pass at a slow and easy pace, reflecting the kind of lives lived here at this small fishing village caught between tall volcanic mountains and the deep blue sea.
With each passing day, I fall in love with Alejo a little more.
Then a little more turns into a lot more, until my heart fills to the brim, like it’s starting to spill over, and I fear there’s no more room. But it makes room. It keeps making room for him.
He once asked me if there was space in my heart for him.
I want to show him now just how much space there is.
But because I’m a chickenshit, I don’t say anything. I keep the words bottled up because it’s less scary than saying them aloud. Instead, I hold on to his heart with mine, just out of sight.
His family is absolutely lovely, by the way.
His Aunt Maya and Uncle Luis are so sweet and welcoming, going out of their way to make sure I feel comfortable in their home. Mi casa es tu casa, and all of that. Plus, they both speak a bit of English, which makes things easier since my Spanish is pretty abysmal.
Then there’s their daughter, Mila, who is fourteen. She also speaks fluent English. Apparently she hates sports, which she told me right off the bat, but loves fashion and wants to be a designer. Since I’m still a bit of a girly girl, despite my job, we find things to talk about.
Nacho is robust, loud, and gregarious, constantly doing party tricks.
Santiago and Xavier, by contrast, are quieter, but Xavier will talk your ear off about fish if you really get him going. In Spanish and in English, often switching between the two.
Armando is Armando. The more I spend time with him, the more I realize that his slacker, devil-may-care attitude hides a pretty sensitive soul.
Then there is Yaya, who is probably my favorite. As it turns out, once she feels comfortable, she can speak some English. She said she dated an Englishman in college, obviously a long time ago, and liked to watch American soap operas, so she picked the rest up that way.
Which leaves me with Alejo’s mother.
I think she’s coming around. She’s often in the kitchen baking Christmas treats with Maya and she’ll bark at me if I’m around to come and help. Never with a smile and always with a suspicious look. Sometimes I’ll catch Maya telling her to be nicer, but she waves her off.
Still, it’s nice to be included, I guess. At least she thinks I’m a good help, since my kitchen duties seem to keep piling on.
Then Christmas Eve comes, and the whole house is in a frenzy preparing for tomorrow.
Or I should say, the women are.
The men relax in the living room watching some Spanish variety show, drinking beer and wine, or smoking cigars outside on the patio.
Meanwhile, me, Alejo’s mother, Maya, and Mila are all working away.
I don’t mind, though. I mean, I’m sure if one of them was my husband I’d whoop their ass into helping me, but the women seem to take great pride in it, even Mila, who is dutifully creating a broth for the seafood stew that will be part of the appetizer. Since we’re on the coast, seafood plays a big part in the cuisine.
I’m in charge of the truffle stuffing, which appears to be the most important part of the cooking other than the turkey. I’m just preparing it, but even so, there’s a lot of work to it and a lot of different things to be chopped.
Most importantly are the truffles, which Alejo’s mother carefully brings toward me like she’s presenting Jesus in the manger instead of a bunch of dark mushroomy things in a crinkled paper bag.
Her eyes implore me to follow her every move, which I do.
First, she takes out a proper paring knife, then she delicately removes each crumbly truffle and places them on the cutting board. “Vigílalo,” she says to me gruffly.
Watch this.
Or, the way she probably means it, watch this or I’ll cut your eye out.
She slices through the truffles at the speed of sound, her hands going fast. Part of the truffle is sliced off into paper thin shavings. She holds one up to the light so I can see.
“Muy bien,” I tell her.
She nods gravely. “Sí.” Then she looks over at Mila and Maya, and says something to them. I watch them grab bottles of wine from the counter and disappear into the other