She sits up on her knees, eyes wild with accusation. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware Anna was made by immaculate conception,” she throws my way.
Touché.
“No, you’re right. She wasn’t. She was made by me and a woman who couldn’t run farther away from the idea of being a parent.”
Her face drops as she sucks in a breath. “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Can I get some of that back?” I nod at the wine she’s cradling in her hands. “Or will you hold it hostage while you throwmea pity party?”
She bites down on a smile as she hands me the glass. Don’t know when we decided to go from using two glasses to one, but I much prefer it this way. “No pity parties here. Only pizza parties,” she declares.
I look at the time on the microwave. It’s only ten p.m. “If we’re digging into my sob story, do you think we could at least order some dessert? I’m thinking we keep it on brand with our Italian night and order gelato from Luciano’s.”
She gasps. “Mateo Martinez. Pizza, wine,andsweets? Hand it over.” She starts looking behind me. “Give me your athlete card. You clearly aren’t allowed on the field for your game tomorrow.” She stops, eyes widening. “Shit, if you guys lose, will it be my fault for getting you boozed up the night before?”
I feign indecision. “I don’t know. You were a pretty bad influence there for a minute. Offering to get me a third serving of pizza.”
She lightly shoves my shoulder. “Your head was on a swivel, turning to look at the ovens every couple of seconds. The moment you realized half the Sicilian was left, you couldn’t focus and got slow on your answers about what your favorite Olga Tañón song was.”
I groan. “Is my mother too young to be put in a home? I’m never forgiving her for that.”
“As if you would ever put her in a home. You worship the ground she walks on, as you should.”
I tap my phone a few times, opening up the food delivery app to Luciano’s. “To answer your question, you are guilt free. Because tomorrow, we’re not losing. Now hurry up and order.I’m going to need some dulce de leche if I’m going to talk about Anna’s birth mother.”
She takes the phone cautiously as she asks, “And how are you so sure you’re going to win?” She starts adding flavors to the cart at an impressive speed.
I take the final sip of wine, earning her attention. “I’ve got someone I want to impress coming to the game, so I won’t lose.”
twenty-two
Things I learned lastnight:
Good wine doesn’t give you hangovers.
Mateo is an ice cream hog.
And everything about Anna’s birth mom.
Maria, a woman from Europe, who works in the art world.
Seems fitting that Anna has some creative blood in her, even if they’ve never met or spoken to each other.
I learned about how he met her at a charity afterparty and dated her casually for over a year. They’d see each other when she popped into town. How she found out she was pregnant and, after seeing Mateo’s instant paternal reaction kick in, offered to have the baby, with the understanding that she would not be a part of the child’s life, since she never planned on having children of her own.
Mateo went into detail about how he tried to convince her to co-parent, for Anna’s sake, once she was born. How he evenproposed the idea of dating again to see if there was a chance of them being a real family.
But in the end, Maria wanted a clean slate and walked away. And Mateo vowed to respect her wishes—with more grace than I could muster if I were in his shoes. She signed away her parental rights once she was out of the hospital, and a boatload of legal documents to ensure that later down the line, she can’t pop in and threaten to take Anna away from him. Something he felt like she would never do, since he swore up and down that she truly was a kind person. But having a daughter changed him, and he made sure there was no box left unchecked when it came to ensuring he could keep his daughter safe in his arms.
She did leave behind a letter for Anna, for when she’s old enough to understand the circumstances around her origin story. Letting her know that although she couldn’t hold the role of Anna’s mother, she would leave an open door for her in the future, if she ever were to have questions or simply want to have a conversation.
By the end of the night, it seemed like Mateo needed to tell the story for his sake, more than mine.
And the way he was going to town on that dulce de leche gelato was quite the sight.
But as promised, no pity parties were allowed.
Any time I seemed to be on the brink of tears, he’d threaten to eat the rest of my pint of cookies and cream. When my lip quivered and I asked if I could give him a hug, he said he would reconsider the no strike peace treaty. But he gave me one anyway.
