HER

Seventeen: enchiladas

Analia

I drive down Carlos's street, glancing at the house numbers: 506, 508, 510. Ah, there it is, 514. I pull into his driveway and park the car.

Quincy eagerly jumps out and rushes to the door, enthusiastically pressing the doorbell. I catch up to him and playfully slap his hand away. "I know you're excited, but one ring is enough, Q."

I'm here at Carlos's house to babysit, and I brought Quincy along because he's friends with Carlos's son, Emilio.

Carlos opens the door, and the tantalizing aroma of cheese, meat, and beans greets me, making my mouth water. He wipes his hands on his stained apron and warmly welcomes me inside.

Quincy darts past us, spotting Emilio, and they scamper off to Emilio's room, promptly shutting the door.

"We weren't sure if you both had dinner, so we made enchiladas for you. And for dessert, we have tres leches cake as a thank you for babysitting," Carlos says.

"Gracias, Carlos," I respond, expressing my gratitude with one of the few Spanish words I know.

While we wait for Lisa, his wife, Carlos and I engage in some casual conversation. "Do you have any plans for the 4th?" Carlos asks, removing his apron. He chuckles at himself for almost forgetting to take off the apron.

I realize I haven't made any plans for the 4th yet. Maybe I should consider it—but with Lexie or Wyatt? I tell Carlos that I currently don't have any plans and leave it at that. "What about you? Any plans?" I ask him. Carlos shakes his head, mentioning that he doesn't celebrate American holidays.

Lisa comes rushing down the hallway. She and Carlos converse in Spanish while she slips on her heels and adjusts her dress.

"Thank you so much for babysitting. We'll be back around 10, no later than 11. If Isabela wakes up crying, there's milk in the fridge. Don't hesitate to call us in case of an emergency," Carlos instructs, growing impatient as he waits for Lisa to finish getting ready.

"¡Adios, Emilio! Mamá y papá volverán," Lisa calls out before swiftly leaving the house and heading to the car. Carlos mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and follows her.

I head to Emilio's room to check on the boys, but they're so engrossed in their game that they don't notice my presence. "Are you guys hungry?"

Quincy jumps up excitedly. "I'm starving! What's for dinner?" He brushes past me without waiting for an answer. Emilio simply nods and follows Quincy into the kitchen. Emilio is a shy and quiet kid, quite the contrast from my energetic little brother.

Quincy glances at the counter and does a double-take. "Can I have cake now?" he asks before even finishing his enchilada.

I stroke my chin thoughtfully. "Tell you what, if you finish your enchilada, you can have two slices of cake."

Quincy and Emilio quickly devour the remaining enchiladas, and true to my word, I give them each two slices of cake.

After washing down their meal with cups of juice, they both rush back to Emilio's room. I take care of washing their plates and put them away.

I haven't had much time to myself in the past few weeks, so I'm looking forward to a bit of alone time—well, away from Lexie and Wyatt for a while.

Lexie

It's Friday night and I'm lounging at home, bored out of my mind. It's been a while since I've had a Friday night to myself. Analia is babysitting, and Birdie is out with Tyler, someone I don't have the energy to be around tonight.

I pack a bowl, turn on some music, and try to figure out what to do with myself. Eventually, I decide to draw something. I haven't drawn anything in a while and now, I find myself with the perfect muse.

Reaching for my supplies and sketchbook on my bedside table, I delicately begin to sketch her. I focus on capturing even the minutest details etched in my memory, from the mole on her left ear to the dimples that grace her smile.

Next, I select the colors I need—brown, green, pink—and as I paint, the colors blend harmoniously as I twist and stroke the brush along the canvas.

Art has always been my escape. I began drawing at a young age, starting with simple objects like trees and food before moving on to more challenging subjects like animals and full body silhouettes. Since then, I've taught myself different art forms, but drawing remains one of my favorites.

I kept my art to myself for a long time, hesitant to share my work with others. There were no opinions or criticisms, just my own personal sanctuary. I didn't even tell Birdie about my love for art until a few years ago.

But with Analia, I want complete openness. I want her to know everything about me, without any secrets between us. It's scary, opening up like that, but worth the risk for her. I trust her.

The sun rises before I finally finish. I turn off the music and step back to admire my masterpiece: Analia's radiant face on the page.

My stomach grumbles, reminding me it's time to eat. Satisfied with my work, I decide to prepare something to eat.

"Hey, honey, what'd you make?" Mom asks, coming into the kitchen dressed in silk pajamas that Greg had bought her for her birthday.

I focus on my phone, avoiding eye contact. "Nothing for you." Luckily, Greg must already be at work.

I place my phone on the table beside my plate and take a bite of my burger. Glancing up, I notice my mom still standing there. "What?"

Taking it as an invitation, she sits down. "I want to talk to you about something." I remain silent, prompting her to continue. "It's about that girl you always have over here. Is she your girlfriend?"

Confusion fills my eyes as my mom rarely shows interest in my personal life, the one thing I can appreciate about her. We've kept our conversations limited, and it's worked fine for us. "Yeah, sorta. Why?"

"I want to meet her." My initial reaction is a hard no, but she has a determined gleam in her eye that tells me she won't let this go.

"If I don't meet her, she can't continue staying over. Greg and I need to know who's at our house," she states definitively. Now she suddenly wants to be a parent? Typical. I roll my eyes, silently groaning. "Fine." That is, assuming Analia and I actually start dating.

Excitedly, my mom claps her hands, continuing to speak, but I've already tuned her out. I nod along without really listening until she eventually gets up and walks away. Shit.