Through laughter, I ask, “Did you seriously just pull a candy out right before we eat dinner? In a restaurant?”
“I did. Sure you don’t want one?”
“Pass,” I tell him, then laugh again. “What is it with you and watermelon?”
Seriously. It’s the weirdest thing in the world. I’ve seen Alex vape a lot over the years, and it was always—always—watermelon-scented. It was pretty annoying in 2019 when Harry Styles came out with “Watermelon Sugar” just a few months after theincident, and I had to train myself not to think of Alex, and all the associated shame and guilt that came as a package deal, every time the song came on the radio. That’s the worst thing about men—their ability to ruin the things you love by tainting them with bad memories.
He shrugs. “I like watermelon.”
“Did you ever eat those watermelon lollipops as a kid? The Mexican ones?” I ask. Seeing his blank stare, I elaborate. “You know, with the chili powder on the outside?”
He shakes his head, then says, “I didn’t really eat Mexican candy growing up.”
“None of it? No Lucas? Pelon Pelo Rico? Rockaleta? Pulparindo?”
He shakes his head again, and maybe I’m imagining it, but I think he looks slightly upset.
“I’m guessing these are all candies? There was never much Mexican candy in my household. Except that de la Rosa marzipan my mom loves. Sorry.”
Yeah, he’s definitely upset. And the weird thing is, I have no ideawhy. Maybe that isn’t that weird—but itfeelsweird. I mean, sure, we were never close, and there were seven years of us actively avoiding one another, but we saw each other regularly throughout college. We were the only two Mexican people—the only two Latino people, period—in our friend group, and it’s strange to realize we never really talked about that.
I remember little things, small moments when he and I bonded over stuff our friends didn’t quite get. Like when I mentioned my parents storing pots and pans in the oven, and the only one who didn’t act like it was weird was Alex—I hadn’t known that was a Latino thing. Or that time Ellie didn’t know who Selena was, and Alex and I spent twenty minutes explaining her legacy before putting on the movie and making our friends watch it.
Tiny things. Innocuous moments I never gave much thought to until now, when I realize Alex has an emotional hang-up about Mexicancandy, of all things.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, I say, “Well, I know what our next date is.”
I wait to see how he takes that and feel my tension thaw when he cracks a smile.
“Is this you asking me out? It’s my amazing taste in diners, isn’t it?”
“You’re right, I better wait to see if your taste in food is atrocious before I commit to anything. You’ve already got a point against you for the lobster.”
“Bad taste in food is a deal-breaker. Good to know.”
“Of course food is a deal-breaker. You spendso muchof a relationship eating together. I wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of my life with someone who wants to eat bland food all the time.”
He smiles, but I can see that something’s changed on his face at my words. Only then do I realize I just spoke about the potential of a long-term relationship for the two of us. Which is… not how this is supposed to go.
To change the subject, I say, “Please tell me it’s just candy. If I have to introduce you to the entire canon of Mexican cuisine—”
“Canon?” He laughs.
“Yeah. Like—entire literary canon. You know.”
“I think that only works in the context of books. I’m not sure you can apply it to food.”
“Well, I just did. And you’re deflecting.”
“I’m simply marveling at your creative interpretation of the English language.” I stare at him blankly, and he continues, “Right. Mexican food. No, I’m good on that front. My mom loves to cook—growing up, it was Mexican food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Oh my God,” I groan. “That sounds amazing. Both my parents hate cooking. I grew up on takeout. And every Sunday, my mom would pick up pan dulce from the panaderia. What I wouldn’t give for a pink concha right about now.”
“Why a pink one?”
“Because it’s the best one.”
“It tastes the same as the white and yellow.”
