Block Shot (Hoops 2)

“Somos familia,” Banner says, kissing her cheek.

“And thank you for bringing this one,” Camilla says, turning a frankly admiring look my way. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that he is something else.”

“Look, Milla,” Banner says with a stiff smile. “You have one more time to look at my boyfriend like that. ¿Entiendes?”

Camilla and I glance at each other for a few seconds before her laughter sputters past her lips. She pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it over to me.

“You win.” She shakes her head and grins. “Jared called it.”

“Wait.” Banner swings disbelieving eyes between her sister and me. “You set me up?”

She turns narrowed eyes on me.

“You set me up?”

“Just a friendly wager to see how jealous you’d get,” I admit, pocketing the twenty. “It’s pretty bad.”

“And I suppose that twenty is for Anna’s stash, yes?” Banner asks with arms akimbo.

“Of course,” I mumble. “Most of it.”

The three of us laugh at my joke and I hand the twenty back. We make our way over to the table where there is more food than I have ever seen. A catered spread of tacos, enchiladas, barbacoa, salsa, guac, and so many dishes I’ve never seen but can’t wait to taste. I grab a couple of the biscohos, a type of wedding cookie, and even spot some buñuelos like the ones Banner made for me in St. John.

As we eat, I absorb this new experience and relish seeing Banner with her family. She is louder and her hands are in constant motion, painting pictures in the air

while she speaks with her cousins and aunts and childhood friends, more expressive than in the settings where I’ve seen her before. I love seeing this side of her that would only unfold here, with them. I can pick out a few words here and there when they lapse into a torrent of Spanish, but mostly I just enjoy the sound of their voices and the warmth of all the laugher interspersed with the lively music of the mariachi band. We have a good time when our family gets together, but this is chaos, and I’m glad I get to be a part of it.

A blonde woman with a clipboard and glasses dangling at the tip of her nose walks up as we’re finishing our food.

“Ms. Morales, I had a question about the contract,” she says. “And wanted to ask you about the setup for the first dance.”

“Oh, of course.” Banner takes in the brightly colored palette of dresses and food, her rambunctious uncles laughing and drinking in one corner, her aunts boisterous and cackling in another, before turning her attention back to me. “You’ll be okay for a few minutes?”

“I’m fine.” I shake my glass. “I have punch and I’m pretty sure it’s spiked.”

She nods and blows out a breathy laugh before following the coordinator.

I don’t know many, and the few who know who I am to Banner aren’t around right now. I refill my punch and am perfectly content to hold up a wall and people watch, especially with so many new foods and traditions taking place around me. Anna is surrounded by the fourteen girls attending her today, or damas as Banner called them. They’re giggling and adjusting her tiara and formal dress. Their dresses are a rainbow of colors and a flurry of satin and chiffon. Banner wants at least four kids? What if they’re all girls? I think of Sarai and her billion questions and constant little diva demands. God, what if they’re as much work as my niece?

I’m still shuddering at that thought, when Mama Morales invades my corner. We assess one another for a few silent seconds. We didn’t have the most auspicious beginning, with me almost banging her daughter in the handicapped stall.

“Hola, Senora Morales,” I venture when the quiet turns awkward.

“You don’t speak Spanish,” she replies, not bothering to answer in her native tongue to see for sure.

“I speak enough to know you called Banner a whore.” That still grates and she doesn’t like me? I reserve judgment until she makes that right. Even though Banner shook it off, I know her mother’s persistent disapproval bothers her.

“Ha! That’s some big cojones you got there.” The dark arch of brows Banner inherited elevates, and there’s a twitch of the lips that look just like hers, too. “You speak enough Spanish to know what that means, gringo?”

The tense line of my mouth relaxes because she is so much like Banner, I have to like her just a little bit.

“You hurt Banner when you said that,” I say, testing the temporary cease-fire between us.

“And you don’t like seeing my daughter hurt?”

“No, I don’t,” I answer seriously, no smile in sight. “Not even by the people I know love her.”

She searches my face for a moment before speaking again. “Do you have any idea how exceptional Banner is?”