Page 60 of Mixed Signals
Alex nods. “Everyone.”
Of course they do. My mom probably went to the hardware store where my cousin David works and cut copies as soon as I gave her my spare.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I almost fling it through the window in my hurry to get it out of my pocket. It’s difficult, my jeans wet and uncooperative. Alex snickers as I struggle.
I push him away with my hand on his face as I finally free my phone. It’s a text from Layla.
I grin.
“Dios,” my cousin Adriana moans from the corner. “You’re already halfway in love again, aren’t you?”
My cheeks flush hot and I pocket my phone. Alex shoots a glare to where she’s sitting on a stool by the refrigerator. It looks like she’s using one of my vases as a glass for her Corona. Great.
“No,” I mumble. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the room. My throat tightens and I cough to clear it. “Of course not.”
Adriana fixes me with a set of narrowed eyes that look a little too much like our grandmother. “You do this every time, osezno. You go on a couple of dates, you have a nice time, and then you think you’re suddenly in lo—”
“Be quiet,” Alex snaps at her. “You’re just jealous because Frankie won’t give you the time of day.”
She raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow and brings my flower vase to her lips. “He gives me plenty of time, and none of it is during the day.” Another groan echoes through the room, this time laced with faint sounds of disgust. My aunt rolls her eyes and mutters something sharp and quick in Spanish. Adriana looks away.
“We will have this meal as a family,” my grandmother says, a quiet command in her voice. “Basta con eso.”
That’s enough of that.There’s a chorus of agreement in response. Someone turns on the radio and the low murmur of static and voices fills the space, the rise and fall of horns underneath it all. My mom’s bright laugh rings out at something my dad whispers in her ear. Knives clack against a cutting board and someone pops the top of a wine bottle.
Alex hooks his arm around my shoulder and steers me into my dining room. My poor, unprepared dining room that can probably only fit half of the family. I’ll have to get the folding table out from the basement. Some of the chairs from the garage. Adriana can stay in the kitchen to eat.
She made it sound like I fall in love twice a week with anyone who passes by. I know I can get ahead of myself sometimes, but this thing with Layla is different. We have very clear boundaries. Our expectations are set. I’m not—I’m not getting ahead of myself.
“Don’t listen to her,” Alex tells me, handing me a stack of clean plates from the cabinet against the wall. “She thinks love is a four letter word.”
“Loveisa four letter word,” I grumble, feeling like a teenager again, arguing with my cousins across the kitchen until my grandmother grabs us by the ear and makes us sit at the table together.
My wet t-shirt suctions to my chest and I pluck at it with my thumb and forefinger. The lightheaded, happy-dizzy feeling I walked into the house with is gone, swapped for a sinking one in my gut. Am I feeling too much from a single kiss? Should I have even kissed her? I honestly don’t know.
Alex rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
I set out two place settings, the forks tilted a quarter inch to the right just like my abuela likes. My grandfather always did it that way and it makes her smile when we maintain that small tradition. “Still. What she said. It makes me sound like I’m some naive idiot.”
Alex frowns at his table settings. He takes his time responding, and the sinking in my gut turns to a painful twist.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he finally says. “To want to be in love.”
“Thank you.”
“But I think you should be careful with this, Caleb. I know you. You lead with your heart. And this situation with Layla …” He trails off, staring hard at the tablecloth my grandmother must have brought over with her. It’s white and delicate and definitely not something I own.
“What about this situation with Layla?”
“You’ve had a crush on her for a while. You’re getting to know her better now and I don’t think—I don’t want you to get the Layla in your head mixed up with the real Layla. Layla the actual person, with flaws and faults and imperfections.”
I shake my head, frustrated. “That’s not what’s happening.”
It’s not. I’m getting to know her, understanding who she is beneath her quick smiles and easy laugh. I’m not projecting anything on to her.
“You looked like you had sunshine shoved right up your ass when you walked in your door tonight.” He lets out a deep, worried sigh. “You have trouble holding boundaries sometimes, especially when it comes to feelings. I just—I want you to be careful. And I want you to be fair to Layla.” He swallows. “It’s difficult, sometimes. To be on your pedestal.”
“You sound like Adriana.”
