“Dad, I don’t need you setting me up on dates.”
“But mijo," Mami pipes in from where she’s flipping tortillas on the griddle, "we just want you to be happy. We know there aren’t a lot of women in Bolt who are right for you. You’re busy working on the farm. Let us help you.”
“Mami, I’m twenty-six years old. I don’t need your help with my love life,” I protest as I put the stack of plates next to the napkins and silverware at the end of the kitchen island. “Remember the last time you set me up, which was just last week? The girl was trying to sit in my lap twenty minutes into the date—and we were sitting on opposite sides of the table. She couldn’t stop touching me. Not to mention the date before that one where shedefinitelywas not twenty-four.”
“Okay, so my track record no es bueno.” She shrugs and flips another tortilla before turning to look at me again. “But still, you know Red is a good man. Wouldn’t it be fun to be related to him? If you have any niños, you wouldn’t have to travel somewhere else for holidays. We can all celebrate here together.”
I groan and cover my eyes, the chuckles from the laborers only increasing the frustration building in my chest.
“I do not need your help finding a wife, Mami. Nor do I need your interference, Dad. I know what I want in a woman and I will find her on my own.”
Mami tsks and Dad just shrugs at my outburst. Nadia’s snickers from where she’s now sitting at the table have the hairs on the back of my neck rising.
Why is my love life the joke they all want to laugh about, or the problem they insist on meddling in? I’m tired of the constant blind dates. Why can’t my perfect girl just magically end up in Bolt like Alex did for Reina?
My mind skips over my now married best friends to think about Alex’s sister, Holly.
If only Holly could magically move to Bolt to marry me.
I take a seat at the table and mentally push away the pipe dream of something ever happening with Holly. We’ve talked maybe five times in my life, though I’ve seen her more often than that. We just haven’t talked because my small crush has me tongue tied. That alone tells me she’s special, because I'm not easily fumbling for words.
I can’t get the picture of her on the red carpet from last month out of my head. Our trip to Wendy’s was the date of my dreams. Too bad it wasn’t really a date, and was just me rescuing her from a piece of toadflax.
Chairs scrape across the floor as everyone sits around the big oak farm table I built five years ago. Dad sits at the head as he always does and invites Nadia to pray. I bow my head, and after some slight protesting, she offers the prayer.
There’s a chorus of amens, but I don’t move. My heart lets out a silent plea.
Lord, I love my family. You know I do. But, I think I need a little break, or a little bit of space. I want to be an independent man. I want to find my own wife. Please help me.
I stay put, the same words repeating in my head until Mami's hand grips my forearm.
“Hijo, I love you. I’m so grateful you’re here. What would we do without you?”
Now isn’t that the question of the century?
Chapter 3
That Farm Boy?
Holly
My feet hurt after two hours in these heels. Once again, I’m questioning why I had to be of average height instead of being tall like my brother. Genetics aren’t fair.
The fleeting question I’ve been avoiding thinking about, the one where I question why I’m still a public relations and social media manager for people, flits through my head. I remind myself that I sometimes enjoy the experience and it pays well. Not that I need the money anymore, but I don’t want to be a lazy multi-millionaire. I still want to do something with my life. Which is why I push through these moments when I’m not enjoying my work.
I step into the conference room and shake my head. I don’t have time for existential crisis questions right now. Nobody loves their job a hundred percent of the time.
I turn around in the room, looking for the soccer player I need to talk to. I’m setting up a meet and greet with him and Alex at the local children’s hospital, and apparently this was the only “free” time when he could speak with me.
An image of Alex in the soccer uniform from his David Beckham biopicand this player in his gear flits through my head. He’s a good pick to go with Alex to greet the young children. My heart melts at the image and reinstates my courage. I can find this guy. It’s for the children.
There’s a group of men who look like they’ve got the right build and could be soccer players scattered across the conference room. I inhale and hold my breath for four counts before exhaling. Alex better give me the sister of the year award because I’ve already put in my sixty hours this week and this was not how I wanted my Saturday to go. Instead of a book and chocolate at home on my balcony with a beautiful view of the ocean, I’m being suffocated by expensive colognes.
I exhale another deep breath and get my feet moving. My slacks hit my shoes exactly right as I cross the floor toward the group of soccer players on the other side of the room. I mentally praise my tailor for helping me find my fashion look and making it work.
It’s difficult being a mid-sized woman in Hollywood. But having a tailor means my clothes fit and flatter my build, and I can still keep up with current fashions, just tailored to my fluffier body. I’m here in my best gray pantsuit, with a pink blouse of course, my black heels that make me look taller, and my blonde hair slicked back into a high bun.
I wish today was a stay-home-in-sweats day instead of a work-in-a-pantsuit day.
