He had gone grocery shopping once and returned annoyed, shocked that food cost real money when it did not appear through marriage magic.
At noon, Elvira called.
“Paola, sweetheart,” she said in that sweet voice she used before requesting labor, “we’ll be there around three. Raul and Martha are coming too. The kids are excited. I hope you’re making ribs again.”
Paola looked across the kitchen at Diego, who suddenly became very interested in his phone.
“Oh,” Paola said pleasantly. “You should ask Diego.”
There was a pause. “Ask Diego what?”
“What he’s serving.”
Another pause. “Serving?”
“Yes. Diego and I separated finances this week. Since he is hosting his family, he will be handling the meal.”
Elvira laughed. “Ay, don’t joke, Paola.”
“I’m not joking.”
Diego’s head snapped up.
Paola smiled at him.
Elvira’s voice sharpened. “Put my son on the phone.”
Paola handed Diego the phone. “Your mother.”
Diego walked into the hallway, whispering furiously. Paola did not need to hear every word. She heard enough.
“No, Mom, she’s being dramatic.”
“No, I didn’t say I would cook.”
“I don’t know what we have.”
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