“Youwhat?”
He shrugs, unapologetic. “I follow Marisol. She posts everything—her projects at UCI, her roommate’s cat, your mom’s jewelry shop, the restaurant…. She tagged Mi Tierra in a photo of your dad making tacos. A photo with you in it, saying her sister was back from her Parisian adventure.”
“More likemisadventure.” I groan, covering my face with my hands. “Oh, Marisol….”
“She’s got great social media game,” Aubert adds unhelpfully. “And you should see the comments. Everyone loves your family. You’re like celebrities.”
I lower my hands and give him a stern look. “Social media is the bane of our existence.”
“Better than a GPS,” he says proudly. “Papa was…isgrateful. If I asked for a Ferrari, I’d get it.”
“A Ferrari? In Paris? In that traffic, you’re better off walking.”
He finishes the last of his tamale, and muses, “But in LA?”
“Aubert, I never thought you were the Ferrari kind.”
“I’m not! I’m making a point about how grateful Papa is.” He drinks his lemonade. “I have a bicycle in Paris. Do you think I can navigate my life here with that and the Metro?”
“Depends upon where you go to school and where you live.”
He pushes his empty plate away, lounges back, and studies me with his storm-gray, intelligent eyes that are so much like his father’s—only softer.
“He loves you, Tara,” he says. There is no pretense, no hesitation. “And I don’t think he’s ever loved anyone before…well, except me.”
“The boy is campaigning hard for his father,” Papi announces as he comes out of the pantry.
“Are you eavesdropping, Papi?” I accuse.
“This is my kitchen,mija,” he replies unabashedly. “So, Aubert, what’s the plan, huh?”
Aubert gave Papi a wickedly pleased look. “I’m on assignment, Juan, sir. I call it:Operation Win Back Tara.”
Papi walks up to us and puts an arm around Aubert. “I like this boy, Tara. I like him better than his father.”
“Everyone does, Juan, sir,” Aubert says cheekily.
Papi gives Aubert a measured look. “Mijo, you cleaned your plate. I like that. You stay, eh? I’ll teach you how to make proper Mexican food. None of that Tex-Mex nonsense.”
Aubert laughs, easy and warm. “Thank you, Juan, sir, though I have no idea what that Tex-Mex nonsense is.”
“Let’s keep it that way.” Papi leads him away to the pot of pozole as he explains to Aubert what hominy is.
As I watch them—myfather andhisson—connecting in my family’s kitchen, surrounded by home and comfort, I realize something I haven’t dared admit, which is thatI’m not angry anymore.
I’m frightened.
* Serve him something (Spanish)
* Delicious; masculine (Spanish)
* Darling; male (Spanish)
* A little bit (Spanish)
CHAPTER 28
Gustave
