My Mother's Boyfriend

Back At TheApartment

Maya

My first dinner home after my marriage and it is a disaster.

I did everything I thought would please them. I wore my hair in a tight bun at the nape of my neck. Very little make-up, with flat sandals and a plain, long, unflattering dress. Everything about this wear is what Alejandro loathes but he never questioned why out of the vast wardrobe of clothing I had, why did I wear the drapiest outfit in there.

He disliked it so much that when I bought it, he had thrown it away. I had to take it out of the bin, knowing a day like today would have come.

But at least my father and my brother tried. I will give my father credit for that- but I still hold a grudge against him for what he did to my mother. I could never forgive him for that, but I will try to work on our relationship. He means the world to me. My only parent left.

I wanted to add that my husband is not ‘white’ as my grandfather stated, but I keep quiet about it. I must remember to speak to Tony about it. I do not wish to have my brother’s thinking messed up because of our elders.

It’s toxic here and I worry for Tony. What that sort of environment would do to his mental. I fear he will grow up and become my father under the guidance of our grandmother.

Much like Valentine's night, except with the roles reversed, Alejandro stops to get something to eat.

At least he isn’t mocking me about my heritage as some of my friends did when I was younger. In Junior high, mum had invited some of the parents over to have lunch after one of the PTA meetings and they scrunched up their faces in scorn. They whispered to each other about how dirty we were, to eat with our hands, but not to us. They got up and left without eating anything. It was after they left, my grandfather told us what he overheard them saying.

Embarrassed, this is where my father started hating my mother’s teaching in a ‘white school’ and undisciplined adults. He lectured my mother on what she already knew- if parents were like this, then what about what they teach their children? My father was right, of course; I was bullied in school because of my food.

Not my skin colour, so much. I mean, yes, it was a factor but not in a big way. I understood that people discriminate because of things they did not understand themselves. My school had been educated after the second incident in high school about my darker skin tone and shockingly it stopped. The food bullying did not, however. But I did get used to it and even joined it a couple of times to show them that it had not affected me deeply.

It hurt yes but not greatly where I would say it impacted my life. Thanks to my mother, who taught me well.

While my father was correct, my mother was also correct. She spoke to me often, telling me that I must not judge the few bad ones as if everyone were that way. I did have friends who did not scorn me for my eating habits, though they never exchanged lunch with me. The truth is that their meals looked horrible to me as well.

And I did have friends who did want to taste my food and while most did not like it, they said so without scorn.

I cannot tell if my husband loved the food or not, but my father did pack some roasted bhigan (eggplant) for me with curried channa and aloo. (chickpeas and potatoes). I planned to feast on it tomorrow with the paratha roti.

When we leave, it is one hour after we arrive.

I explain to Alejandro that my grandparents were strict vegetarians and avoided meat. My mother would take us out to eat with my father mostly then we would consume it. Other than that, my mother had one pot she used to have separated from the others in which she cooked all our meat. And no other pot.

He did not get it.

Then I had to further explain that my mother and father grew up differently. My father allowed my mother to go on with her meat diet as long as she kept it away from his parents. Sometimes he ate it, but he was not a lover of it. My grandparents began their hate for my mother then, I believe. They saw her as unclean and as someone who corrupted their son.

“Your family drama could win awards,” he jokes and tells Peter, to pull over to a street vendor, so he could eat. Street food, hmm. I never figured him for the type with all his fancy bands and such. Heck, they had a cook and everything.

The poor man had had dry roti only at dinner. He picked on his vegetables, but how much could he eat with a thumb and index finger picking up food?

Two gyros later, Alejandro seems content and we leave. “Peter, would you drop us off at the apartment,” he instructs, and Peter tells him he would leave the car with him and take a taxi back home, as if he understood he could not stay over.

“No take it, pick us up around ten tomorrow.”

I expected Peter or Marcus to remain with us wherever we went- sleep on the couch type because there was only one room. I gulp. What did Alejandro have in mind that required us to be alone, in his one-bedroom? I knew he had read my diary. Since his comment about my crush on Peter, I suspected it.

