Page 61 of The Lies Always Told (Baker Oaks #4)

TWENTY-NINE

BE GOOD TO HER

Fire on Fire, Sam Smith

Gus

“Bendición, Mami. ? 1 ”

“Dios te bendiga, mi hijo, ?Cómo estás ?? 2 ” she replies. She’s always available whenever we call, no matter what time it is. It doesn’t surprise me that she answers on the second ring. It’s late. I already told Manny Nellie’s okay, and they’re all breathing easier, but I needed to talk to her.

“Bien se podría decir. Necesito un favor? 3 ,” I continue in Spanish. We moved a lot growing up, lived in different. countries, in different towns, but she always made sure Spanish was spoken at home at all times .

“Dimelo, mi hijo. ?Como te puedo ayudar?? 4 ”

“You know when we were younger and sick, you would make us Sancocho, and it immediately helped?” I’m not about to tell her I need to nurse my—my what?

Girlfriend? My secret I’ve been keeping from them?

The love of my life? The woman I know I won’t be able to ever live without?

Or do I say her…her best friend’s daughter?

I guess I realize now how fucked up this whole situation has gotten.

If only I would’ve told her. If only we would’ve come clean.

I could tell her. But I didn’t, and now is not the time.

“Yes…why?” she replies, her tone shifting from motherly to gossipy.

“Well, I would love to make it, but I don’t know how.

” I never learned how to cook; none of us did, mostly because we always had our meals made for us growing up.

In college, we had a meal planning service I just carried with me to adulthood.

In the Dominican, we have Sonora, our house keeper, and she just made sure we were fed growing up and still when we go back.

I highly doubt I’ll be able to find Sancocho out here in this small Georgia town, though.

“You, Augusto? You want to cook?”

“On this occasion, I do. Don’t act so surprised. I’m a grown man.”

“Who’s the girl?” she asks, because no matter how much I try to hide it from her, she knows. Moms always know.

“Mami,” I reply. I don’t want to lie to her, so I need her to stop probing.

“I know it’s a girl. The only time your father would cook was to feed me, but if you don’t want to tell your mother, I guess I’ll die without knowing. Go ahead and keep things away from your mother. Hijo eres y padre serás. Ya verás lo que se siente? 5 .”

“You’re so dramatic,” I reply, mocking in my tone, and she laughs. She knows what she’s doing, but I won’t give in. “I will tell you, just not today. Te lo juro.? 6 ”

“Mira muchacho dejate de estar jurando en vano.? 7 ”

“One of these days, you’ll have to tell me who she is.

Do you have a pen and paper?” I smile as I get ready to write the recipe of her famous stew everyone loves.

I write down every ingredient and all the directions she has to give.

She gives me examples on things I can substitute if I can’t find all the ingredients here.

I get worried I might not find them at all, so I put her on speaker while I order the groceries to be delivered.

As she predicted, some of the root plants aren’t available, but that didn’t stop her from giving me tips on how to substitute or even use the pre-peeled frozen choices.

According to the delivery app, I will have the ingredients here within the hour.

“Do you think I should call you when the groceries get here?” I ask her.

“Do not be afraid. You’ve got this. Call me if you get stuck. It truly isn’t as hard as you think.”

“Okay, Ma. Gracias.” There’s a silence after.

I know she’s there. I can hear her breathing, but she doesn’t say anything.

Even though I’ve been talking to her now for what seems like twenty minutes, my eyes have not left Nellie, who still sleeps on the bed just across the room from me.

I don’t let her out of my sight, too afraid of her slipping out of my hands and leaving again.

The sun started going through the window a while ago, but it hasn’t reached her face.

I wish this cabin had curtains so I could shield her from the sunlight and let her sleep, but it’s not going to happen.

At least I have ibuprofen ready for her whenever she wakes up. I’m sure she’ll need it.

“Is this person someone I know?” she asks, and I freeze. How the fuck does she know? How does everyone know?

“Ma…”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want, but your brother was being cryptic when he called to ask if I knew where Nellie was.

Then, he called back to tell me she was okay.

I just hope that if you have her, you’re keeping her safe.

” I don’t say anything. I let the silence speak for itself.

I can tell she knows. How? Who knows, but again, moms always know.

“I was with her mom all day yesterday until Manuel called. It’s okay if it’s her you’re taking care of.

I trust you. I trust I raised you to be a good man to whoever gives you their heart—to whoever you decide to give yours.

Just promise me you two will let us know soon if it’s serious, and if it’s not…

promise me you’ll be careful. I would hate to lose the friendship of a lifetime over my son hurting her daughter, and you wouldn’t do that, right?

Grown or not.” I swallow hard at her words.

“No, I wouldn’t, and yes, I promise,” I say.

“Te amo, Augusto. Be good to her.”

“I love you too. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up the phone and wait for one of two things to happen—Nellie to wake up, or the groceries to get here. Both will happen before I figure out what the fuck are we going to do from now on, especially if she doesn’t feel the same way I do about her.

1 ? This is a respectful way to say hello to your elders in the Dominican. It translates to Blessings, Mom.

2 ? God bless you, my son. How are you?

3 ? You could say I’m good. I need a favor, though.

4 ? Tell me, my son. How can I help?

5 ? An idiom that translates to: a son you are, a parent you will be. It means that one day, you’ll know what it’s like

6 ? I swear.

7 ? Stop swearing in vane.