“She makes chips?” Jonathan asked.
“Tortilla chips. And tortillas. Don’t tell her I don’t make them at home,” I teased, and he chuckled.
“I heard that,” Mama said from the entryway.
“Oops.”
“On the counter.” She pointed to the full gallon-size Ziploc bags. I grabbed one along with the ceviche from the fridge, and we went to the dining-room table.
Eliza got the queso and salsa, and Monica plates. “The salsa’s gonna be hot.” I wasn’t sure of Jonathan’s heat tolerance. “I can get you a drink. Here, let me get you a drink.”
I went in for some water. I wanted to make him as comfortable as possible with my family.
“Thanks,” he replied as we began to dig in.
“What is it you do, Jonathan?” Monica asked.
“Well, I ran my own construction company for most of my life. It was my father’s, actually. He left it to us when he passed away, but I’m the oldest, and so it was my responsibility to head things up. Right now, I’m working at a furniture store. It’s not much, but it works until I decide what I want to do. I know I’m a little old not to know, but…”
“Who said that?” Mama asked. “You’re a baby. There’s no rush. You’ll figure it out when the time is right. The most important thing is you’re happy.”
“I, um…thank you. I’m working on that,” he responded, looking at me shyly.
We talked and ate for a while. Jonathan held his own with my mom and sisters, who continued to rapid-fire questions his way.
When he finished his water, I got up and got him some more. I took a moment to take in the savory scent of what I assumed was both pork and beef, slowly cooking.
“Jonathan says he’s going to give us your baseball schedule. Says we should go to a game. Why is it my own son didn’t do that, huh?” Mama asked as I set the glass in front of him.
“Oh, good job. Show me up.” I winked, then sat beside him again. I reached over and rested my hand on his nape, tickling my fingers there. “You know I want you to come to a game. I just had to make sure we were gonna be good first,” I teased.
“Don’t act like that’s not the truth,” Monica replied. “This one time…” And that led into my family telling Jonathan stories about my childhood, all the crazy things I did, and how much I hated to lose. I mean, who didn’t?
When they got into how I used to bring home stray animals, some of which weren’t actual house pets, I said, “Okay, okay, that’s enough.”
“But it’s cute,” Jonathan said. “Why don’t you have a pet now?”
I shrugged. “Wasn’t sure I had the time.”
“We should get one—well, you should. It would be yours, but I could help.”
Yep, and there I was feeling all Jonathan-drunk again. “Okay,” I replied.
“Danny has always been a caretaker,” Monica said. “He used to try and beat up boys who were older than him if they messed with me…or even dated me. When he was little, he would run around the neighborhood helping people with yard work and bringing their groceries in and stuff.” She turned to me. “What happened to you?”
“Ha-ha. I’m a great guy.”
“You’re the best,” Mama added.
“Gag,” Eliza said, and we all laughed.
“We should get this cleaned up and get the tacos finished up,” Mama said. Jonathan was the first on his feet to help. We brought everything into the kitchen as Mama began to shred the meats.
“Can I use your bathroom?” Jonathan asked.
“Of course. First door on the left, down the hallway.”
The kitchen was small, and it was a tight fit, but we all worked in there often, so my sisters and I helped Mama get everything ready. When Jonathan didn’t come back after a few minutes, I went out to check on him. He was in the living room, studying all the photos on the wall.
“Hey,” I said.
“This was you and Elijah in high school?” He pointed to a photo.
“Yeah.”
He pointed to another. “Is that, um…your dad?”
I wrapped my arms around him from behind and rested my chin on his shoulder. “It is. I don’t know why she keeps that shit up.” I was young. It was taken in the front yard, and I was looking up at him like he was my hero. “Wanna know a secret?” I asked softly, surprising myself.
“I want to know everything about you,” Jonathan answered, and goddamn him, I was totally gone for this guy.
“I used to worry that he left because of me. That he knew about me, that he could tell. That maybe something I did told him I was gay, and he just…left me here and didn’t come back. I always felt guilty, like I did something wrong. Like I chased him away, and my mom and sisters lost him because of me.”