He didn’t hesitate in answering. “The men talk, I don’t listen much. I know Ally’s got some business. Zano’s involved. They got history. That’s all I know.”
I looked at the place where Ally and Ren disappeared and mumbled, “She’s a dark horse. She makes everyone spill their secrets but keeps her own.”
“I’ve known Ally Nightingale since I was six. She’s the second most complicated woman I’ve ever met,” Hector replied. “One thing about Ally that’s always been the way, mamita, you do not get what you see.”
I cuddled closer, my elbows cocking, my hands going up his back to his shoulder blades. “Now, I’m intrigued.”
He shook his head. “You’re just gonna have to watch it play out like the rest of us.” Then he added, “And hope to God no one gets hurt.”
Before I could say anything, Tex (wearing a tux, and not happy about it) boomed from across the room, “Roxanne Giselle Lo… I mean, Nightingale! When are those fuckin’ harpists gonna shut the fuck up and so we can get some rock ‘n’ roll?”
*
I rested my head against the window of the Bronco and watched Denver slide by as Hector took us home from the wedding.
I was pleasantly drunk from champagne and totally exhausted from a day of bridesmaids duties (if I never saw another Christmas light again, I would not care, until tomorrow, that was) and the last two hours of dancing like a wild woman (mostly with Ava and Daisy) to rock ‘n’ roll.
My hand was taken from my lap, Hector’s fingers linked through mine and he set the back of my hand high up on his hard thigh.
“Did you have a good day?” he asked quietly
“It was great. The wedding was beautiful. But I’m tired and my feet are killing me.”
“We’ll be home soon, mi corazón.”
“I know.”
“I told you after Eddie and Jet’s wedding not to wear those fuckin’ shoes,” he reminded me. “You complained then, I knew you’d complain again.”
“I’m not going to wear ugly shoes with a bridesmaid’s dress, Hector.”
“Isn’t there such a thing as not ugly shoes that are comfortable?”
“No,” I said shortly (and honestly).
He chuckled.
I rolled my eyes.
Hector, even after months together, still thought I was funny.
I still didn’t get it.
“Jet’s pregnant,” he said suddenly.
My hand tensed in his.
“What?”
“Eddie told me tonight. It’s early. They’re keepin’ it to themselves for a little while. Whatever you do, do not tell Mamá.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Are they happy about it?”
His hand squeezed mine. “Don’t know about Jet but Eddie’s over the fuckin’ moon.”
If that was the case then I knew about Jet. She was sure as certain over the moon too.
“That’s great,” I said softly.
“Yeah,” he replied, just as softly.
It was my turn to squeeze his hand. “Uncle Hector.”
Silence.
Then, “Shit.”
Then it was my turn to laugh.
*
We walked up to the house, hand-in-hand.
Hector let us in.
I flipped the switches and the lights came on.
Then I reached down, slipped off my high heels and tossed them over the back of the couch into the living room. They bounced off the seat of the couch and I heard them hit the floor.
I tossed my purse in the same direction. It bounced on the seat and stayed there.
The renovating the house business wasn’t playing out like in my dreams (exactly).
Hector and I fought tooth and nail about everything house.
Once we were done with the floor, the mantel and the skirting boards, Hector announced he wanted the living room off the kitchen, better access to beer during games.
I explained (patiently, at first) that the dining room had to be off the kitchen.
We hit a stalemate that meant weeks of stacked furniture covered in plastic.
Then one night I got creative with lingerie and talked him into it (about two seconds before he climaxed).
It wasn’t fair, in fact, it was really not fair but this lesson served me well in the coming weeks.
Hector didn’t seem to mind.