Me: “Like as a gift?”
Charlotte: “Yeah, like I said, “Nice to meet you” and he held it out like a peace offering. I had no idea what to say. I didn’t want to admit that I had Googled him and already knew he owned a salsa empire. He didn’t add any explanation, so it looked like a strange gift.”
Me: “Was it good salsa?”
Atalie, Trey’s wife, took her seat next to me, as a gust of wind came in through the open window beside me, hinting at a summer storm. Even though I loved the smell, the humidity was thick. “Hi Nick.” She smiled sweetly at me, as she hung her purse on the back of the stool. “Great game.”
“Thanks. Did you see my home run?” I pulled my lips into a welcoming smile. Out of all my friends’ wives, Atalie was the nicest one. I was convinced it was because she had such a hard life before meeting Trey. She was actually a young widow, single mother who Trey had hired to work as his maid. She clearly hit the jackpot marrying Trey, one of the richest men in the city, but it never changed her personality. She was more down to earth than most people I knew.
“I did!” Her smile spread wider across her face. “I really thought you guys would win. It’s a shame to lose right at the bottom of the ninth.”
“We’ll get them next year.” I was all smack talk, but it made for more fun conversation. Someone across the table asked her a question, and she turned to reply. I dropped my gaze back to my phone and read Charlotte’s text.
Charlotte: “Of course it was amazing. It would be fantastic on your enchiladas.”
Me: “Nice! At least we know where to get good salsa. What did you guys do?”
Charlotte: “We were at my friend’s house for dinner, and the power went out. We painfully sat in the dark and the only thing he talked about was his stupid tomato farms.”
Me: “Awkward. So, not going to work out for you then?”
Charlotte: “Hard no.”
I chuckled. Not because I lacked empathy because I could visualize how awkward that had been, but it was another one of those dates that Charlotte seemed prone to. She had the worst luck.
Me: “That’s too bad.”
Charlotte: “It’s okay, I have another date next week with a cop. And let’s just say he’s handsome. That should go better. What about you? Have you met anyone interesting lately?”
My chest tightened. She had been going on an awful lot of dates lately. Even more than usual, and although I encouraged her, it always felt odd to hear about her preferences. I didn’t feel comfortable talking about that stuff withtoomuch detail. I thought about how to answer her question as I looked around the bar, crammed with people. I hadn’t really done an inventory. There had to be a single woman in here somewhere, but I didn’t even want to try.
Me: “Tacenda”
Charlotte: “What in the world does that mean?”
Me: “Better left unsaid.”
Charlotte: “Just tell me.”
Me: “More duck lips.”
I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t trying to find someone else to marry. The truth was, Charlotte was all I had hoped for, but I never had the chance to tell her that.
The moment was never right.
As I set my phone on the table, I spotted a bar pizza that had been dropped off. I helped myself to a slice of something with way too many vegetables on it.Who eats vegetables in a bar?
I found myself smirking about Charlotte’s date, recalling how the salsa jar was an object of peacekeeping in our home. Whenever my mom was mad at my dad, she would go into these silly fits where she’d ignore him. They never lasted long, because Dad had figured out her need for salsa was more important than her need to hold a grudge. Dad would sneak into the kitchen and tighten the lid of the salsa jar so tightly that my mom couldn’t even open the lid with a vice grip. It always made me laugh because it played out the same every time. Mom would mutter about how “This time he wasn’t going to get his way.” I’d snicker from the other side of the kitchen counter, and she’d wag her finger at me. “Nicholas, my son. Did you see your father do this to me again? He tightened my salsa. Who does that?”
At about that time, she would move to the sink and run the jar under hot water. When that didn’t work, she’d pull a blunt knife out of the drawer and tap the lid in random places. By now, her muttering was in full-blown Spanish, and I was also in a laughter fit. She’d glare at me and shake her finger again. “Nicholas, my baby boy, if you ever have a wife, don’t mess with her salsa.”
I’d roll my eyes because,of course,I was never getting married. I was a late bloomer when it came to liking girls. Or maybe it just had more to do with the girls at my school not being my type? Nonetheless, I remember constantly feeling my face burn when she’d suggest me having a wife.
If it weren’t for the example I had from my dad, I might still cringe at the thought of marriage. He was the rock to our whole family. He had impeccable timing with my mom too. Just as she was about to go into a fit over her salsa, he would appear in the doorway. Like a superhero he wouldn’t even speak but silently held out his hand to reach for the jar.
Still stubborn, my mom avoided his gaze when she passed the jar. Her whole demeanor changed when she heard the lid make that air-popping noise, announcing it was open. Her lips would curl, and she would let out an airy laugh aimed more at herself than anything. By the time Dad handed her the jar back, she willingly gave him a hug, and their fights were over. Not that they ever had any big fights. It was always usual marriage stuff as far as I knew, but this make-up routine was so cute and perfect.
On the surface, it may have seemed mean for my dad to do that, but he told me once he would do anything he could to make sure Mom never had to go to sleep mad at him. I don’t think I fully understood how humble that was until a few years ago.
