Page 26 of The Challenger

On her heels is a tall Latino man, buff for his age and greying slightly at the temples. He startles to a stop at the sight of me, and I’m developing a complex from all the staring. In the vacuum of silence, I scan the room to determine why Chavez tightens his grip on my hand as if we’re behind the eight ball. Why I failed to notice the silver Christmas tree until now is a mystery, but the cluster of framed photographs on the side table brings it all to a dreadful certainty. Every single photo is of Chavez. As a boy, a teenager, a junior tennis player holding trophies.

And the man standing in front of me in a tacky reindeer sweater with battery-powered lights blinking on and off has eyes that are an unreal shade of turquoise like I have only seen once before.

Oh, God. No.

“Mama, Papa,” Chavez says, confirming my worst nightmare. “This is Flynn. Flynn, these are my parents, Gloria and Rodrigo.”

Their blank faces say it all. Chavez, who I might kill in a moment, did not tell them he was bringing me.

I smile through the lurching drop of my stomach. “Merry Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Delgado.” And then, stupidly, “Thank you for having me.”

Gloria ignores me and asks Chavez, “Quien es Ella?”

Before he can tell her who I am, a third stranger wanders out of the kitchen. Younger than all of us, with an arresting face framed by a blunt cut of pinkish hair, she carries herself with a,you want a piece of me?attitude. Her romper looks thrifted and should not work with white cowboy boots, but she’s owning it, like the cigarette tucked behind one ear.

Her eyes narrow on Chavez, and with one hip jutted out and her fists parked at her waist, she says to no one in particular, “What the actual fuck is this?”

“Carmelita,” Rodrigo warns, and I realize this spitfire is Carmen, the infamous sister.

“Don’t Carmelita me,” she huffs. “You said only familia today. Why does he get away with everything?”

She points to her brother as Exhibit A, and Chavez responds like a grumpy grizzly. “I’m not getting away with anything. Flynn isn’t some random.”

Carmen rolls her eyes at this news. “So, you aren’t shitting the bed yet again?”

Gloria points a warning finger at her daughter. “You will not curse in my house.” Her judgement then falls on my dress hem—the wrong side of North—and her stark disapproval stirs up a cluttered saga of horrible memories. I want to say I am just here for some eggs, lady, not to be put on trial for a double homicide because that is how her scrutiny makes me feel.

Both cheeks aflame, I extricate my hand from Chavez’s with a brittle smile.

“You know what? I left something in the car. Can you come outside with me?”

Carmen smirks and makes a face at him that says,have fun. Chavez breathes hard in and out of his nose but maintains his composure.Barely.

“We’ll be right back.”

Despite meditation, yoga, journaling, and every other New-Age remedy flogged on Tik Tok, stress still swamps me. I bolt straight for the car and lean onto it, trying to gather my bearings as the footsteps of Chavez loom closer. I don’t trust myself to say anything objective. When our eyes finally meet over the roof of the Ferrari, his face is tense but determined.

“Flynn,” he starts. “Listen—”

“Open the door, please. We’ll talk inside.”

It's like a never-ending Groundhog Day. Us in his car again, with me feeling like an alien in a world where I don’t understand the rules.

“I know what you’re thinking and you’re right,” he immediately says. “I should have told you.”

“Really?” I ask, with the faintest lift of my eyebrows. “Because for a minute, I wondered if you had any clue how I might feel meeting your family onChristmas.Without any advance notice.”

“I thought—”

“For the love of God, Chavez!” I shout. “You did not think, and you cannot be that brain-dead.” I scrounge in my purse for my phone, the shrill in my voice ratcheting higher. “I’m not going back inside. I didn’t even bring anything because you saidnotto. I’m calling an Uber.”

I take deep, gulping breaths that do nothing to stop my hands, my entire body, from shaking. Seeing my distress, how dark and wild it is, briefly silences Chavez.

“Please don't go,” he finally says. “It’s going to look worse if you leave.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Your mom looked at me like I was a stripper. I don’t think she’s going mind one bit if I leave.”

I can’t even muster baseline empathy for him right now. Gloria’s reaction to me weighs like a dead thing on my heart, and he can't understand because he doesn’t know that I fear a mother’s rejection like I fear death.

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