“Erm… Thank you, Doña Luz Marina,” Roman chokes out.
It’s the most awkward I’ve ever seen him.
I guess four generations of Rivera women hitting on you can throw you off. Well, three women. Mamá would never do such a thing.
She hands him his tinto, and watches as he sips it, studying his reaction. I don’t think she’d kick him out if he doesn’t like the tinto, but I can’t be sure.
His eyes light up when he tastes it, and he grins.
“This is amazing! I don’t know how I’ve lived this long without ever having it!” he tells her.
And she nods in approval.
As introductions are made, Roman continues to impress my family. He gives both my sisters bouquets of roses, pink for Val and yellow for Carmen. Abuela, Rosa, and Carmen are mildcompared to Val. She teases him to no avail. I think Roman started avoiding her.
When he finally meets Papá, he shakes his hand and hands him the bottles of Malbec and an expensive rum I’ve never heard of. To say he was won over is an understatement.
Felipe is also given the alcohol, since Roman didn’t know who would prefer what. Felipe seems more than glad to have another man around. With this crew, Papá and he are greatly outnumbered.
My heart explodes at the possibility that my family accepts Roman.
And that maybe one day, he’ll be a part of it.
Chapter 52
Roman
I think everything is going well. I did extensive research into Colombian and Ecuadorian cultures, traditions, and customs wanting to be able to show them respect. And gain their approval. I know how much Cecilia values her family. If they don’t approve of me, I don’t know how she’d react. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
I also want my future in-laws to like me. It’ll make my life easier as their daughter’s husband and their grandchildren’s father.
But now that I’ve met them, my motivation has changed. I want to impress them because they’re great people. I want them to accept me into the family because it’s a family I want to be a part of.
After several rounds of appetizers, all traditional Colombian and Ecuadorian dishes, I’m almost full. I know they prepared a lot in honor of me coming, so I refuse to turn any away.
Cecilia hasn’t eaten nearly as much as me, only taking a few bites of each. But doing the same wasn’t an option for me. Anytime my plate was empty, someone would serve me more. If the weekend continues this way, I’ll have gained significant weight by the time we leave.
Everything has been beyond delicious. If I had my way, we’d never leave. Or we’d bring her mom, Abuela, and sisters with us. But now that I think about it, Cecilia can probably make all of this. But if she doesn’t want to, I’ll learn. I’m not great in the kitchen, but if it yields this, then I can learn.
I look around the house. It’s decorated brightly, with warm orange and yellow accent walls. There’s pottery and art all over the walls. All beautiful and handmade. Herbs and leafy plants take up most corners and many shelves. There are woven blankets over the couches. Framed family pictures hang on the walls. I’m looking forward to looking at them and seeing a smiling Cecilia over the years. The whole place smells of spices, herbs, and coffee. I think I’m in heaven. Cecilia growing up here makes so much sense. Even though there’s a lot going on, it isn’t messy. It’s homey and warm.
“Alright, let’s eat dinner,” Cecilia’s father says.
His accent is thick, just like his wife’s and mother’s. But they’ve all been speaking English. I know it’s for my sake, and I appreciate it. The Spanish language learning app I downloaded and have been using everyday the past week and a half has been useful, but the few times I’ve heard them talk in the language, I’ve been completely lost. They speak so quickly.
We walk into the kitchen, and my stomach drops at the countless dishes laid out. I just pray I’m not sick by the end of the night. I’ve never eaten so much that I’ve thrown up, but I’ve also never eaten this much.
But there are definitely worse problems to have when meeting your in-laws than overeating delicious South American food.
“Roman, serve yourself first,” Señor Hernando instructs.
I start to decline, knowing ladies should be served first, but Cecilia shakes her head slightly, silently telling me to go along with it. It must be customary for the guest to start.
I load up my plate until you can’t even see the clay. I sit down at one of the seats on the side of the table, knowing not to take the head, and wait. I’m not eating until everyone is seated.
Once everyone is at the table, Cecilia to one side of me and her mother to the other, we say a prayer. It’s in Spanish, so I understand none of it, but I still bow my head reverently.
Conversation is flowing. Food is eaten. Alcohol is drunk. And I’m sporting the most genuine smile I’ve had in a while that isn’t directly caused by Cecilia. It makes sense that her family are the only other ones who can bring out this jovial side of me.
