Page 105 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

Now the one shouting as if she’d seen Paul Walker come back to life is me, and I give her a huge hug. A dishwater-blond man at our side smiles. When we stop hugging each other as if we were sisters, María turns to him.

“Let me introduce you to Alger, my husband.”

I’m about to give him two kisses when I stop myself. Germans are not that much into kissing or Latin-style touching, so I just hold out my hand.

“Please, give me those two Spanish kisses, which I like so much better,” he says.

I laugh and land two kisses like two suns on his cheeks.

“I love your perpetual joy.”

Suddenly, my private German appears next to me. I’m sure he’s seen me kiss the blond and he’s come quick to see who it is. Oh, my jealous guy.

“My love, let me introduce you to María, who is Spanish too, and Alger, her husband,” I say as I put my arms around his waist.

My sweetheart, who knows the Latin way, gives her two kisses and offers him his hand. The two Germans smile.

“What good choices we made,” he says to Eric as he appraises us.

“The best.”

I talk to María for a long while. She tells me she fell in love with Alger one summer in Salamanca, and that the German didn’t stop courting her until he got her to marry him.

I see people devour my omelet in a matter of minutes. That gives me great satisfaction.

Drinking so many Cokes makes me want to pee so I urgently search for the bathroom. When I return to the gym, I find the cockatoos surrounding Flyn.

What are they doing to that child?

I approach stealthily and hear Flyn say, “The omelets were made by Judith, who’s Spanish.”

Wow, they’re getting info out of him. And then I hear their next questions: Who’s your mom or dad? Are you related to him or to her?

What?

My blood boils.

I have a Latin temper that my father says I need to learn to control.

My God, give me the patience to know how to deal with this, or I’ll eat them alive!

How can they ask a child such a question?

Flyn is silent. He doesn’t know what to say, but I’m ready so I go up like a wolf in defense of her pup and lean toward Flyn, who gives me a strange look.

“What’s going on here, honey?” I ask.

The cockatoos are silent; then the queen comes out swinging.

“We asked who his biological parent is, if it’s you or your husband.”

Option one: Do I smack her, yes or yes?

Option two: I tear off her head and bury it somewhere deep and dark.

Option three: there is no option three.

Flyn, who knows me, sees my face and winces.

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