“Yeah,” he says. His hair’s down, just past his shoulders, and he rakes it back with his other hand in a way that makes me blush even harder. “Not since New Year’s, right?”
“Nope!” I say cheerfully, and thenthank godsomeone taps me on the shoulder and tells me where to put my purse and my coat, and I finally break away.
“It’s Rosa,then Alma, then my mom, then Maria,” Bastien is saying. “What, your dad didn’t make you flashcards?”
“I’ll suggest that for next time,” I say. Bastien holds up two bottles of white wine, both dripping onto the counter from being in ice, and I hesitate long enough for Bastien to apparently read my mind.
“Javi’s fine,” he says. “He doesn’t drink, but it’s not a problem if other people do. Promise.”
It’s tempting because wine makes me both friendlier and funnier, but it still feels…weird. “I don’t think that’ll do me any favors with remembering who’s who,” I say.
“Probably not,” he says, pouring one for himself. “But it’ll help you feel better when they start asking you nosy questions, which they will since you’re family now.”
“How nosy?”
Bastien grins, and it makes him look alotlike his brother. “Why—you worried they’ll figure it out?”
Shit, is this—is this sibling stuff? Is this sibling-type harassment?
“Figure what out? I don’t know what you mean.”
“That’s a good strategy.” He nods approvingly. “Makethemspell it out. Don’t let them fish for information. Or don’t give them any fish when they do.”
“No fish. Got it.”
“And if it makes you feel better, Alma didn’t ask Caleb about his intentions toward Thalia until they’d been dating for three whole months.”
“Wow, great,” I say and glance out at the living room, where one of Paloma’s sisters—either Rosa or Maria, it’s hard to tell from here; sue me, they look alike—is talking to Javi, who’s nodding intently and looking a little hunted.
Javi’sextended family are all kind, warm, welcoming,talkativepeople. They’re delightful, but after an hour or so I’m full of pulled-pork tacos—apparently there was a debate about whether they should get tacos or barbecue for the party, so they got both—and need a break from, you know, people.
That’s what I’m doing in the hallway that leads to the downstairs bathroom: taking a break. I’m nothiding, and I’m certainly not hiding from my aunt Susan and her wife, Kate, who want to discuss wedding-day transportation logistics, or Javi’scousin Luis, who has shown me at least fifty pictures of his kids. I just need a minute to breathe, and if I made prolonged eye contact with Javi before coming back here, well, isn’t that interesting.
When I check my phone, I’ve got a bunch of notifications, including a million texts from Ben, who’s never sent one message when fifty will do.
Ben:What are you doing tonight?
Ben:Scott’s GF has the flu so they canceled on us and now I’ve got two tickets to go ice skating at the MacArthur Mall in Norfolk
Ben:It’ll be fun, you can watch me fall over
Ben:Oh shit, are you at that thing with your stepfamily?
Ben:How late is that going?
Ben:If you want you can bring the stepbrother you’re boning
Ben:Unless ice skating is too much of a DATE and you’ve got other, bonier plans
I’m wondering, briefly, what it’d be like to have subtle friends, when Javi rounds the corner. He leans against the wall opposite me. The hallway suddenly feels half the size it was a minute ago.
“Who are you hiding from?” he asks, and I stick my phone back into my pocket.
“Who says I’m hiding?”
“Just lurking, then.” He moves one of his feet to tap against one of mine.
“You can tell I’m an ambush predator by the way my eyes are on top of my head. Like an alligator, or Cookie Monster.”
