Page 32 of Nacho Boyfriend

Mom is trying her best to hold back a laugh, but my brothers—who frankly I’d forgotten about—are busting up.

“You know, I thought you looked familiar,” says Nate.

Mateo shakes his head. “Not me. I had a front-row seat when you flew into the cake and I didn’t recognize you at all today.”

“It’s the catering uniform,” says Olive. “No one looks at your face while you’re serving.”

“But then you just left the reception,” says Mom. “Cake or no cake, you’re Ignacio’s girlfriend. You should have stuck around.”

“She was too embarrassed, Mom,” I say.

And Olive adds, “I didn’t have a change of clothes.”

“You didn’t have a change of clothes?” Cries Tía Lucy. “What about me? Francesca had to clean me up in the restroom. My new dress was damp and crusty the rest of the day.”

“I’m sorry,” says Olive. “Truly.”

Tía Lucy pulls a face as though she’s considering if she wants to forgive Olive just yet. Olive opens both arms.

“Wanna hug it out?”

Tía narrows her eyes at her. “What I want is to lie down.”

Sebastian escorts Tía Lucy into a spare bedroom and Olive mouths the words “I’m sorry” to me. Mom notices this and pulls her into a hug.

“Happens to the best of us, cariño.”

She hooks arms with her and leads her off toward the garden. Olive winks at me over her shoulder as they retreat. Something squeezes inside my chest—a feeling I don’t care for. I’ve gone down this road before and it wasn’t pretty. I decide to busy myself with the only thing that settles me. Cooking.

“What are you doing for vegetables, Dad?”

He’s too engrossed in the soccer game to hear me, not to mention how Tío Enrique shouts over me.

“Que animal. ¡Metela, boludo!”

Borris and Pedro join him with groans of disappointment.

“Dad?”

“Hijole chambón,” Tío Borris grunts.

“Padre mio,” I yell.

All three uncles turn their heads. Well, that seemed to work. Dad raises his eyebrows at me as if to let me know I have two seconds of his attention or else wait for the commercial.

“Veggies? What’s for dinner besides ribs?”

“No te preocupes, Nacho. Aye elotes y papas.”

I roll my eyes. “Corn and potatoes aren’t vegetables.”

I go into the kitchen, where Nate is making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Nate, can’t you wait twenty minutes?”

“Nope.”

This guy. He’s never without food in his mouth for more than a half-hour at a time. Good thing he burns it all off by surfing.