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My eyes wide, I look over at Eric for help. “What kind of macho BS are you teaching him?” I say in Spanish.
I give him a tolerant smile. I should be nice because he’s Eric’s nephew.
Eric gives me a silly smile back.
“Don’t be put off, sweetheart,” he says, ruffling Flyn’s hair. “He’s just doing that to shock you. And, just so you know, Flyn speaks perfect Spanish.”
I’m absolutely stunned.
“If I don’t want to play with you, it’s because I want to play alone with my uncle,” he says.
“Flyn ... ,” scolds Eric.
This has not been a very good beginning with this boy.
“Don’t worry, I’ll sit the game out if you want me to,” I murmur, and smile.
He looks away and presses Play. The atrocious music comes on again. Eric winks at me and begins the game.
I watch them for twenty minutes.
Tired of staring at the screen while having those two little machos ignore me, I get up and wander around the living room. I notice the photos on the mantel above the fireplace. There’s one in which I see Eric with two girls. One is Marta, and I suppose the other is Hannah, Flyn’s mother. They’re all smiling, and I realize how much Eric and Hannah look alike: light hair, blue eyes, and an identical smile.
There are more photos. Sonia and her children. Flyn as a baby, dressed as a pumpkin in his mother’s arms. Marta and Eric hugging. I’m surprised to see a photo of a much younger Eric with long hair.
“Hello, Judith!”
Because of the noise, I didn’t hear her come in, but Marta is here. We hug and she grins.
“I see these two warriors have abandoned you for their game,” she says, taking me by the hand.
“According to somebody, we girls don’t know how to play.”
Marta sighs.
“My nephew is a little monster,” she whispers. “Surely Eric has told you that, right?”
I nod, and she sighs again.
“Let’s go to the kitchen and get something to drink.”
To leave the living room is a real relief, especially for my ears. When we get to the kitchen, there’s a woman cooking who greets us. Marta introduces her as Cristel.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Coke, please.”
Marta opens the fridge and grabs two Cokes. She signals to me to follow her to an adjacent dining room. We sit at the table, and through the window I see Sonia, outside talking on the phone, with her coat on.
“Mother and her boyfriends,” Marta whispers.
That surprises me. Isn’t Sonia married to Marta’s father?
“She and my father divorced when I was eight years old,” says Marta. She takes a drink of her Coke. “And while I adore my father, I realize he’s a very boring man. She is full of vitality and needs another kind of life.” I nod. “Just look at her. She’s like a teenager when she talks to one of her boyfriends on the phone.” I look out at Sonia and realize Marta’s right. At that moment, Sonia turns off her cell and gives a little jump for joy.
“Girls ... ,” says Sonia, now back in the house and shedding her coat, “I’ve just been invited to Switzerland. I said yes and leave tomorrow.”
Her effusiveness makes me laugh.