Lupe Throws Like A Girl

Now that they were alone in his house, Lupe was thankful that they had an actual task to accomplish. She read the directions out loud, and Carlos fit the canopy parts together one piece at a time. When all the screws had been tightened and the arched poles rose above Celina’s little bed, Carlos paused and took a long look at her.

“Mission accomplished. Thank you, Ms. Lopez,” he pronounced formally. “Now, make yourself comfortable. I’ve got a few things to do. You can relax in the living room, where the grown-ups play.”

“Ah, okay.” Lupe was not sure what was coming next, but she moved into the living room. Family photos captured her attention right away. Baby pictures of Celina and her brother, Jake, were prominent. A picture of an old man standing in front of a warehouse with a big sign that read Fuentes Coffee MX sat atop a shelf. In the back corner of that same shelf was a dusty frame with a wedding picture of Carlos and his very young wife, also taken in Mexico. Lupe felt the young bride in the photo was looking back at her and speaking to her; please think of me and my children, she seemed to say. Lupe jumped when she heard Carlos’s voice.

“I see you’ve discovered our history, Lupe. Trust me, it’s not what lies ahead.” Carlos approached her and gently grasped her hand. “You are the future.”

“But this is your family; doesn’t that mean anything to you?” He did not respond but instead led her through a short hallway, then opened the door to a bedroom where several candles burned on the dresser.

“Are we setting up another canopy?” Lupe knew it was a stupid thing to say, but she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do. “What do you mean ‘I’m the future’?” She could not shake the image of his wedding picture from her mind. What was she doing here, alone with this man? Why had she been so full of romantic fantasy?

“You have no idea how much I need you, Lupe Lopez. It’s been tearing me apart to be the good dad all these weeks while I’m falling more and more in love with you.” He spoke like some rom-com actor and pulled her closer to the bed. “Let’s only stay here for a little bit.”

“This doesn’t feel right, Carlos.” Lupe pulled back against his hand, but it was a half-hearted effort. “This is your wife’s bedroom.”

“Come here, please.” He closed the space between them, and they stood face-to-face. His warm breath, with a hint of coffee, brushed her lips. “Celina and I play a game—What If?, we call it. We imagine all the things we want.” He sat her on the bed. “Night after night, I’ve laid here and wondered, What If? You are my ‘What If.’”

“Seriously, Carlos?” Lupe refused to sit down. “What if your wife was here? He pressed his lips on the backs of her hands. Did he even listen to what she was saying? Now what? Lupe asked herself. You agreed to come here with Carlos. Now what’s going to happen?

A blaring phone rang from somewhere in the house and sent nervous electricity through Lupe’s body. She watched Carlos rush toward the ringing phone, and then she moved close enough to hear him speaking rapid Spanish with someone on the other end of the phone. He paced back and forth, completely unaware that she was eavesdropping on the conversation. It was someone he kept calling mi amor, “Si, si mi vida, cálmate.”