Page 25

Teagan

Layla wasn’t kidding when she said her family is huge. After being introduced to her twin sisters, I was greeted warmly by her grandmother, who pinched my cheek and called me guapo. She’s tiny in stature but makes up for it with her quick wit. Her eyes are constantly taking in her surroundings, tucking away information that she probably plans to use later as fuel to roast her family members.

Her brother, Rafael, was next to arrive. He looks more like Layla and their mother, with a rounded face and straight black hair. He’s shorter than I am, but formidable. The bloke clearly spends time at the gym. He doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s concise and thoughtful. Prying any information from him is nearly impossible. In the two hours I’ve been here, all I’ve learned is that he’s twenty-four, plays center midfield for Austin FC, and still lives at home when he’s not on the road.

There’s a lull in the conversation for the first time since arriving. Layla and I are perched on the forest-green loveseat in front of the bay of windows facing the front yard. My arm is draped across the back of it, while she’s nestled into my side. Across from us on the matching sofa sit her mother, grandmother, and Rafael. The twins, Cori and Jaz, are scrunched together in a brown leather recliner, busy on their phones.

“So tell me, Teagan,” Raquel says, breaking the silence. “How do you like working with kids?”

Layla tenses beside me, so I pull her closer, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Aye, I love it. They’re a great group. We recently finished up a segment on basketball, but are getting ready to get back into football, which is a relief. Basketball isn’t my thing. I’m rubbish at it.”

This earns an easy chuckle from the family and Layla starts to relax. It’s only temporary though because the next question has her clenching her fists and looking down at her lap.

“Do you want a family someday?”

Cutting right to the chase then.

“Sure,” I say honestly. I won’t add fuel to the fire but I’ll be as truthful as possible. “If and when the time is right. I’m in no rush though. There’s a lot of life to live before bringing wains into the world, yeah? I’m only a young boyo, after all.”

“How old are you?” One of the twins - I haven’t figured out who’s who yet- asks, glancing up from the screen in her hands.

“Just twenty-seven, lass.”

“?Ay! ?Veintisiete!” Raquel exclaims. “Layla and her brothers were barely out of the toddler stage when I was that age! Surely you want ninos before you’re thirty?”

“Mami…” Layla warns.

I mentally brace myself for the retort I can see coming.

“What, mija? You’re nearly twenty-four. If the two of you are planning on babies, you better get started soon.”

“Actually,” I interject, “I read an article recently from a medical journal stating that they no longer consider age thirty to be the threshold for fertility issues anymore. In fact, a large majority of women are waiting until their thirties so they can establish themselves in their careers, providing a more financially stable environment for their wains. I think this is amazing. Good for the women taking charge of their lives and bodies.” I lift my hand, hoping to emphasize what I say next. “Now, I realize I’m privileged as a white male, but I just don’t understand the mindset of women being only for breeding. You lot aren’t livestock, am I right?”

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Most would be uncomfortable in this situation, but I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind. Respectfully, of course.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Raquel says thoughtfully.

“ Nieta .”

Layla whips her head up finding her grandmother looking directly at her sternly.

“When I was your age, I didn’t have the options you do. I love your Abuelo, and wouldn’t trade our family for anything, but had I been given the freedom, I would have gone to college before having my babies.”

“Mamá!” Raquel gasps at her mother’s confession, eyes wide in astonishment, but the older lady only shrugs and pats her daughter’s leg placatingly.

Rafael is smirking and the twins are staring open-mouthed at their grandmother. Glancing at Layla, I can tell she’s holding back tears. The tip of her nose has taken on a ruddy hue like when she blushes, and there’s moisture pooling along her lower lids. I’m racking my brain trying to find a way out of this because I know the last thing she wants to do is cry in front of her family, but I’m saved by the sound of the front door swinging open and feet strolling in the entryway.

“Is my Layla here?” A booming voice sounds and seconds later a tall man rounds the corner of the dividing wall, arms spread wide, with a huge grin spread over his face. His eyes immediately lock on Layla. “There’s my princesita!”

Layla gets to her feet immediately and goes to her father, letting him fold her into his arms in a bear hug. The resemblance between him and her brother, Marcos, is uncanny. They both have the same angular face with a straight nose, pronounced brows, and black, curly hair.

“Hola Papá,” she murmurs, squeezing him back.

He looks over her head at me, a welcoming smile stretching over his face. “This must be Teagan.”

Layla pulls away, peeking at me over her shoulder with a wink. “Oh him? No, that’s Rowan.”

“The hell I am.” I glower at her, hoping she reads the promise of retribution in my eyes.

Giggling, she returns her attention to her dad, grinning broadly. “Sí, Papá. This is Teagan O’Brien, my boyfriend.”

Standing, I cross the space in a couple of strides, extending my hand toward the main man in Layla’s life. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Roberto, please,” he says, clasping his hand with mine, no sign of animosity or dominance in his grip. “It’s nice to meet you too, Teagan. Looks like you’ve been taking good care of my baby girl.”

“Aye, that’s the goal.” He doesn’t need to know all of the ways I take care of his daughter.

An older gentleman shuffles out from behind Roberto, white bushy brows raised in surprise as he looks me over. Clearly I’m not what he was expecting his granddaughter to bring home.

“Hello, sir. Pleasure to meet you.” I hold my hand out for him to shake, but instead of the customary greeting, he traps my hand between both of his. I can feel the calluses he earned from years of hard labor as he built a life for his family. The wrinkles from age and sun mingle with scars he’s acquired from what I can only hope is from working and not violence incurred during their immigration.

Layla gave me a brief rundown of her family history before arriving in her hometown. Having been born and raised in Mexico, they didn’t venture to the States until they were well into adulthood. During that time, it was exceptionally daunting to make the trek across the border as many Americans accused them of stealing their jobs and taking advantage of the welfare system. Never mind the fact that the jobs they were accepting were the ones Americans didn’t want because of low wages and social status. While I am an immigrant of sorts, I’m not a minority, so my transition was smooth sailing, whereas theirs was considerably more challenging. More often than not, Mexican migrants were victims of muggings because attackers knew that undocumented individuals would refrain from reporting the violence because of their unauthorized status.

As Layla’s grandfather holds my hand in his, he examines it. Looking for what, I don’t know, but he must have found something satisfactory because he scans my face, holding my gaze for a moment before nodding. He turns to Layla and says something in Spanish causing her eyes to widen and lips curl into a sweet smile. When she glances back at me, I give her an inquisitive look, but she just shakes her head.

* * *

“We’re going to the rodeo tonight. I hope you brought your boots, Teagan.”

Marcos showed up not long after Layla’s father and grandfather and greeted me like an old friend, pulling me in for a one-armed hug and a whispered, “you ready to run for the hills yet?” I shook my head, laughing, because while the Diaz family is loud and lively, they’re also kind and involved. None of the conversations have felt forced or awkward, aside from Layla’s mom telling us to have babies, and even that was tolerable for me. Layla wasn’t amused. She’s apologized repeatedly for her mom’s behavior.

“Erm…I didn’t bring any boots with me. Just my runners. Those will work, yeah?”

Marcos wedges himself on the sofa between his mother and grandmother, earning him a playful slap on the arms from each of them.

“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “You ever been to a rodeo, Teag? There’s a reason we wear cowboy boots, and it’s not just to look good.”

For the first time since arriving, I’m actually feeling slightly nervous. Growing up on a sheep farm has given me enough experience to know to watch your step around the livestock, but I’m gathering that a rodeo in Texas isn’t even remotely close to raising sheep in Ireland.

“So, what you’re saying is that I need to go shopping?”