Page 14 of Stealing Iris

Poor Dante. Letting me choose may get him more than he bargained for. We wouldn’t end up somewhere you have to dress up. So, let’s see how he’ll do with anywhere I want to go. “Okay, then.” I untie the smock, knowing he’ll have a look. “Let me wash up and we can take off.” Even with my back turned, I know he’s watching me walk away, and a little part of me is lapping it up.

*****

IRIS

Ten minutes after we’re seated, Bunny figures out I’m at the café. “Ham and egg tacos, a la Mexicana,” Bunny’s voice bellows out the kitchen, right before she pokes her head out of the rectangular window, searching me out. “Ahhhhhhhh…” The loud and cheerful sound drags out, even when she makes it away from the line and out the swinging doors. The regulars, used to her boisterous personality, don’t bat an eye.

“I-ris.” Bunny comes barreling between tables, pulling off an apron printed withIf you stare more than a minute, I’ll start chargingacross her considerable chest. I have enough forethought to get up from the booth as she tosses the apron across her shoulder. Big, solid arms built from rolling out a mountain of flour tortillas every day come around me in a bear hug. “Glad to see you,chula.” As always, she squeezes me to within an inch of my life. “It’s been way too long.”

The last time I set foot inBomberoscafé, I dropped off Dad’s missing person flyer. “Too long.” I squeeze her right back. Being wrapped up in her arms is the first time I’ve felt normal in forever. A ball of emotion threatens to suffocate me, or maybe Bunny’s just cutting off my oxygen.

“Let me look at you.” She steps back, eying me head to foot with a critical eye. Her frown is immediate. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Some.” It comes from having an empty pantry at home, but I’m not about to share my situation. “The rest slid down to my hips.”

“Nonsense.” She gives my hip a quick smack. “Those are breeder’s hips, if I’ve ever seen them.” She puts her arm around me and turns to Dante. “Am I right?” Heat travels across my cheeks, but I wouldn’t shush her, as if anyone could. I love her for being herself. If I’d been prepared for Dad to date after Mom, I wish it had been someone like this woman who is all love and emotion.

“Bunny, this is Dante. Dante, Bonnie Bustos, or Bunny, as I’ve known her all my life.”

He stands, reaching out a hand. “Ma’am.”

“Oh,” she says, looking him up and down before shaking his hand. “Good eye,” she says leaning in, pretending to lower her voice. “You got yourself a nice one, hon.” She winks in appreciation.

I’m sorry, I mouth to him, because not everyone’s ready for such an immense personality, much less to have her focus her attention solely on you.

Dante leans in. “Don’t let her fool you,” he mock whispers. “I’m the one with the good eye.” He actually winks at me, and my face flames. “But I’ll have to get back to you on the hips.” He answers so casually you’d think he hadn’t been holding my bare hips just a few nights before.

Her laughter bounces off the far wall. “I like this guy.”

Me, too. The words go through my head, but I manage to bite them back. Quick flashes of his hands on me, straddling him, having him pull me close, fill my head. While it was just a second of images, they result in an unexpected shot of heat between my legs.

The waitress brings our order, saving me from having to respond. “Well, I’ll leave you to eat.” She takes my hand, her expression gaining sympathy, so I know what’s coming. “Any word on your daddy,mija?”

Tears threaten as the spotlight moves to shine on me. “No.” I shake my head. “I’m afraid not.”

She drags in a breath. “I’m sorry, baby girl.” I swallow hard, avoiding looking in Dante’s direction. “You’re still on the wall over there.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn. Of course he would look over. Who wouldn’t? Even I feel like a huge beacon is beaming from the picture frame and flyer up on the wall. “Though I didn’t include theputahe was running around with.” I couldn’t help but smile. If Bunny loves you, you know it. Same if she doesn’t. Clearly Olga didn’t make the short list.

“Bo-nnie.” The bellow from the kitchen carries across the crowded restaurant. Bunny rolls her eyes, giving me one last shake. “Lord, I really need to hire someone who can do more than one thing at a time,” she mutters. “Got to go, baby. People to feed. Employees to strangle.” She hugs me and winks at Dante before she makes her way back into the kitchen, pulling the apron over her head.

We both slip back into the booth, Dante still studying the wall behind the register. As much as I’ve been looking forward to this lunch, now that we’re here, a knot forms in my throat, and nothing will get past it. Why would I think coming to a place I associate with my father would be easy? Yet, the question hangs between us, heavy enough to weigh me down. I’ll have to explain because I know, at some point, he’ll ask.

“My father…disappeared last summer.” I pull my drink in front of me, running my thumb up and down the condensation along the side, steeling myself for the inevitable questions.

“He went across the river?”

“Yes.” When he doesn’t continue the conversation, I nearly sag in relief. It’s one thing to know people disappear into Mexico on an alarmingly regular basis. It’s another to have a loved one among the statistics. Worse when you wait innumerable hours for a ransom call that never comes. You could drive yourself crazy thinking about what he or she would have to endure. Yet people have the thoughtless habit of asking probing questions then ending in some horror story they heard about.

I force myself toward happier memories. “We came here all the time when I was growing up.” The familiar surroundings set me at ease, welcoming me back like an old friend. “And yes, I usually order breakfast for lunch.” He looks down at my plate with amusement.

“Bunny’s from the neighborhood. Her mom lives across the street. She brought over food and checked on us when Mom was sick.” When Olga started butting in, the visits stopped. “I was in high school when I finally worked up the courage to ask her to teach me how to cook.”

“You cook like this?” he asks, his fork pointing to thechile rellenoon his plate.

“To an extent,” I admit. “I can’t get the rice quite right.” And it made me into a snob. “If I could, we’d probably have a lunch section at the store.” Not that I’d be able to keep up with us down to a skeleton crew.

We both dig into our plates. He takes a bite out of the stuffed Poblano pepper, and his lips pull into a satisfied smile.

“This is good.”

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