But my nerves are a bit too taut to enjoy the natural fragrance. I’m bracing myself for harassment from Jo’s cousins and brothers. They thought Jo was a virgin until I met her, and that I should marry her. So moving in with her first, even when it’s necessary to push her to the altar, might be considered a slap in their collective faces.
“My mom loves lavender,” Jo says as we walk past purple flowers. “She likes to make potpourri with it.” She stops in front of the door and turns to me. “Relax, Edgar. This is just lunch, not a firing squad.”
“Your family’s important to you.”
“Of course.”
And her parents’ opinion of me will matter to Jo, while what my parents think of Jo is about as consequential as news of a new house being built in the Maldives.
“That’s why I’m nervous.”
“My dad wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want to. He never invited any of my exes.”
“You never brought any of them home?” Perhaps there was a good reason for her brothers and cousins to believe she was a virgin all this time.
“Of course I did, but my dad never asked to see them. Ever. He must approve of you.”
Or not. Still, it’s nice of her to be so optimistic.
Jo pushes the door open, and I follow her in. The house smells like spices and herbs and sizzling meat and vegetables. It’s nothing like the meals at the Blackwood mansion in Tempérane, where you wouldn’t smell anything until the meal is served and everyone exchanges polite greetings and sips some rare vintage. I think I like it better this way.
“We’re here!” Jo calls out.
“Finally!” comes an unidentified male voice from a different room.
“Saved the best for last!” Jo calls back.
Her family piles out.
Jo’s mom comes over and hugs Jo. Her dad hugs her too, then kisses her cheeks. Her uncle and aunt and cousins and brothers all hug and kiss her, exchanging ebullient how are yous and you look so goods with an occasional Spanish phrase thrown in.
I stand and watch it, feeling slightly awkward. Not quite an outsider, but not yet part of the family, either.
“Edgar,” Jo’s mom says, turning toward me. “You look very nice. Can I take the bouquets?”
“Please. One is for you, and one for your sister-in-law,” I say, as Jo’s mom takes the flowers from my arms.
Jo’s aunt beams. “You’re such a sweet young man.” She hugs me.
After handing the flowers off to Rafael, Jo’s mom hugs me. “Thank you. How did you know I love hyacinths?”
“Just a lucky guess. They seemed like your flower.”
I hug both of them back, relieved I passed with the ladies at least. Her dad and uncle shake my hand, asking me how I’m doing, and her brothers and cousins take turns too for man hugs.
“Jo, you gotta come to the kitchen and check out this new thing I’m making,” her uncle says. Based on the state of his poor apron, I hope whatever he’s making is worth it.
“Sure,” Jo says, then turns to her brothers and cousins. “Be good,” she says with mock severity.
“We’re angels,” Jorge says.
Angel smiles beatifically. “Well…one of us is.”
Jo laughs, and I can feel myself smiling despite my tension. It’s impossible to keep my guard up around people this happy and loving.
Jo’s dad goes to the living room to park himself in front of their TV.
I start toward the living room to join him, but her brothers and cousins pull me to the side to the den. It only has a couch big enough for two people and an armchair. We ignore them, as though sitting down is an admission of testosterone deficiency. We all stand, our arms crossed, sizing each other up. Actually, it’s more like me versus the rest.