Uncle Eric and let him visit with his friends.”
“I wasn’t bothering him!” Emma protested.
“She really wasn’t,” Eric said, though he handed her over to her mother.
“Let’s go fix you a plate,” Renee said. “Papa made some little sausages especially for you.”
Effectively distracted, Emma went willingly with her mother. Eric squeezed in beside Alina on the bench so that she had to move over toward Marty to accommodate him. She was aware of how close she was, not to Marty, but to Eric, their thighs touching. He glanced toward his mother and Marissa, who were deep in conversation once more. “I don’t think Mom meant to leave you out in the cold,” he said.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Alina said. “Marissa’s like that. She can talk to anyone about anything.”
Whereas the three of them suddenly had nothing to say. Alina, aware of both men watching her, was struck by the truth of the saying “three’s a crowd.” Marty might be the type of man her grandmother had decreed she should be attracted to, but Eric drew her the way she imagined the forbidden fruit had once tempted Eve.
ERIC’S DAD ANNOUNCED that the meat was ready, and Eric was pressed into service helping to fill plates with smoky chicken, spicy chorizo sausage and slices of beef brisket. As he worked, he darted glances at Alina and Marissa, who had found a spot at one of the big tables with some of Eric’s sisters and his brothers’ wives.
“She’s very pretty.” His brother John accepted a plate of brisket from Eric and nodded to Alina. “What’s the story with you two?”
“I met her at Vinotok last night and invited her to come to the barbecue,” Eric said. “There is no story.”
“She’s good-looking.” Bart joined them. “I noticed the accent. Where’s she from?”
“Croatia.” He sliced chorizo into bite-size pieces and transferred them to a young nephew’s plate.
“She’s a long way from home,” Bart said.
“She’s here on an exchange program with the hospital.”
“So she’ll be going home eventually.” John nodded as if this was significant.
“In a few months,” Eric said.
Bart grinned. “That explains it, then.”
“Explains what?”
“Why you’re staring at her and not her pretty Latina friend.” John popped a bite of chicken into his mouth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We know you, bro,” Bart said. “You don’t date women who are wife material. It’s how you’ve managed to remain single longer than any of the rest of us.”
“And it’s why Mama is getting worried,” John said. “Didn’t you see the way her eyes lit up when you introduced her to Marissa? She doesn’t know yet Alina is the one you’re really interested in.”
“If you’re nice to us, we won’t tell her the truth.” Bart’s grin was wicked. “Yet.”
“You’re imagining things.” Eric attacked the brisket with renewed vigor.
“No, we’re not.” John’s expression grew serious. “Mama is desperate to see her baby married and settled down.”
“Why does she automatically assume Marissa is the one I should marry?” Eric asks.
“Not Marissa specifically,” Bart said. “But she fits the profile.”
“What profile?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Bart said. “You know the drill. You find a nice girl from the same background and culture, get married and build a life just like the one your parents built.”
“It’s the way we do things,” John said.
Eric thought of his brothers and sisters, who had all followed this pattern. Though he would never admit it to his brothers, he’d assumed he would take much the same path. While he enjoyed taking risks in his leisure activities and even on the job, he saw no reason to be reckless when it came to his personal life. His brothers and sisters were all happy; his parents were happy. Why shouldn’t this same approach make Eric happy, too?
He respected his family’s history and admired all his parents had done. They were leaders in the community. His dad’s machine shop was a gathering place for local men, and his mother was active in the church and the local community center. Eric would be proud to pattern his life after theirs—but not just yet.
“There’s nothing wrong with having fun with pretty women,” John said. “But you ought to think about settling down soon.”
“If you don’t, Mama and Grandmother will find a wife for you,” Bart said. “You don’t want that.”
“Remember what happened to Gilberto,” John said.
“What happened to Gilberto?” Eric looked across the yard to where his eldest brother stood with a group of older men. Gilberto had been married for years—apparently happily—to a large, cheerful woman who had come into the machine shop one day to pick up parts for her father.
“You’re too young to remember,” John said. “When he was twenty, he made the mistake of telling Mama that he didn’t plan on getting married until he was thirty because he was having too much fun being single and didn’t want the burden of a family.”
Eric tried to imagine anyone in his family making this kind of announcement to his parents; he couldn’t. He and his brothers and sisters might think such things, but why say them out loud and risk an argument? “What happened?” he asked.
“Mama said that was fine. That no one should be burdened by a family,” Bart said.
“Then she and Abuelita were like generals on the attack.” John took up the story again. “Soon Gilberto couldn’t turn around without being confronted by some eligible young woman. They attended every family dinner. They sat next to him at church. Mama persuaded Papa to hire a new secretary at the shop, the daughter of a friend. If Gilberto tried to get away, to play soccer with his friends or to have a drink at a tavern, Mama would show up with some young woman in tow.”
“He was miserable,” Bart said. “He finally had to admit he’d have no peace until he got engaged.”
“So Maria was one of the young women sent to him by Mama and Grandmother?” Eric asked.
“No. I guess they hadn’t heard of her yet.” Bart laughed. “She was new in town and when Gilberto realized this, he decided she had to be the one. Then at least he could say he’d chosen her of his own free will.”
“After that, the rest of us knew we didn’t stand a chance,” John said. “We made our own choices and it’s worked out for the best.”
“It’s only because you’re the baby and her favorite that Mama and Grandmother
