Brian: I’ll bring Eve. I happen to know she doesn’t have rehearsal. ;)
Ben: And her *taco emoji*?
Eve: I’ll come over and make you the damn tacos. Now stop talking about my *taco emoji* like I’m not in this chat.
David: Yes. Please let’s stop talking about Eve’s *taco emoji*
Ben: I can’t wait to taste your *taco emoji* ;)
*Nora has left the chat*
Evewaltzedintomyapartment, arms loaded with all the things she needed to make a group of seven adults tacos. I took the heavy bags from her and hauled them into the kitchen.
“I thought Brian was coming with you.” I heaved the groceries onto the counter, and she immediately waved me away.
“He got off night shift and wanted to sleep a few hours before coming over this afternoon.”
“Did you carry all this on the train from your place?”I asked, peering into the bags full of meat and produce.
“No. I stopped atMi Tiendadown the street to grab what I needed.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “You should have called me. I would have met you there and paid for everything and helped you carry.”
“It’s fine. It was only a few bags,” she said, sorting through the contents of her shopping bags, avoiding eye contact.
Why was she making this weird?
I grabbed her hand and pulled her around to look at me. “Are we going to talk about why you’ve been avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you. I’m here, aren’t I?” she said, evading me.
I swallowed down my protests and questions, not wanting to push her and ruin the time we had together before the rest of our friends got here.
“Fine, have it your way, princess. I’m glad you’re here,” I said, nudging her with my elbow.
She gave me a grateful smile and returned to unpacking the bags.
“Me, too,” she said, nudging me back.
And she did seem happy to be here with me. Maybe I was reading too much into things and she really was too busy to answer my calls or respond to my text messages, but I had a feeling in my gut that there was more to it than that.
I didn’t think she was being completely honest with me. Not that I could really blame her. It wasn’t like I was being one hundred percent honest about where things stood with us, either. And I knew that would have to be remedied, eventually.
“We’d better get started if I’m going to get everything cooked by the time everyone gets here,” she said.
Eve didn’t seem to be in the mood for distractions today, so I helped her in the kitchen however I could, stirring and chopping and washing while she did the real work.
She seemed at home there by my stove, humming and singing quietly to herself as she cooked. And I loved seeing her there. Not because of some misogynistic idea that women belonged in the kitchen, but because watching her do something she enjoyed and listening to her reminisce about being in the kitchen with her mother brought me joy.
I loved hearing her stories of going to visit herabuelain Mexico every summer and how she always encouraged Eve to do what brought her joy and happiness.
“My parents never approved of my career choice, butAbuelitawas always proud of me for following my own path, instead of the one they had carved out for me,” she said.
I think my parents assumed I would follow in their footsteps, but I never wanted to work my entire life away. I enjoyed what I did well enough, but it wasn’t the thing I cared about most.And they hadn’t cared one way or another what I did.
Perhaps their indifference was part of the reason for the revolving door of women in my life. It’s not that anything was wrong with the women. I just hadn’t figured out my own shit yet. But I wasn’t willing to watch Eve waltz out of my life without a fight.
When all this was said and done, I wanted to keep her. I knew I’d never forgive myself if I let her go.
