“You’ll have to wait and see.”
He smirks before pushing away the hot sauce caddy and leaning back in his seat. “Actually, salvadoreños don’t really use hot sauce. There is one that’s common, but it’s more like a medium salsa. I think they only have these in the restaurant because they serve tacos and other foods, and hot sauces are expected these days. But really, true salvadoreños don’t do hot sauce. Most are even worse at handling spice than Americans.”
I’m confused. “Wait, so doyoulike hot sauce?”
“There is one—it’s called Marie Sharp’s. I found it in college. It’s delicious and from Belize. But I really don’t use hot sauce much. If I put it on a pupusa, Mami would haunt me for the rest of my life.”
He chuckles, rubbing the scruff on his jaw as his eyes glaze over. I’d bet five bucks he’s thinking of his mom and her home cooking. Canela seems like a sweet woman, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a feisty side, seeing as I’ve met Cruz.
The conversation dies between us. Mateo seems lost in thought, and I’m not sure how to kick-start our discussion. My salvation comes with the delivery of our food. The teenager from the front counter sets down a large plate in front of me, and a matching one in front of Mateo.
On my plate are three large circular pancake looking things. They look like a thick tortilla, with a crispy golden crust on the tops. There’s a cabbagemixture next to the pupusas, and a small bowl with a red sauce next to the cabbage. I look around for utensils, only to notice there are none on the table. “Um, do we get utensils?”
Mateo’s jaw drops. “Holly, if a salvadoreño heard you asking for a fork, they’d either laugh at you or turn you over to la mara.”
I feel so out of my depths here. “What’s la mara?”
He leans across the table and dramatically whispers, “The gangs.”
My eyebrows arch and I try to school my features while still totally confused and intimidated by what I’m learning about Mateo’s heritage.
Mateo holds his serious face for a moment before laughing. “Chill, Holly. Salvadoreños are super sweet and kind. They would never do that. But really, though, if you asked for a fork, they’d tell you no. You’ll be burning your fingers from melted cheese and grease and they’ll look at you and say, 'Bro échale ganas pues,' which means get it together or suck it up.”
I look from him down to my food and back. “I’m supposed to eat this without a fork? With my fingers?
He smiles softly and nods. “Yes.”
I glance at my plate and the pupusa with cheese crusted on the edges, the red salsa, and the cabbage. How in the world am I supposed to eat this with my hands? My breath hitches as my chest constricts. I don’t know why, but this culture shock feels too overwhelming.
“Holly.” Mateo’s soft voice catches my attention. I look into his eyes that look at me as if I’m not a hot mess express. “You may have married a salvadoreño, but you don’t have to eat like one.” He lifts a napkin with a fork and knife out from under the table and places it next to my plate.
I gasp. “Were you just going to let me burn my fingers for fun?”
He smiles wickedly. “Didn’t you know you married a prankster? Hasn’t Reina told you stories about me getting us into trouble growing up?”
Now that I think about it, I was expecting a lot more pranks since we got married. A memory of Reina recounting a prank she needs to get revenge for flits through my memory. Something about water getting dumpedon her when Alex had lost his memory and was staying in Bolt. We’ve fallen into such a comfortable routine that I’ve forgotten about Mateo’s prankster status.
“Why haven’t you pulled any pranks on me yet?” I ask.
I slice into my pupusa, adding a small amount of cabbage to the top before spearing it and dipping it into the sauce. Mateo watches as I take my first bite.
I close my eyes in wonder at the flavor combination that I’m instantly wondering how I survived without before this moment. The vinegar of the cabbage pairs perfectly with the piping hot cheese and bean mixture in the pupusa. The sauce gives a depth of flavor, and it isn’t spicy. It’s exactly like a mild salsa.
This is one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten.
“Mateo, this is heavenly,” I say as I cut another piece.
It’s as if I told him he won a million dollars. His eyes are crinkled, his dimple is on full display, and his smile takes my breath away.
“To answer your question, I usually prank people who I know can handle it, like Reina. I’m not sure how pranking you during our first week of marriage would have gone, but I figured I should start with my best foot forward, not the impulsive one that gets me into trouble.”
I shove another slice of pupusa, drowning in cabbage, in my mouth and mumble, “Makes sense.”
Mateo pours the salsa over the top of his pupusas and spreads the cabbage over the top. He takes the top pupusa and tears off a chunk, making sure the cabbage stays on before putting it in his mouth. “You know, I like seeing you this way.”
This time, I finish chewing before responding. “What way?”
“Chill and relaxed.”
