Finally home. Mi familia had met both Jessica and I at the airport, big sign in hand, everyone accounted for except mi abuela who was still recovering from a recent cold. Jessica was still severely hungover even though I had spent the whole day prior holding her hair and nursing her back to health with toast and water with electrolytes.
She swore she’d never drink again, but I knew her better than that. She didn’t even remember the encounter with Claude. That was fine. That meant that I didn’t have to explain my horrible rejection from Rowan.
Cooking in mi mama’s kitchen was enough to distract me. I missed her home cooking and I missed how we always bond over the tedious process of making a wonderful homecooked meal. Everything mi mama made was formed with love. You could taste it in every bite. Mi mama had some mariachi playing on the radio and we danced while we cooked.
Mi mama was strict in many ways, but we always managed to have fun in the kitchen.