Probably wondering what Enrique is doing with me.
No, no! Carolina pushed that intrusive, self-deprecating thought out of her head. She was awesome. Smart, kind, and resourceful. And she even felt pretty tonight, despite being dressed as a pregnantVirgin—make thatthepregnant Virgin. Enrique should be thrilled to be with her.
But there was still a doubt.
Her throat burned, but she had bigger things to worry about than idle gossip and mocking. She had only enough energy to focus on getting through the night and going to her father.
Father Juan took a step onto the street. “Let us begin.” He led the choir in Spanish hymns.
Enrique walked silently beside her, still holding her hand. He probably didn’t know the songs, but that was okay. She enjoyed his calming presence near her.
After a few blocks, they arrived at the first home, which was decorated with Christmas lights and a pop-up nativity scene. The parishioners sang a song to ask for shelter, and the homeowners sang back that they could not be allowed in.
Enrique strutted down the street as if he had played Joseph for many years. Carolina clung proudly to his side, enjoying this happy moment on her dark night. The donkey trotted alongside them, with a brief stop to munch on an apple offered to him by someone in the procession.
At the next house, they were again denied shelter.
Lanterns lined the streets, guiding their way. Papel picado hung overhead as the parishioners caroled and held candles. The magic of the season filled the air, or maybe that was the scent of the cinnamon from the Ponche Navideño that Carolina could already smell.
A few more homes denied them. Finally, they arrived at the last house of the night. They were welcomed in and embraced.
“Looks like these guys have room in the stable,” Enrique joked.
Carolina laughed. “You did a great job.”
A huge feast of tamales, enchiladas, tacos, and pozole awaited them. Carolina was so nauseous that she didn’t want to eat. She saton a bench as Enrique left to get some food. A woman handed Carolina some hot Ponche Navideño. The fruity drink was laced with cinnamon and rum. She took a sip of the beverage to warm up, then Enrique brought her a warm chocolate-filled concha, her favorite sweet pastry. He sat next to her and placed his hand on her back.
“Thanks.” She took a bite and wiped the sugar off her lips before checking her phone. No word from her mother.
The celebration was now in full swing. Mariachis played music and people were dancing in the backyard. Father Juan handed Enrique a stick to break the seven-point star piñata, which represented the seven deadly sins. Carolina stood up and blindfolded Enrique, and he swung at the object as the crowd cheered him on.
He smacked it once and Carolina focused on his bicep. Those arms. What would they feel like wrapped around her body?
Another huge hit but still no luck. Finally, he destroyed the star, and the kids rushed beneath it to collect the candy. Enrique shoved up his blindfold and scrambled out of the way before he could be knocked off-balance by some ravenous kids. Carolina couldn’t help it—she began to laugh as she quietly explained the tradition. “The star represented the seven sins; you conquered it and were rewarded with blessings, or in this case, candy.”
He grinned. “I had to conquer sin? So, the priest could tell I was a sinner?”
Carolina smiled for the first time since Las Posadas began. “Father Juan can read people.”
A lady handed Enrique his own glass of ponche, which he quickly downed. “This stuff is good.”
“Glad you like it. So, what did you think of your first Las Posadas?”
“I loved it.” He grinned. “It’s amazing to see all these people out here celebrating the holiday. I normally just stay home.” He spoke with a bit of sadness.
“That’s too bad. We always have a big celebration with our family and cousins and aunts and uncles. But it’s nice to enjoy Las Posadas with everyone in the community.” She paused. This man had been so great to her, and he didn’t even know her. She needed to acknowledge him. She touched his arm. “Sorry I’ve been so standoffish to you. It’s been a rough night. You seem really kind.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it at all. I’m sorry about your dad. And I’m having fun.”
She grinned. Carolina had participated in so many Las Posadas, but this one really struck her, and it wasn’t just because her father was sick. This journey—asking for shelter and being denied—was the journey of so many in her community. Las Posadas was so pertinent to many Latinos in America today. And here Enrique was, ready to work with her farm. He had connections and so much money—their partnership could change the lives of so many.
She took another sip of her ponche just as her phone finally pinged. She looked down and read a text from her mom.
Mamá:Papá is awake. The doctor says he had a blood clot in his lung.
Her hand trembled. “I have to go. My father is awake. He had a blood clot in his lung. I can’t believe it... he doesn’t even smoke.” But hehadworked in the fields all of his life. Those pesticides probably caused this.
“I’m so sorry. Is he going to be okay?”
