She looks at Luke, half-wet and in his underwear.
She looks at me, clutching a kitchen appliance box to my genitals, shivering, with water dripping off my nose.
The silence stretches for a geologicalera.
"So," Mama Ortiz says. She doesn't yell. She just stares at my cardboard shield. "This is why you don't text me back. You are playing... what is this? Moving day without pants?"
"Mama!" Luke yells, his voice cracking like a teenager’s. "You can’t just walk in here! I’m twenty-nine!"
"You are an idiot, that is what you are!" She waves a Tupperware container aggressively. "I thought Alistair York had you deported! I thought you were dead in a ditch! I come here to check your pulse, and instead I find..."
She gestures vaguely at me.
"...the hospital mascot. Naked."
"I am not the mascot," I say, trying to muster some dignity while hiding behind cardboard. "I am a valued medical intern. Good morning. Lovely raincoat."
Mama Ortiz stares at me. Her eyes drift down to the box covering my nether regions.
"Breville," she reads. "Fancy."
"It makes excellent espresso," I say weakly. "Conical burrs."
"Preston," Luke groans, covering his face with his hand. "Stop talking about the burrs."
Mama Ortiz marches forward. I flinch, clutching the box tighter, prepared to be assaulted witharroz con pollo.
Instead, she slams the Tupperware down on the dresser next to Luke’s keys.
"Put some clothes on," she barks at me. "I work in a hospital, baby. I have seen more penises before my morning coffee than you have seen in your life. Yours is not special. Move the box."
"I will not move the box!" I cry out. "It is my dignity box!"
"Lucas," she snaps, turning on him. "Why is the Spare naked in your bedroom on a Sunday morning?"
"Because we’re dating!" Luke shouts back. "We are dating, Mama! I slept with him! It was great! Now please, for the love of God, go to the kitchen!"
Mama Ortiz pauses. Her face goes through a complex journey—shock, calculation, and finally, a terrifying smirk.
"Dating," she hums. She looks at me again. She looks at my frantic grip on the cardboard.
"Well," she says. "At least he buys you appliances. The last one only bought you protein powder."
She looks me dead in the eye.
"You are too skinny. There is chicken in the container. If you do not eat it, I will tell the entire surgical floor that you wear..." She squints at my discarded socks on the floor. "...socks with little ducks on them."
"They are mallards!" I defend myself. "They are vintage!"
"Eat the chicken," she commands.
She turns on her heel. She marches to the door. She pauses, hand on the knob.
"And Lucas?"
"Yes?" Luke breathes, looking like he’s about to have a cardiac event.
"Nice boxers. But next time, lock the top deadbolt. The bottom one sticks."
