Her eyes sparkle with a mischievous look I’ve seen before. “Can you help with the pupusas?”
My mouth waters at the mention of the food I still haven’t stopped dreaming of. I’ve had Mateo take me back for pupusas twice since our first date.
I rub my palms against my dress before walking around the counter and into the cooking zone. “I’d love to help. Teach me your ways.”
Nadia snickers and I feel like I’ve misstepped somehow. Canela waves her spoon in the girl’s direction. “Hush you.”
“Am I missing something?”
Canela smiles and shakes her head. “No, she’s laughing because she thinks I’m going to make you flip the pupusas with your fingers like I’ve taught my kids to. I’m not that rude. You get to use a spatula.”
Nadia makes a whining noise and mumbles something I don’t catch, and Cruz laughs. “Don’t stress, Nadia. Holly is her new favorite because she’s hoping she and Mateo will give her grandbabies soon. That’s why she doesn’t have to burn her fingertips like the rest of us.” Cruz winks at me.
My cheeks are hotter than the melted cheese in a pupusa after her comment, and I avoid eye contact.
Cruz lets out a startled yelp, and I look over in time to see Canela moving away, her wooden spoon tucked into her apron and a satisfied smirk on her face. “Teasing about grandbabies is my job, mija. I haven’t even had a chance to make my first joke yet, and now you stole my thunder.” Canela huffs, and I can’t help but giggle at the exchange.
Canela pulls open a drawer and hands me a spatula turner.
“Eventually you’ll build up a tolerance if you decide to flip them with your fingers. For now, this will work. You’ll flip them when they’re golden and crispy.”
I force a smile. “I think I can do that.”
Canela smiles and bops my hip with hers. “You can do it, mija.”
I walk over to the griddle and check the pupusas. None are ready to flip yet, so I lean against the counter and watch Canela expertly shape the masa dough before adding the fillings to the middle. She flattens it into a patty shape and sets it on the griddle.
Nadia chops a head of cabbage expertly. After a slice, she stops and turns to me. “I’m glad Mateo married you. Now I don’t have to hear him complain about his blind dates anymore. I wonder if that’s why he married you, so Mami would stop setting him up on blind dates.”
I know Mateo likes me. The last half hour of kissing in the orchard proves it. Yet, Nadia’s words hit home a little too much. We aren’t a love match, but I suddenly want us to be. Why does her comment make me feel used?
Cruz laughs, breaking the tension. “I could see it, but I think he married her because he’s had a crush on her since they first met.”
“Really?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Cruz smirks. “When he came home after his trip to California with Hudson, all he wanted to do was talk about California, and more often than not, he talked about you.”
Canela pipes in after making another pupusa. “It doesn’t matter what their reasons were for getting married. Every day, you have to choose to love your spouse. Y’all think I love it that your dad leaves his socks everywhere? No. But I still choose to love him daily, because if I didn’t, not even a love match would last. I choose to love him despite his flaws.”
Her words pierce my soul.
“I’m not sure Mateo gets anything out of our marriage, considering all the baggage I have because of my parents.”
The kitchen goes silent, and I kick myself for bringing up a heavy topic and bringing the conversation down.
Tears well in my eyes.
Canela’s voice breaks through the silence.
“My parents escaped El Salvador when I was a young child during thecivil war in the sixties. It was a dark time in our country’s past. We traveled legally to the U.S. and were some of the few granted asylum after our escape. Growing up was hard. My parents had seen things, and I still remember the deep feelings of fear and worry I carried around at a young age. Then we came here and everything was different. The language, the food, the people, the way we were treated, both good and bad. My parents weren’t perfect, and there were things about how they raised me that I didn’t want to repeat. When I married William, I chose to be different. I chose to break the cycle of trauma and hurt.”
I can’t look away as she retells this painful part of her past. Our stories are different, but somehow still the same.
Cruz walks over and wraps an arm around Canela’s shoulders, hugging her mom close. Nadia follows and Cruz reaches out a hand to me. I take it and am pulled into a group hug with these three women who mean more to me now than they did even ten minutes ago.
“Thanks for being amazing, Mami." Nadia’s voice is loud next to my ear, everyone smashed together awkwardly in our jumbled-up hug. "But could you have taught us to flip pupusas without our fingers? Didn’t you think about the trauma to our fingertips?”
We all laugh and Canela boops Nadia’s nose, leaving masa dough on the tip. “At least you’ll know how to make comida deliciosa, mija.”