My cheeks heat up. Did Peter know about my past crush on him too?

Alone, inside the confines of the apartment, I ask him, though I am nervous about being alone with him and wondering why.

“Read your diary? Honey, you admitted it to me,” he shoots back at me, taking the shawl I shrugged off and placing it at the back of the couch then removed his jacket as well.

“When did I?” I mock him and he takes the plastic bag containing the food and walks off in the direction of the kitchen with me hot in pursuit.

“The night you admitted to wanting me to kiss you,” he deadpans. “You were drunk? Valentine’s?”

It does sound familiar. Ah yes, bits and pieces come back to me. Oh God, I did ask him, didn’t I?

Placing the food inside the fridge, he takes out two bottles of water, handing me one after uncorking it but giving me a ‘look’ that suggests something, and my insides heat up. Is this why we are here tonight? To make it happen this time?

Turning away, I sip quickly and then leave just as fast to go into the bedroom, my stomach heating up. Since I have nothing to wear, I slip into one of his shirts and rejoin him outside where he is watching something on the flatscreen- sports. I am determined to make him see how unaffected I am by this.

Huffing, I turn to head back inside, hoping that he took note of my ‘bored’ expression. I hope I did not overly exaggerate it- then he would know I faked it. How much more childish can I get?

“No, Maya, come. Sip some wine with me,” he takes up the remote and holds it up to me when I turn back to face him. His eyes told me he appreciated the sight of me in his large shirt. Typical man.

In every book I read or show I watched; men always loved to see their women in their shirts. Why? I have no idea.

Yes, I do love wine. I have come to appreciate it. It helps me feel happy and also, I sleep easily. Ironically, before marriage, I never tasted the thing.

Wait- did Alejandro think I was attempting to seduce him? Is this how it’s done?

My heart starts racing. My breathing is a bit caught in my chest as I take in the scene in front of me. Him, with his upper buttons undone, sleeves folded to his elbows. But it was his relaxed body that caught my attention. I mean, there is no denying, I find him attractive, but he seems...content as he pours the wine into goblets.

Excitement is what I feel. A different sort of feeling... scared but thrilled about what might come. Anticipation. I held his gaze, taking the remote from him.

“Whatever you want to watch,” he says with a wide grin. How could I resist? I cannot remember the last time I watched anything. There is no television screen in our bedroom, and I do not wish to spend time with the Noimicheals enough to want to watch a movie with them downstairs.

“Why are we here,” I mouth off as soon as I take a sip of the sweet wine. “To take another selfie?”

He chuckles, taking the goblet from me and putting it down along with his on the glass table. “We can if you wish.” He takes the remote from my other hand, even though I have not found a movie yet.

He tugs that same hand towards him. “Did I not tell you to remove my shoes after a long day?” His tone is low, and my heart makes a heavy thump.

What is happening inside me? I feel nauseous as well.

“You said when we were in the presence of your family, and I have.” I could tell even in my inexperience; this was not about his shoes. Though he wore his trousers, shirt and shoes still.

“Did I now? Hmm.” He pulls in his bottom lip but releases it slowly and I swallow nervously. My heart is palpitating, knowing he is looking at my reaction to his movement. His eyes drop to my bare legs that are folded beneath me but exposed because the shirt fits me like a dress that I have bunched around my ankles, sitting crossed-legged, leaving my bare thighs open to his view.

Did he think I was trying to seduce him because of that?

“I have been meaning to ask. Have you kissed any boy yet?” His tone is soft. Calm. I could tell he was genuine about the question.

But I am not ashamed as I shake my head no, at the man that I admitted that I wanted to have my first kiss with. “My husband is supposed to be my first-” I gasp when one quick movement later I am lifted up and on top of him. Stupidly, I turn my head to gape at the cushion space previously between us he had stretched across so easily.

He believed me? That I am a virgin? Most men would never- well, that is according to what I hear other girls saying.

All thoughts of him being my mother’s boyfriend are all out the window.