Page 68 of Where She Belongs
I pull into my driveway, the familiar sight of my adobe home—a modest three-bedroom a few minutes from the plaza—providing little of the comfort it usually does. The house feels too quiet, too empty after the last two days with Andrea, our reunion after Hawaii confirming everything I’d hoped—that what sparked between us on the island wasn’t just a vacation romance but the natural evolution of years of friendship into something deeper.
I shuffle through the mail that accumulated during my absence, then send a quick text to Andrea:Made it home. House feels too empty without you.
Her reply comes faster than expected:Still smiling from your visit. Mom called right after you left and heard something in my voice. Now she’s asking questions.
I smile despite my exhaustion, imagining Andrea fielding interrogations from her formidable Filipino mother.Tell her I’m a perfect gentleman and have only the purest intentions.
Liar, comes her immediate response, followed by a heart emoji that somehow carries more intimacy than any explicit message could.
Before I can reply, a second text appears:Patient files calling my name. Talk later?
I’ll be here, I respond, the simple domesticity of our exchange settling something in me. This is new territory for us, but the foundation of friendship that underlies it all provides steady ground beneath the uncertain terrain.
I’m halfway through unpacking my overnight bag when my phone buzzes. Papa’s name flashes on the screen, and I briefly consider letting it go to voicemail. After our tense conversation during the Hawaii trip—his dismissive comments about Andrea’s age, his assumptions about my life choices—I’m not eager for round two. But ignoring him will only delay the inevitable.
With a sigh, I accept the call. “Hey, Pa.”
“Mijo! You’re back in town. Your mother said you were in Albuquerque.” His voice carries that familiar forced joviality that always precedes an agenda. “Visiting that doctor friend of yours, I assume?”
“Her name is Andrea, Papa. And yes, I was visiting her.” I zip my toiletry bag with more force than necessary. “Is there something you needed?”
“Come by the house.” It’s not a request. “I have someone I want you to meet. A nice girl. Daughter of Robert Martinez—you remember him from church? She just finished her master’s at UNM.”
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Papa, I’m seeing Andie. I’ve told you this.”
“Gabriel,” he says, his voice taking on that patronizing tone I’ve grown to detest, “you’re not thinking clearly. This infatuation with a woman your mother’s age—it’s not healthy. You needsomeone young, someone who can give you children. Not someone who’s already raised hers.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “I’m not having this conversation again.”
“Just come by. One hour. What harm can it do to meet Carolina? She’s beautiful, smart, from a good Catholic family. The kind of girl who would make a proper wife, not some career woman who?—“
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I interrupt, knowing the fastest way to end this is to face it head-on. “But I’m not staying long.”
I hang up before he can respond, already regretting my decision. But it’s time to settle this once and for all, especially now that things with Andrea have evolved from pretense to something real and precious.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into my parents’ driveway in Santa Fe, noting the unfamiliar silver BMW parked in the guest spot. Great. He’s already got her here, waiting like a prize heifer at auction.
My mother opens the door before I can knock, her expression a mixture of sympathy and resignation. “Gabriel,” she says softly, kissing my cheek. “I told him not to do this.”
“It’s okay, Mama,” I assure her, though we both know it’s not. “Better to clear the air now.”
The living room tableau is exactly what I expected—my father holding court from his favorite armchair, while a young woman perches nervously on the edge of the sofa. She can’t be more than twenty-five, with the kind of conventional beauty my father has always approved of—straight dark hair, modest makeup, a conservative dress that reveals nothing but suggests everything.
“There he is!” Papa booms, rising to clap me on the shoulder. Some of my patients say I got my smile from him, but I’ve always hoped that’s where the similarities end. “Carolina, this is my son, Dr. Gabriel Vasquez. Best physician in northern New Mexico.”
The young woman—Carolina—stands gracefully, extending her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Vasquez. Your father speaks very highly of you.”
“Please, call me Gabe,” I say automatically, years of social conditioning kicking in despite my irritation. “Though I should mention that my father failed to tell you I’m in a committed relationship.”
Papa waves this away like an annoying insect. “Gabriel is being modest. He’s recently become available again.” He turns to me, his expression hardening slightly. “Isn’t that right, mijo?”
“No, it’s not,” I reply firmly. “In fact, I just drove back from spending two days with Andrea in Albuquerque.”
Carolina’s discomfort is palpable now, her gaze darting between me and my father as she realizes she’s been brought into a family dispute.
“Perhaps I should go,” she suggests, already reaching for her purse. “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“No misunderstanding,” Papa insists. “Gabriel is just confused. This woman he’s seeing—she’s not suitable. Nine years older, divorced, her career always coming first. Not the kind of woman who can build a proper family with you, mijo.”
