a hand, dismissing his thank-you for the dinner invitation. “Any friends of Julita are always welcome at our table. Please call me Sebastian. Here, let me take that from you.” He gestured for the bag in Rocco’s hand. “I’ll put it in the kitchen and get us some beers, so we can watch this game. It’s starting in a few minutes.”
Rocco gave him the bag and came over to where I was taking out the bowls for food and water that were tucked in a compartment on the side of Pulga’s state-of-the-art travelling tote. I almost rolled my eyes, but then remembered I helped him pick it out.
“I brought a hazelnut chocolate cake and some champagne, since you said dessert.”
I stood up, leaving Pulga to her slow inspection of my apartment. And turned my attention to her owner. Rocco was still feeling a little awkward. I could tell by the way his shoulders tensed and how he held up his back straight.
Just in that moment, my abuela did what she always did: she said something outrageous to make everything easier.
“Is anybody going to come in here and introduce me to the handsome man who just arrived? Or are you keeping those blue eyes to yourself, Julita?”
She spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, but Rocco’s big smile told me he could understand it perfectly. He walked to the breakfast counter on the other side of the room where my grandmother, also dressed to the nines under an apron, was arranging pastelitos, quipes, alcapurrias, and other Dominican and Puerto Rican fried deliciousness on a platter.
“Buenas tardes. Soy Rocco, un amigo de Julia.”
She nodded and smiled wide at him, grabbing a quipe and passing it to him with a napkin.
“Yo soy Pura.” Pointing at me, she said, “La abuela. Eat.” She gestured at the fried thing in his hand as my dad walked out of the kitchen and passed Rocco a cold Presidente beer. I had no idea how my mother had managed to find Dominican beer in Dallas, but when I got back from the vet there had been twelve green bottles chilling in my overstuffed fridge.
Rocco just stood there with his hands full of drink and food, looking at me like he needed someone to navigate him through what was happening to him. There was chatter all around us; my mom and grandmother were back to preparing food and my sister was whining about there not being a vegetarian pastelito option. So I took pity on him and crossed the two steps to get right in front of him.
“You heard the woman, eat.” He looked embarrassed and held up the hand with the small ball of fried wheat and beef.
“What is it?” he asked with a shy smile that made me want to nibble on those red lips.
“It’s called a quipe. It’s actually Middle Eastern, but there’s a big Lebanese community in the DR and those are a staple hors d’oeuvres food at birthdays, weddings, or any other gathering that involves food, which is all of them. They’re spiced bulgur wheat balls stuffed with ground beef. Taste it.”
He brought it up to his mouth and took a big bite. My mom and grandma both stopped to look at him—I knew they were waiting for a reaction. They’d scorned Matt, who constantly turned down any food they offered him, so I knew this was some kind of test. I, on the other hand, was captivated for a whole different reason. I could not take my eyes off the way he licked his lips after that first bite to lap up a stray crumb of crispy wheat or the way his eyes rolled as he tasted the quipe.
After he swallowed a bite and chased it with a long gulp of cold beer, he looked over at the cooks, who were expectantly awaiting his verdict. “Buenisimo. Quiero otro, por favor.”
They both applauded at the compliment and request for a second one.
He already had two out of four in the bag.
He turned back to look at me and gestured to the couch, where Paula and my dad were watching TV.
“You want to come and watch the game?” His voice was low and suggestive, like he was asking me to do something a lot more scandalous than sitting with my dad and sister to watch football. My whole body reacted to him in a way that felt foreign, and I almost didn’t want to dig too much into it. I’d been with Matt for so long, I’d gotten