“They didn’t believe I was serious. They can’t get it in their head that I’d purposefully choose to be single when everyone else in the family is married. All that happened out of that conversation was that they pulled back on the number of dates they set up.”
“That’s not right. They have to see that not everyone can fit into a cookie-cutter mold and want what they want.”
“No,” he says softly. “But as I’ve learned over the years, you have to pick and choose your battles. It’s not worth the energy fighting them. I’m only home once a year. I’d rather spend my time here making them happy than being at odds with them.”
His perspective is so positive, even though I know the whole situation is wearing on him. It goes to show how different things are culturally here in Spain compared to back home in the States. I can’t think of many people who’d put the happiness of their family first instead of themselves. It only serves to grow my attraction to him. “You’re a good son and nephew, Fernando.”
“Gracias. I try to be.”
At dinner, I’m seated between two of Fernando’s teenage cousins, who spend the meal practicing their English skills with me. I attempt some Spanish, but quickly realize the dialect the kids speak doesn’t come close to what I learned in high school. I soon abandon all attempts in favor of English. By the time dessert rolls around, the teens have moved on to doomscrolling through their phones.
Fernando drops into the spare seat next to me before anyone else can claim it. “How did you find Alejandra and Valentina?”
“They were sweet, but the novelty of having an American here wore off when we exhausted the questions about food and TV and they found out I’m not a soccer fan.” I giggle. “I never realized how much of a following it has over here.”
“Whicheverfootballclub you support is a major deal,” he emphasizes.
“Even if I know nothing about the sport?”
“Sí. Our family is divided. Half support Barcelona and the other half support Madrid. Whichever team you choose is the tiebreaker.”
“And who do you support?” I ask, poking him in the chest.
“Barcelona, of course. They’re the hometown team.” He sits taller. “Just because I skate doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching football. I watch whenever a game is on, which isn’t often. Most of the time the networks only show the English Premier League.”
“As your girlfriend who knows nothing about sports, I’ll go with whatever team you like. So I guess by default, I’m a Barcelona fan.”
He grins. “That’ll make Papá happy.”
“Is now a good time to meet him?”
Fernando glances at the end of the table, where Mr. Alvarez has just joined the family and is speaking to Tía Maria’s husband as he makes a plate for himself. “I guess now is as good a time as any.”
We stand up and walk toward them. I have my first opportunity to study Fernando’s father. Mr. Alvarez looks to be in his mid to late fifties. Although he’s balding, he still has a youthful look about him. He has the same olive skin and chocolate-brown eyes as his son. Nowthat I’ve seen both Fernando’s parents, I notice that he favors his dad’s side.
By contrast, the man next to him, his uncle, appears to be a few years younger than Fernando’s father. He has light-brown hair, a neat beard, and blue eyes.
As we approach, Fernando’s uncle elbows Mr. Alvarez in the ribs. The two men stop and turn their attention to us.
“Hola,” they greet us.
“Hola, Tío, Papá. I’m excited to introduce you to someone very special.” Fernando kisses my cheek. “This is Ava, my girlfriend.”
“Hola. Encantado de conocerte,” I manage, hoping I’ve said“it’s nice to meet you,” and not something else that was totally rude or wrong. Who knows with this dialect.
“Bienvenida, Ava. Welcome,” Mr. Alvarez starts, but then his attention wavers. His face breaks out into a smile, and he waves. “Ah, Isabel, you’ve made it. Come and join us.”
What the heck? At hearing that name, goosebumps form on my arm, and I blink a few times. I spin around and see a woman with red hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She’s wearing black leggings and a fitted pink zip-up jacket.
She floats up to Mr. Alvarez, who stands to hug her. “Jorge, it’s been too long.”
I swallow hard. My hand reaches for Fernando’s, but he doesn’t take it. His are balled into fists. His cheeks and neck are flushed a deep shade of red. His posture is as stiff as a two-by-four board.
“Your parents, they’re doing well?” Fernando’s father asks, releasing her.
“Sí. They’re same as ever, still running the family bakery. They send their regards.”
“Good to hear.” He nods and clears his throat. “Your timing is perfecto. My son only just arrived in Santa Luz today. I’m sure you two have lots of catching up to do.” He winks.
