“Buenos días.” I shuffle over and kiss her cheek before making a beeline for the coffee bar where mugs, creamer, and sugar are waiting. As I doctor my cup, I try to peek over Raf’s shoulder. “Are those Chilaquiles, mi hermano preferido?”
“Hey!” He swats at me with a spatula and angles his body to shield what he’s doing. “Keep that up and you won’t get any, chaparrita. You know the rules.”
“Oh come on, Raf! You can’t be the only one to know the secret ingredient!What happens if you die? Not only will we be mourning your loss, but we’ll never have your Chilaquiles again?”
“Pretty much,” he agrees. “Sucks to be you.”
“What if you get married and have kids someday? Won’t you want your children to pass it down for generations?” I’m being ridiculous, I know.
“Well, if I have kids, I’ll worry about it then. Since that doesn’t seem likely at the moment, you’re SOL, Layla.”
I stick my tongue out at him and lift my foot to kick him in the ass when I walk by. He reciprocates slapping my leg with the spatula that makes me yelp. Murmuring curses under my breath, I take my coffee to the table to see where Teagan and Abuela are in their tamales lessons.
“So, why do you soak the husks if you’re just going to steam them?” I hear Teagan ask quietly.
“Soaking them makes it easier to fold them over the filling,” Abuela tells him patiently.
“Yeah, makes sense. So after soaking them, we make the filling and the dough?”
Abuela confirms that he’s correct with a nod and beaming smile. When he grins back at her, she actually blushes, proving that no one is excluded from Teagan’s charm.
“Which filling are we making for the tamales?” I ask, sipping my coffee.
“Red chile pork, salsa verde chicken, and bean. I made them yesterday, so all we have to do is fill and steam.”
“And eat them!” Marcos comes waltzing through the back door with his sunglasses on, a clear sign that he’s hungover, but still chipper. Which is par for the course as far as he’s concerned - there’s not much that gets my older brother down and out.
Mami slides from the bar stool she’s been sitting on to kiss my brother hello before rinsing her coffee mug, then placing it in the dishwasher. Rafael hands her a plate of Chilaquiles before passing one to Marcos, who groans in thanks. I distinctly remember him telling me once that Chilaquiles are his go-to hangover food.
“Gracias San Rafael.If you weren’t my brother, I’d kiss you,” Marcos says,earning a disgusted look from him.
“Where did you two end up last night after the rodeo?” I question my brothers while filling plates for Abuela, Teagan, and myself.
Marcos, between mouthfuls of his breakfast, begins to tell us about a new bar he found downtown. “It’s this weird cross between a honky tonk bar and a night club. There are two levels inside. The bottom is the bar with a dance floor and the top is like a VIP area, just not as swanky. And you don’t have to be some richpendejoto get in. You just have to pay a cover fee, let them slap a neon bracelet on you, and you’re good to go. The best part is that they switch up the music themes every hour or so. When we got there it was two-stepping and square dancing, followed by Salsa hour, then that weird techno music they play at raves.”
Oddly enough, the place sounds like a lot of fun. I enjoy dancing to various types of music, so I bet it would be a blast.
“Raf and I were thinking about going back tonight, actually. You two should join us.” He points a finger at Teagan and me as I look at Rafael questioningly. That’s not his scene, so I’m shocked that he went along with Marcos. He simply shrugs and goes back to eating.
“Yeah, maybe,” I reply as I approach the table. “What do you think, Teag?”
When I set his plate down, I feel a hand wrap around the back of my knee, squeezing gently before I sit.
“Sounds deadly. Let’s do it.”
“Right on,” Marcos says. “We’re leaving around seven-thirty, so if you want to ride with us, be ready.”
* * *
“If I eat one more tamal, I’m going to absolutely burst.” Teagan reclines back in his chair, rubbing both hands on his belly.
“I told you to start with just one of each,” I chastise him playfully.
“Aye, you did, Lovely. I should have listened, but they’re all so good I couldn’t stop. Especially those pork ones.”
Those have always been my favorite too. Abuela’s red sauce is the stuff oflegends. However, unlike my brother, she isn’t stingy with the recipe and ensured we all have a copy.
“Now it’s time to dance them all off. Come on, guapo.” I grab his hand and tug in an attempt to pull him from the chair.
