I lost him in the produce section and he caught up with me while I was price checking canned chil i. I made my choice and started the dash but he caught my arm.
“Are we in a race?” he asked.
I looked at his hand on my arm and then at him. Then I lifted my hand and counted things off on my fingers.
“I have to get home and eat. Then I have to help Mom with her exercises. Then I have to pay bil s and balance my checkbook. Then I have to make dinner because Mom and I try to have a sit down dinner on Saturday night no matter what. Then I have to…”
He moved in so close, my breath caught.
“Am I invited to dinner?” he asked.
Damn.
I walked right into that one.
“Don’t you have better things to do? Basebal games to watch? Criminals to bring to justice?”
He shook his head.
What could I say? No?
Okay, maybe I could say no but that’d be rude.
“Oh, I guess,” I sighed (as if that wasn’t rude).
For some reason, he looked amused.
Then we both heard, “Mi hijo! ”
I turned to see Blanca headed our way, pushing a cart that was loaded down with enough food to feed the Denver Broncos, the Colorado Rockies and the staff at NORAD.
She was trailed by another short, female Eddie relative who had a look on her face that was very similar to the one Eddie was wearing.
Eddie bent low and kissed his Mom on the cheek. Then Blanca walked to me, reached up and grabbed both sides of my face and hauled me down for a big, old smackaroo right on the mouth.
When she let me go, she turned to the girl behind her.
“This is Jet, Eddie’s girl,” she said and then turned back to me, “This is my youngest daughter, Gloria.” We greeted each other. I didn’t bother tel ing her I wasn’t Eddie’s anything (or, at least, trying not to be) and I noticed Gloria had a dimple just like Eddie’s.
“You two are grocery shopping,” Gloria said and it was obvious this fact was borderline hilarious to her.
Blanca nodded her head with approval, as if they’d caught us at Dil ard’s fil ing out our wedding list. Then Blanca’s eyes lit. “You’l come to my house for dinner tonight,” she announced.
No.
No, no, no.
“We’re having dinner at Jet’s, with her Mom,” Eddie answered and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
For about a nanosecond.
Blanca’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Then she burst out in a flood of Spanish and I caught the words, madre de ella, primera, and comida and I knew I was in trouble.
Blanca ended on, “Then you come to my house tomorrow.” No!
No, no, no, a thousand times no.
I opened my mouth to say something, but Eddie got there first.