Alycia stands a few feet away from her childhood home, shoulders tight and eyes fixed on the front door like she’s trying to remember how to breathe. I should look away, give her some space… something, but I can’t. She looks as if she plans to hold the entire night together by sheer will, and it pulls at me before I can stop it. I should say something, but every version in my head sounds like a confession I shouldn’t make.
She’s standing there in the glow of streetlights, hair loose around her face, the soft gold catching at the edges of her skin. She pretends to be calm, but her fingers clench the strap of her bag as if it's the only thing keeping her together. And for the first time since this whole thing started, I realize I don’t want to play anymore. Wanting something real with Alycia wasn’t part of the plan. Whatever this is between us, it’s not fake, at least not for me.
I should say something to break the tension. Tellher to go ahead before it swallows us both. Instead, all I can think about is how damn beautiful she looks when she’s trying not to feel anything, and how badly I want to be the reason she stops pretending.
She clears her throat, the sound small and shaky, then says quietly, “I just… I want her to like you, even if it’s all fake.”
There’s a crack in her voice she tries to hide, but it slips through, like this moment is bigger than the lie we’ve built.
“Guess I’ll have to turn on the charm, then.”
Alycia laughs nervously, and the sound lodges somewhere deep in my chest. If she has any idea what she’s doing to me, she hides it better than I do. All I can think about is how close she’s standing and how her perfume—something light and citrusy—hangs in the air between us. I want to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, trace the curve of her jaw just to see if her skin feels as soft as it looks. But I don’t because the moment I touch her, I know there’s no coming back from it. Alycia looks up at me again, and for a split second, it’s all there in her eyes. The same awareness, the same pull I’ve been fighting since the elevator. Then she blinks, and it’s gone.
“Ready?” She straightens her shoulders like she’s reminding herself why we’re here.
Not even close, but I nod anyway.
“Lead the way, sweetheart.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile as Ifollow her up the walkway, keeping just enough distance to look like a gentleman and not a man one breath away from doing something stupid.
When she reaches the door, her hand trembles slightly on the knob. She probably thinks I don’t notice, but I do. After taking another deep breath, Alycia turns the handle, and the door swings open. Warm light spills out like an invitation as she steps inside first.
Right away, the place smells like cumin, warm tortillas, and something sweet simmering on the stove. The entryway is small but cozy, with textured throw pillows on the couch, a crocheted blanket draped over the armrest, and a few candles on a side table. One has the Virgin Mary printed on the glass, the flame flickering behind her like a watchful eye.
Along the hallway, framed photos cover the wall. Some are of birthday parties and holidays, but most are big group shots. There are lots of people squeezed together, arms looped, grinning like family means more than space. One photo is of an older woman with soft eyes and the same curls as Alycia. The resemblance is so strong it knocks something loose in my chest.
Before I can stop myself, I nod toward it. “Is that…?”
Alycia follows my gaze. “My abuelita. She’s still in Oaxaca with almost all our family. That’s where my mom grew up.” There’s pride in her voice, and something tender.
I glance at her, the weight of what she said settlingdeeper than I expect. “That’s different from me. My whole family still lives in the same town I grew up in. I went away for college, but somehow, I still ended up right back here in Oregon. Guess I’m not great at staying away from the people who matter.”
Her cheeks flush slightly before she looks away and clears her throat, like she needs to change the subject before I make it worse. “We don’t get to see most of our family that much, maybe a few times a year. It’s just Mom and me here in the States.”
I hesitate, wanting to ask her more questions about her family, but she turns toward the kitchen like flipping a switch. “Mom?”
The woman who appears could have stepped out of a movie set for the world’s most put-together mom. She has smooth, brown skin with a honey-gold undertone, dark curls streaked with silver pulled into a loose bun, and eyes sharp enough to catch everything. She has that effortless beauty that older Latina women always seem to have, which comes from confidence, not makeup. Her posture matches Alycia’s, a straight spine and lifted chin, like she has spent her whole life holding herself steady for someone else.
She’s wearing a gray sweater that is slipping off one shoulder over well-worn jeans, and she is barefoot with her toes painted coral, the same shade as Alycia’s. Great. Apparently, that is the detail my brain focuses on instead of the fact that I am meeting her mother for the first time. Perfect timing, Hendrix.
“Hola, mija,” she says, her accent thick enough thatit wraps around the syllables. She pulls Alycia into a hug that looks like muscle memory. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing company.”
“You sort of bullied me into it, remember?” Alycia gives a quick, tight smile.
“Ay, por favor,” she scoffs. “I only said I wanted to finally meet the person keeping you so busy. No need to pretend I twisted your arm.”
“But you did twist my arm,” Alycia says under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
I raise an eyebrow. “Should I feel flattered or worried?”
“A little of both.” She glances at me with a familiar spark in her eyes.
“Well, I’m just glad you accepted.” Her mom hums, clearly entertained.
“It would’ve been hard to say no. A home-cooked dinner and sweet company? I’d have to be an idiot.”
“Careful, you’re talking about my mom.” Alycia’s eyes narrow slightly.
