“Right!Niñeraused to make these when we’d have theFiestas Patriasat home. This and her empanadas are the best.” Her eyes go back to her plate, but I love the look of joy spreading across her face as she speaks about Carmela.
“I’d love to meet her someday,” I say without even thinking about the words. They just come out. And the reality that I said them out loud has me breathing in too quickly and choking on leftover food and air.
I try for a quick recovery, taking a drink to clear my scratchy throat and finding Rosie’s gaze again. Her cheeks are lightly pink, perhaps less from a blush and more from the excitement of the day and the games we’ve played, but she playfully pouts as she looks me over and then smiles with a nod. “Okay, sure.”
Really?Oh. Oh, I’mnervous.My heart rate pounds and I feel like it’s about to climb out of my throat.
“Though if you think I give you a hard time?—”
“I imagine she is where you get your fire from,” I tease. It doesn’t take much to work out that her parents were simply DNA providers; Carmela raised this strong woman in front of me, andI’d really like the chance to thank her for it. Rosie glows with her bright smile, continuing to eat her food. We both dig in, and I especially polish off all the barbequed meats. The beef steaks and pork sausages were a win, as were the barbecued onions and corn. What flavors they used, I haven’t got a clue, but everything is mouthwatering. I’d take thepebreby the bucket load.
“Do you eat much Chilean food at home?” I realize I never see her ask for or eat any of this when I’m around. Her attention remains on her plate as she picks away and answers.
“No, I’m not much of a cook, even if I wanted to, I’d just ruin it anyway.” She shovels a mouthful, a peaceful smile across her face. “I always wanted to be that person that could turn up to a friend’s house with a plate of, like,pastel de chocloor even empanadas,likeNiñeraalways would. But I can barely make it through pouring a bowl of cereal without making a mess.” She laughs self-deprecatingly.
“We can do it together,” I say, shoving a few pieces of deliciously barbequed meat into my mouth.
“You’re going to make Chilean food for me?”
“Withyou. I know my way around a kitchen, we’ll do it together.” She sits up a bit straighter her fork dropping slowly to the plate as she narrows her eyes at me.
“Why?” She tilts her head, almost like a confused puppy.
“Why not? You want to eat more food that helps you feel connected to your culture, I know how to cook. Though I might mess up a few of the recipes to begin with, I don’t see why we can’t try. Maybe Carmela has some hints for us.” When she still looks confused, I move a bit closer to her, running a finger delicately over her hand. “Rosebud, I cook for you all the time, what’s the difference?”
“You make me pancakes. I’d hardly call that cooking,” she says quietly, and when her smile still remains hidden, I take another stab.
“Does it bother you? If I try to cook a few of the Chilean recipes? It was only a suggestion, Rosie, we don’t have to. We can go visit Carmela and have her show you, if that’s something you’d prefer?” I hadn’t thought about whether I was steamrolling all over her and her connection to her family’s history. I only saw that it was something she wanted…and well, I’d give her the moon if she wanted it.
After a beat, she shakes her head. “No. it doesn’t bother me…it’s just…well,” she sighs, “Carmela would like you, I think.” She smiles shyly and then her attention is back on her plate. She doesn’t say anymore, and I don’t push, more because her smile is back and I just love watching her.
After only a few moments of companionable silence between us, an older man, perhaps in his mid-to-late fifties, wanders over, wearing a flannel poncho and a large, wide hat. He looks every bit the traditional man and his charming smile is warming. “Hola,señor,” he directs to me before his full smile turns to Rosie. “Señora.” Rosie looks at me for a beat, her playful smile intact as she gives the man her full attention. And though I get the distinct impression he is talking to me, his attention is mostly on Rosie…and I don’t blame him. “Le importaría si me prestara su cita para la cucea?” I repeat the words slowly in my head, trying my best but it’s fast and my lessons apparently didn’t cover this. I smile apologetically at him and then Rosie giggles under her breath, reaching over to rest a hand on my thigh.
“Oh sí! Eso sería encantador!”she responds fluently, and I can’t help but beam at her. She quickly turns her face to me. “We’re going to dance.”
“Where’s my invite?” I toss back at her playfully, but she giggles, shaking her head.
“It’s the national dance of Chile. Unless you’ve been taking lessons in that too?” I hadn’t, but now I wish I had.
“Have fun, pretty girl,” I say quietly as she leans closer. Clasping her hand, I kiss her knuckles as she turns to the man.
“Él todavía está aprendiendo español.”
“Gracias, señor. I will take good care of her.” They wander off, talking quietly to each other. Rosie laughs, looking back over her shoulder at me, her face lit with excitement, before leaning in to whisper something to the man. Of course, he throws his head back in a laugh, and I follow silently to where they will be dancing, finding a seat in the front row. The crowd turns their attention from conversation to the couples in the center. A clapping begins among the crowd as the men who are dancing stick out their elbows to their dance partners. Rosie loops hers with the man who approached us, both of them smiling, and then he parades her around the circle, almost like he’s showering her off. My cheeks almost hurt from how wide my smile is as I join in on the clapping too. Watching Rosie, her radiant smile, the laughter and happiness feeding off the people dancing and the people in the crowd, makes my heart swell with so much joy. Like a slow, dull ache, right in the center, and I’m completely enraptured by her, unable to take my eyes off my girl.
I watch them both the entire time. The man untucks what looks like a white handkerchief, handing one to Rosie and keeping one for himself. They both stand opposite each other, clapping for a moment before they descend into their movements. Rosie holds the skirt of her dress, and they circle each other in a dance, the handkerchief moving over her head, her heel and toe tapping as she trots her feet. The laugh that leaves her throat is of absolute pure joy as she and the man float across the dance floor, chatting, smiling, and laughing.
She is completely mesmerizing. It feels like time moves in slow motion, her skirt spinning around her soft tan skin, the curls of her hair bouncing around her face, her eyes sparklingwith how happy she is, and the hypnotic sound of her laugh pulling me into a trance I can’t seem to snap myself out of.
I had been nervous leading into today, unsure if I’d be overstepping, or if I’d made the right choice. But right now, in this moment, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
Rosie dances her heart out, and I’m realizing that the dance is quite flirtatious. Rosie gives him a playful look, teasing and rueful with her eyes as she smiles and waves her white handkerchief, twirling and twisting the skirt of her dress.
I have so many questions about how she knows it and what it means, but I’m content to just watch her. And I am more than happy to be on the sidelines; there is no way I’d pull off this dance.
Eventually the crowd cheers and applauds, the man taking Rosie’s hand and bowing to her before they start to make their way over to me. The man holds out Rosie’s hand, with a content smile in my direction. “Su señora, señor.” Rosie wasn’t my anything, but right now, that was really hard to reconcile. Because I was feeling awfully possessive of those rosy cheeks and joyous smile.
The man spins Rosie one last time and as she lands in front of where I sit, I take her hips in my hands and pull her down to my lap, wrapping an arm around her waist so her back is flush against my chest. She doesn’t even flinch, just relaxes back into me and I can’t help but feel a sense of relief that she isn’t fighting the embrace but falling into it without a care in the world.
