Page 70 of Where She Belongs
Because that’s what this has always been about, hasn’t it? My fear of commitment, my carefully casual relationships—all attempts to avoid becoming him, to prevent myself from hurting someone the way he hurt my mother.
But Andrea has shown me another path, and that’s where I want to be.
The modest adobe house, carefully maintained and updated over decades, has been the gathering place for our extended friendgroup for as long as I can remember. Tonight, every parking space along the street is taken—a sure sign that this isn’t just a casual dinner.
I’m barely through the front door when I’m ambushed by small bodies hurtling toward me.
“Uncle Gabe!” The twins—Anita Pearl and Dax Jr.—wrap themselves around my legs with the enthusiasm unique to four-year-olds.
“Hey, munchkins,” I say, crouching down to their level. “Did you grow while I was gone? You both look taller.”
“I lost a tooth!” Anita Pearl declares, opening her mouth wide to display the gap where a baby tooth once resided.
“Very impressive,” I say with appropriate solemnity. “Did the tooth fairy visit?”
“She left five dollars,” Dax Jr. announces, clearly envious of his sister’s windfall.
“Five whole dollars?” I whistle, eyebrows raised. “Inflation is hitting the tooth fairy market hard these days.”
“Daddy said the same thing,” Anita Pearl giggles.
“Because Daddy is very smart,” I say, rising to find Dax watching us from the kitchen doorway, amusement written across his features.
“About some things,” he acknowledges, stepping forward to pull me into a quick embrace. “Welcome back, man. How was the trip to see Andrea?”
“Worth every mile,” I say, following him toward the kitchen where delicious smells emanate. “Don’t think I’ve ever made that drive faster.”
Dax’s eyebrows shoot up. “That eager, huh? Hawaii must have been pretty special.”
“You could say that,” I reply, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice. “Changes everything, doesn’t it? When you finally see what’s been right in front of you.”
“Better prepare yourself,” Dax warns with a grin. “Nana’s summoned the entire clan. And they’ve all seen Tristy’s Instagram post.”
I barely have time to process this warning before we enter the kitchen, where a veritable crowd has assembled. Harlow stands at the counter, deep in conversation with Alma Villier. Sawyer, Alma’s husband, sits at the table with their son Tyler and Sarah and Benny’s teenager Dyami, apparently discussing the finer points of some video game based on their animated gestures.
Benny is stationed near the stove, clearly on tortilla-warming duty, while Sarah bounces their toddler Atsa on her hip. And presiding over it all like a benevolent monarch is Nana, her silver hair pulled back in its usual neat bun, her hands constantly in motion as she stirs the enormous pot of carne adovada.
The moment I enter, all conversation ceases, every head turning in my direction.
“Ah, mijo!” Nana exclaims, her face lighting up. “Finally, you’re here. Now we can eat!”
But before I can reply, she wags a wooden spoon in my direction. “But first, you have some explaining to do, young man.”
“I do?” I ask, though I know exactly what she’s referring to.
“Don’t play innocent with me,” she scolds, though her eyes twinkle with barely suppressed delight. “You visit Hawaii and come back with a girlfriend, and I have to find out from social media? You couldn’t call your Nana first?”
I resist the instinct to correct her terminology. Calling Andrea my “girlfriend” feels both reductive for a woman of her accomplishments and somehow inadequate for what’s developing between us. But that’s a nuance for another time.
“It all happened pretty fast,” I say, which is both completely true and carefully vague. “We’ve been friends for so long, and then...”
“And then you finally opened your eyes,” Nana finishes for me, satisfaction evident in her tone. “Took you long enough.”
Dax snorts beside me. “That’s what I said.”
I shoot him a warning look, which he returns with innocent bewilderment. He doesn’t know the full story—no one does. That what began as pretense in Hawaii became something real, something neither Andrea nor I had anticipated despite our years of friendship. And that’s how it will stay. Some things belong only to us.
“Well?” Nana prompts, drawing my attention back to her. “Do you love her?”
