Page 41 of Nacho Boyfriend

I smile. “You brought me food.”

“Yeah.” He grumbles. “If we’re going to keep up this ruse, we should be seen eating together.”

“Thank you.” I look at my plate. It doesn’t look like anything on the menu. “What is this?”

“Filet en nogada.”

“Say what now?”

He sighs. Sighing is Ignacio’s reset button, I’ve learned.

“It’s a grass-fed filet mignon medallion topped with a whole roasted poblano chili pepper, bathed in a walnut cream sauce, and finished with a sprinkling of pomegranates.”

“Oooh, fancy.”

“Not fancy. Just healthy.”

I poke at the chili pepper with my fork. “Looks fancy to me. It’s not spicy, is it?”

He shakes his head, all gruff and stern. “No.”

I dip a finger in the sauce. As soon as it enters my mouth, I’m thrown into a food rapture. My eyes roll to the back of my head. I think I levitated a little.

“Oh, my word!” I say. “I just died and went to heaven.”

I take a bite, cutting off a slice of meat and pepper this time, and I can’t help but groan a little too loud. A few people turn their heads.

“Let’s not recreate that scene from When Harry Met Sally, okay? Just eat.”

“But it’s… soooo gooood,” I tease.

“Stop it.”

I laugh. “I thought we were trying to keep up the ruse.”

“Don’t make me regret this. I’m already peeved about getting suckered into shopping downtown on Wednesday.”

“Well, hopefully it won’t take too long.”

He snorts out a half-laugh. “You don’t know my grandma very well. When she comes to visit, she spends ninety percent of her time at the store. Usually T.J. Maxx. She never has room in her luggage for all her new stuff—or over packs beyond the weight limit. And then the scale comes out, Dad weighing himself without the suitcase, then weighing himself again with the suitcase and subtracting the difference. Every. Single. Time.”

“How much longer is she staying?” I ask.

“Another couple of weeks, I guess.”

“And she lives by herself? In Mexico City?”

“No. Her brother lives with her. And my grandpa, half of the year.”

“Your grandpa? I shouldn’t have assumed, since he wasn’t at dinner…”

“That he was no longer with us?”

I grimace, feeling foolish. “Yeah.”

Ignacio spots Roberto and flags him down. “Oye, Beto.” He motions a sign for water and holds two fingers up. Roberto salutes Ignacio, points at me questioningly. I nod, and he gives me a thumbs up. He knows my poison.

“My grandpa came to the wedding but went back home the next day. He doesn’t like city life—which includes Los Angeles. My grandma doesn’t like country life. So they have their own houses, and split their time between Mexico City and Abuelo’s farm in Arizona. Abuela will go to Arizona for a couple months, and Abuelo will spend a couple months in Mexico City. The rest of the time, they live separately.”