Page 90 of The Plus-One List

Her sharp eyes land on Eloise, standing nervously with the wooden spoon still clutched in one hand. Abuelita only speaks Spanish—same goes for my parents—so Eloise doesn’t understand her words.

I motion for her to come over, and she skitters around Lupe. “Eloise, this is my abuelita.”

“Hi, um, hola,” Eloise says.

“Come here,” Abuelita says, gathering Eloise, spoon and all, into a hug. Then she pats Eloise’s cheek. “So beautiful. And kind. I can tell that by your eyes. A perfect match for our Tinito.”

My neck flushes, a little grateful Eloise can’t understand her. “Okay, Abuelita.”

“What? I can’t say she is beautiful?” Abuelita smiles up at Eloise. Even as short as Eloise is, Abuelita is smaller. Her wispy white hair puffs out in a cloud around her face, and she wears her traditional knee-length navy skirt and a gray sweater, with a pink-patterned silk scarf tied around her neck. “Now, come with me, I am going to teach you how to make tortillas.”

Caro is grinning as she helps Abuelita onto one of the stools, as Eloise follows dutifully behind, having no idea what she’s getting into. Lupe looks skeptical, while my mom and tía go back to arguing over the salsas.

“Lupe, bring me a bowl and the flour. Caro, some water, please. Cristina, Martha, stop arguing in front of our guest and move those pots to make space for the comal. Tinito, go put on some music. Where is your father? We need music in this house. Eloise, you sit here with me. Yes, that’s right.”

Everyone springs to action at Abuelita’s commands. I hurry through the small living room out the back door to find my father pulling up some weeds in the garden while the Minions play with their new toys at the long table on the flagstone patio, beneath the avocado tree.

“Papá,” I say, and my father looks up from his work. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and smiles broadly.

“Hijo,” he says, slowly getting to his feet and brushing his palms on his pants. “It’s so good to have you home.”

I give him a one-armed hug and look around at the garden. “The aguacates look good this year,” I say.

“Yes,” he says, “but I think there’s a chipmunk eating the raspberries. Your mother says I should set a trap but …” He shakes his head. “We all have to eat, don’t we? I think I’ll just let the little creature have at them.”

My dad has the softest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.

“Abuelita wants some music,” I tell him. “She’s making tortillas now.”

“The girls were telling me about your friend,” my father says, raising an eyebrow at me.

I shoot Sofia a look.

“What?” she says defiantly.

“Her name is Eloise,” I say to my father, as we walk back into the house.

“Mm.”

I run my hand through my hair nervously. “I really like her, Papá.”

My dad just gives a small smile and a nod. Never a man of many words. I follow him over to the enormous cabinet where he keeps his record collection. “Do you think she likes boleros?” he asks.

“That might be a bit much. Why don’t you just put on one of your jazz albums?”

“Davis or Coltrane?”

“Thelonius Monk,” I say and my father nods again.

“Good choice,” he says. I can hear light chatter coming from the kitchen and hope Eloise is doing all right in there. It sounds like mostly Spanish. I hope Caro and Lupe are keeping her included.

“So,” Papá says as he pulls out an album: Straight, No Chaser. “How are things in New York?”

“Good,” I say. Another glance at the kitchen. “It’s nice Lupe is talking to me again.”

My father sighs as he puts the record onto the old player. “She’s always been the most stubborn of the three of you. More stubborn than Caro, and that’s saying something.”

“You aren’t mad at me about the article?”