always an ass who drank too much, but his father had promised Christian that he’d keep his youngest brother under control today.
He didn’t know why he’d believed his father. He’d never been able to keep his youngest brother under control before. Why would today be any different?
But the racial slurs against Carla? That was a step too far, even for Tío Nicolás.
He had to find Carla. Where was she? He ignored the calls and questions from people as he pushed through them, his eyes hungry only for her.
What was I thinking, agreeing to this? But even if I hadn’t, I couldn’t have hidden Carla from mi tío for the rest of her life. He’s always at Mamá and Papá’s house, either getting drunk or sleeping off a drinking binge. Sure, like Mamá always says, it’s better that he’s sleeping it off on the couch than driving home, but this—
Suddenly, he felt someone touching the small of his back and he jumped, letting out a rather heated Spanish cuss word even as he spun in a circle, not sure if he was about to punch someone or hug ’em.
“Oh. Carla,” he said, weak with relief, and then pulled her into his arms. “I can’t believe…I’m so sorry. So sorry.” He rubbed his nose across the top of her head, breathing in her scent. She’s here. She’s still with me. It’s going to be okay. “I didn’t expect – I didn’t think my uncle would get so damn drunk, he’d fall onto a table. And what he said about yo—” With a rush of dread, he cut himself off, but it was too late.
“Oh,” she said quietly, pulling back just a smidge to look up at him, her big blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I wasn’t…wasn’t actually sure what he said. So he was talking about—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Christian cut her off sharply, pulling her against his chest, stroking his hands down her back. He had to prove to his racing heart that she really was fine. That she was still choosing to be in his arms, despite what had just happened. “My uncle is a bastard. He’s the baby of the family and somehow, after all these years, he still hasn’t grown up.”
Carla was melting into his arms then, her curves molding into his chest, tears wetting his shirt.
Dammit.
Carla was crying.
His urge to strangle his uncle was only getting stronger by the moment.
“Is everything okay?” his mamá asked, hurrying up to them. “Your papá, he push Nicolás’ head under the water.” Christian sent her a grateful smile for her attempts to speak English for Carla’s benefit. It wasn’t a language she’d ever really mastered, but she was doing her best.
Mamá didn’t notice his smile, though, her attention on the obviously distraught Carla. “Is okay,” she crooned, patting Carla on the arm. “My husband’s brother…he not a good guy. Do not think about him no more.”
“I’m…I’m sorry,” Carla said, pulling away from Christian and wiping her eyes. “Lo siento,” she added for his mamá’s benefit.
Look at that. All of those months of working with Duolingo is starting to pay off.
“I just seem to be more…emotional than usual.” She shot a pleading look at Christian, and he knew what her problem was. Tonight’s dinner was supposed to be their big announcement, when they told everyone the happy news.
Fist fights do tend to put a damper on parties…
Christian hesitated, torn on what to do. He knew his mother would be delighted to hear the good news, but also knew she couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. If he told her, half the people at the party would know within five minutes, but that was only because the other half would’ve found out within two.
Before he could decide if they should move forward with their announcement or not – save this party somehow – Tío Nicolás came stumbling back out of the house.
Oh no. No, no, no, no.
Nicolás’ hair was wet and in his hand was a cup of coffee instead of a beer can, but he otherwise looked exactly the same.
Not a bit more sober.
“Hermanito,” his dad said consolingly, coming up from behind, wrapping his arm around his youngest brother’s shoulders. “Volvamos adentro.”
Carla looked up at him, clearly not understanding that last part. “Let’s go back inside,” Christian translated in a whisper in her ear. “Honestly, when my uncle’s this far gone, he usually passes out. If my dad can just get him into the house and into a bed…”
But Tío Nicolás shrugged his brother’s arm off his shoulders. “Niño estúpido,” he spat at Christian. His eyes flicked back and forth between Carla and Christian, and in that moment, Christian was sure that his tío would’ve attacked Carla if they’d been alone together. His blood rain ice-cold in his veins at the realization. “Enamorarse de una mujer blanca. Tú no eres mi sobrino.”
Stupid kid. Falling for a white woman. You are no nephew of mine.
Christian shook his head like a boxer after too many rounds in the boxing ring. This couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be real.
His uncle had always been an asshole of the first degree, sure, and he’d always talked about that woman who’d killed his family, who’d taken everything away from him, but somehow, Christian had missed the fact that his uncle hated all white women.
Was this new? Or had he just ignored all of the signs?
A strangled yip fell from Carla’s lips and Christian realized in a vague sort of way that he was the cause of it. He’d wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and then had squeezed, anger blocking everything else out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to…” He stroked his fingers over the bruised area, promising to himself that he’d kiss every one of those bruises better. Later.
Right now, he just had to face down his uncle. He looked at the wavering, stumbling man on his parent’s front porch and said calmly, “No eres tío mío.”
You are no uncle of mine.
The whole crowd gasped, and Christian felt the back of his neck grow hot. For a moment, he’d forgotten they had an audience. He wanted to punch his tío again just for this.
The gossip about tonight would go on for years to come. No one spoke to their elders this way.
No one disowned their own family.
But if Christian had to choose between Carla or Tío Nicolás? He’d choose Carla every time.
Christian’s denunciation took a moment to register and work their way through Nicolás’ alcohol-pickled brain, but finally, he realized that Christian’d thrown his words right back in his face.
He slurred out a few nasty Spanish swear words – language that would normally have his mother up in arms and yelling but in that moment, she seemed just as frozen as everyone else – and then with what he probably thought was grace and dignity, he pivoted on his boot, almost slamming into the side of the house, and barely made it through the front door, Papá swinging the door out of the way at just the last moment.
A silence fell over the crowd then. Even the barking dogs that normally kept up a constant stream of barks and growls during a family dinner had shut the hell up. Every person was staring at him.
Everyone, even Carla.
Oh, God. Carla. What had she understood? What had she picked up? What was she thinking?
Thank God she hadn’t asked for a running translation of everything that had just been said. The emotion in the air told her all that she needed to know, he was sure of it.
His arm around Carla’s shoulders, he steered her through the eerily quiet crowd, everyone still staring.
Christian just wanted out, he wanted out of there, and he wanted it right now. He felt his breath growing rapid, his heart racing. He wanted to go. He needed to be free of the eyes, free of the stares.
Carla stumbled a few times but kept up with him, her arm tight around his waist, using him to hold herself up. She was still there. She hadn’t left him. Not yet, anyway.
God only knew that she should.
Chapter 29
