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“Rosa can go over that with you.”
He shoos me off with a wave of his hand, not bothering to look up. Just as well. His whole face is a weakness of mine and I better get my act together before I embarrass myself again.
With a sigh dramatic enough to make my disappointment clear, I shuffle to the door and sweep it open. My heart almost leaps to my throat when I come face to face with none other than the senior Mr. Precio. He stares at me, a little intimidating, but only a shadow of the man Ignacio is. And I can see how he must have once been a towering presence of a man, foreboding and stern—just like his son.
“You must be Olive,” he says, kind of grumbly—and I’m not sure if he considers meeting me a good thing, or if he’s seriously displeased to see me. I nod, smiling in the warm way I decided a long time ago would be my signature. There’s a lot of sadness and ickiness in the world, but a smile can change someone’s day around.
“I sure am,” I say, and I decide to go in for a hug. I’ve found that either you’re a hugger or not. Mr. Precio is clearly in the ‘not’ camp. His arms stiffen at his sides, and although he’s not made of marble like Ignacio, his reaction is indication enough to keep the hug under one second.
“Take a seat,” he says, and I do, lowering myself into the same chair as before.
Mr. Precio is not one to close doors. He also has a booming voice, loud enough for the kitchen staff to hear him say, “So you’re the girlfriend.”
Ignacio pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dad, this is Olive. She’s kind of in a hurry to get home, though. She… has a sick goldfish.”
Oh, brother. Ignacio keeps getting deeper and deeper.
“It’s actually my neighbor’s goldfish,” I say. “Little Orangie can wait.”
“But didn’t you promise to take Orangie to the vet?” Ignacio’s flashing his eyes at me, ticking his head to the door.
Mr. Precio raises a brow. “You’re taking a goldfish to the vet? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“He’s a very spoiled fish,” I say solemnly. “And frankly, I think he’s just faking it to get attention.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s… turning white,” says Ignacio. “And the vet closes soon, so…”
Mr. Precio pulls a face. “Sounds like someone cleaned the tank with bleach.”
I shrug and cross my legs, leaning back in the chair. “Oh well. There’s no hope for Orangie now. I might as well stay a while.”
Ignacio palms his forehead and takes a seat behind the desk.
“Dad, you were just here yesterday. You should be home resting.”
Mr. Precio swats at nothing in particular. “I can’t rest with those two ladies bickering, que la fregada.”
“What two ladies? Mom and Abuela?”
“Tu sabes, Nacho. Your mother can’t take a joke and Abuela can’t keep her mouth shut.”
“What did Abuela say now?”
“She makes fun of her Spanish, that’s all.”
I throw a quizzical look at Ignacio.
“My mom came to the U.S. when she was eleven, so her Spanish isn’t perfect,” he says to me. “But neither is mine and I get by.”
His dad snorts. “Abuela especially makes fun of you and your brothers.”
“I mixed up my pronouns ONE time!”
Mr. Precio laughs and laughs. “Whatever you say… La Ignacio.”
He’s giggling at his own joke so hard, he starts coughing.
