“Wouldn’t you rather go somewhere else? Hawai’i, perhaps?”
Julieta didn’t give up. “Nope. I love the Central Coast. It’ll be fun. And you’ve never celebrated Christmas as part of my family. I’m going to make you love it! Have you ever participated in Las Posadas? There is one in Old Town.”
“No.” Enrique had never been to Las Posadas and didn’t even know much about the tradition, even though he was technically a Catholic. “What happens?”
Julieta clasped her hands together as her eyes danced. “Oh, theyare so much fun. Basically, the community gathers to recreate the journey of Joseph and the Virgin Mary to seek shelter. They walk to different homes where they are repeatedly refused shelter, and at the final house on the block, they are welcomed in with tamales and punch and piñatas for the kids.”
Hmm. That sounded incredibly awkward. Enrique wasn’t religious, unless you counted him chanting kirtan at yoga. Plus, he barely spoke Spanish. He was interested in learning about his culture but wanted to keep the separation between church and his heritage. Traditional Catholic values didn’t align with his beliefs; he was a fan of birth control, gay marriage, and a woman’s right to control her body. “Cool, when is it? Maybe I can come after the trip.”
Julieta checked her phone, and then looked back at Enrique. “It’s this week—we could participate in the holiday and then go with you after it.”
“That sounds great, but I really need to be up in Santa Maria as soon as possible—and you couldn’t up and leave with twelve hours’ notice. I’d love to finalize a contract with the Flores Family Farm right away so their produce can be used as soon as the season changes.”
Julieta stared at him, then shook her head.
“What, Julieta?”
“It’s just that it’s Christmastime. From what Señora Flores told me about her family, her brother is very old-school—it doesn’t sound like he would want to do much business during the holidays. In super traditional Mexican families, the patriarch has a lot of control. Her father is probably head of the household until she gets married, whether she wants to wed or not.”
Ugh, she was right. “Good point. But Carolina agreed to meet with me, so I’m going to go.”
“Well, I don’t mind missing Las Posadas this year to spend theholidays together as a family. Maybe we can find one up there.” Julieta stood up, went into the kitchen, and returned to the dining room and handed Tiburón a beer with a lime nestled in its neck.
Linda pointed her finger at her daughter. “I’m in, as long as Arturo doesn’t show up.”
Jaime typed something on his phone. After a few minutes, he smiled. “Just texted Dad. He said no problem about using his place.”
“I’m down,” Tiburón said as he scrolled through his phone. Enrique peered at Tiburón’s phone from his seat next to his future primo-in-law and watched as Tiburón changed the location on his dating apps to Santa Barbara. Tiburón’s eyes lit up, and he began swiping on every dark-eyed, big-bootied beauty that graced his screen. Surprisingly, though, Jaime did not follow suit. Enrique grimaced at Tiburón, realizing Jaime might not be the only one to keep an eye on around the Flores daughters.
“It’ll be a nice break for us.” Ramón and Julieta kissed.
Enrique threw up his hands. Fabulous. “Fine. You all win. I’m going to go home and pack.”
Downing his michelada, Enrique walked out of the restaurant. His solo quest had now turned into the Campos-Montez Central Coastal California Christmas Vacation.
Feliz fucking Navidad to me.
Chapter Two
Carolina Flores took a sip of her sandía agua fresca on her porch and looked out across the scenic landscape of her lush farm, mesmerized by the ?lear blue sky overhead, the rows of colorful Swiss chard lined up like little soldiers, and the fields of red onions, ripe for picking. It wasn’t strawberry season yet, her favorite, but she loved the calm of the winter months. A cool coastal breeze wafted the fragrant scent of garlic through the air, and Carolina marveled at the contrast between the snowcapped Santa Ynez Mountains in the distance and the food growing on the land.
Mi tierra.
She owned the farm, and her entire family worked on it. When Carolina finally raised enough money to make the purchase, Papá had vowed that everyone in the family would learn to do all jobs, and that no one was too good to perform the hard labor. Luckily, Carolina was passionate about farming, but her siblings had dreams of their own that didn’t involve cultivating the earth for the rest of their lives.
Papá had pointed to their staff. “We are no better than them just because we own the place now. They are just like us. Exactly like us.”
And Carolina took his words to heart. Technically, she owned the farm, not him, but she happily shared all her assets, including the farm and the accompanying owner’s house, with her family, grateful for their hard work and sacrifice to get her a better life. Her parents had worked on this farm since immigrating to America in their teens from Mexico. They had met on these fields and fallen in love. Even throughout droughts and a pandemic, the Flores family never gave up. Though, with Papá’s health failing, it would soon be completely her responsibility. Papá definitely had wanted a son, hence her mother’s ten children. Well, that and the fact that they were devoutly Catholic. But they’d only had girls. As the eldest of ten daughters, Carolina had finally convinced her father that she was the future of the farm, and that it would be best kept in her hands. He still held out hope that one day she would marry, and her husband would take over the business, but that would never happen.
Ever.
She was sick to death of Papá’s archaic rules about women. The thought of dealing with more of the same in a marriage to another traditional man made her throat close like she was having an allergy attack.
Sure, there were more progressive men out there, but Carolina’s father would never approve of a nontraditional guy. And even if she did rebel and find a guy with modern sensibilities, she seriously doubted he would want anything at all to do with her family. Any normal man today would never agree to have her over-involved family all up in his business. It was hopeless, which was fine by Carolina. She loved her independence. She’d never felt that flutter in her heart that her younger sister Blanca always talked about experiencing every time she flirted with any man who caught her eye. Carolina hada few crushes growing up, and definitely could appreciate a handsome, well-dressed man, but just the thought of dating gave her anxiety.
Papá supported Carolina when she’d decided to go to Cal Poly San Luis Obispo and get a combined bachelor’s and master’s degree in agricultural science with the pipe dream of buying a farm one day, though honestly, he had probably been more excited about the prospect of her obtaining her Mrs. title while she was there, rather than her master’s. Much to her father’s dismay, Carolina had never been engaged. Or had a serious boyfriend—or any boyfriend, for that matter. She was nothing like Blanca, who had a full battalion of suitors but, because of their father’s traditional rules, was not allowed to date until the eldest Carolina did. Poor Blanca was out of luck.
Carolina had no desire to be a traditional Mexican housewife like her mother. Not that she looked down on Mamá—Carolina admired and respected her for raising ten children and keeping their home full of love, but Carolina wanted to work outside the home.
