Chapter 19

Dave's turn:

At work, Dave, that's me, is a subject of conversation. It's an office. Everybody seems to know everybody else's business, except mine, not that they didn't try, so when I come back after a weekend, sporting a platinum band on my ring finger, the questioning begins.

The questions ranged from slightly coarse to sympathetic. Yes, I have pictures. Yes, she's young. Eighteen, if you must know. No, she's actually from Guatemala. Speaks perfect English. NO, this isn't one of those things to get her citizenship. Yes, she's GETTING citizenship. NO, NOT pregnant, thankyouverymuch.

"Her name is Carlita. NO, I did NOT get her from one of those foreign bride websites. Met 'er in Texas, actually."

After two or three days, everybody had a piece of the information and had time to compare notes to try to put the whole story together.

Several weeks later I gave them the news about Carlita's GED, scholarship, and teaching position.

The boss walked into my office, plopped down in a chair, a sign that this wasn't one of the 'completely business' visits.

"You got everything straight between you and human resources? Your marriage, I mean?"

"Yep! Insurance. Made 'er the beneficiary on all my insurance things."

"Still haven't met 'er. Having a barbecue and pool party at my house this weekend. I know you don't do a lot of the social stuff, but if you want..."

"Lemme talk to Carlita."

"Please do. Seriously."

So I get home. "Chili," Carlita says, as if I couldn't tell from the smell. "Brindy says it's a cold-weather dish. It is HOT outside. But you liked chili enough to make it one time and show me."

She has a delightful way of laughing, averting her eyes, then looking back at me to see if I'm laughing, too. "I looked it up. Chili is NOT Mexican. I used your recipe, but I added things..."

"Things..."

"The pet store had an iguana..." And she looked at me. Broke into that giggle. "Gotcha!"

I followed her into the kitchen. "Cornbread," she pointed. "And beans. In a separate pot, as you directed."

I noticed the table. Four places. "Company?"

"Brindy and Pat. Tomorrow I am going out with Carlie and the children. We will go to a park."

"And tomorrow night is a class night?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "It is a good thing that I can do for others, Dave. I enjoy it. Brindy enjoys it. You have a sister. I have a sister. What can be better?" She turned away bashfully then turned back. "Perhaps what happens after everyone leaves after dinner? That might be better. But with clothes on, this teaching part is very good."

"Come here, you perfect thing," I said.

She flashed those dark brown eyes. "I am a thing?"

"Yes," I laughed as she stepped toward me. "Much too good for you to just be human."

She was in my arms. "I can accept that, then. You are my thing as well."

A knock at the door told us that Pat and Brindy were here. Lita bounced to the door to welcome them into our home.

"Chili," Pat said. "It's summertime..."

"I turned the thermostat down," I laughed. "Carlita wanted to try my recipe. She claims she got an iguana from the pet shop..."

"I did NOT," Carlita squealed. "I told HIM that. His recipe did not call for iguana."

"And you're a heck of a guy to talk, anyway," Pat attacked. "You've eaten alligator. That's just a big wet iguana with no dietary restrictions..."

Brindy giggled. Carlita swung her arm around my waist and turned to kiss me. "If you want iguana chili, I will be the one to cook it for you."

"I don't want iguana chili," I said. "And I think that Carlita's done very well with this. Let's eat."

A meal as it's supposed to be – surrounded by family. Okay, make that a somewhat non-conventional family, you know. Me and my 14/18 year old wife, my sister and her lesbian lover, but in my defense, I loved the whole bunch.

I'm not really sure how my brother and his wife are looking at Pat and Brindy. I'm leaning heavily towards 'denial'. I mean, I don't exactly know myself. I definitely remember a decidedly heterosexual version, but that was years ago. She says 'bi'. Okay. That puts me in the position of considering how she's going to fit with Brindy.

I've never talked with Brindy about any of this. I don't know how that would work anyway, like I could walk up and say 'Brindy, let me ask you some rather intimate questions about your sexuality and your relationship with my sister.' Somehow I can't see that as being a good move. I guess that means that whatever their relationship is, it's none of my business.

I've got my own relationship to enjoy.

Another day.

She's sitting over there on the sofa when I walk in from taking care of a little issue with the car.

"I am enjoying this book, Dave," she tells me.

I smile at her.

"You won't let me work on the car." The tone is just a tiny bit accusatory.

"I will let you work on the car. This wasn't the thing to work on. Nothing to learn here."

"Dave," she said softly, "I have everything to learn. You take things for granted. You were raised in America. You have been around these things all your life. I have not."

She's right. Of course she's right. She's Carlita. She knows a lot of things, one of them being what she doesn't know, and she's right. "Push harder next time, precious," I said. "I forget."

"Go wash your hands and then come to me," she said.

I did as ordered. She put her book down. "Lie down and put your head here." She patted her lap.

Darned right I'm following THOSE instructions. I stretched out on the sofa, laying my head in her lap, gazing up at her face. Her hand caressed my cheek.

"What did I do to get this lucky?" I asked.

"It is not luck, Dave. I know this. This is what I prayed for. I prayed for a good man for a husband. You showed up."

"You mean this," I said.

"Yes. I have told you before. I have told others. Brother Bob, him I told when I called him to discuss marrying you."

"I am satisfied, then. You are my own answered prayer."

We've had this conversation before, and it makes her smile. "You prayed for a fourteen year old Guatemalan refugee?" Giggle. "YOUR prayer caused me to go through ALL that tribulation? Why couldn't you have prayed for that girl that runs the checkout at the supermarket?"

"Because she's not a magical creature of the forest who causes me to dream..." For that, I get a kiss on the nose.

"Besides, I've seen your birth certificate. You're eighteen."

"Yes, I am. And I am married. And my husband takes good care of me. He has promised me Vietnamese dinner."

I had. The first time I'd taken her to a Vietnamese restaurant, I didn't know what to expect, but I explained to the friendly staff that Carlita had never eaten that cuisine. I love the stuff. I was hoping...

"I love this," she said. "It is differently spiced, but it is so fresh..."

And that puts the place on our list. And I promised her today. That lets her run around with Carlie and the kids and not have to worry about cooking when she gets home. It's been fun for the two of us, me being a guy who loves every cuisine on the planet, her being unfamiliar with a lot of it.

"There is more to food in America than McDonald's," she said. "Italian. Greek. Lebanese. Vietnamese. Cajun. Tex-Mex."

"Do you miss the food of home?"

"No. yes. Sometimes. But that little Mexican restaurant..." We'd become regulars at a small business run by real Mexicans cooking the foods from their home, not the Anglicized versions. I'd gotten used to hearing 80% of the clientele speaking Spanish, and with Carlita as translator...

The conversation started off about food, but quickly moved to Carlita in America.

"Dave, I miss some things. I feel bad sometimes about the ones I left behind, but Dave, they were children. I was becoming a woman. The narcos, they ... took young girls." She gazed into my eyes. "You worry. No, Dave, I promised you before God, forever..." She touched my arm for affirmation. "It stopped being home when they beat poor Brother Bob and stole the sound system and TV from the church hall." She touched me again. "I am Dave's wife and I am in America and I am becoming American."

"I love you, Carlita."

"Yes, that is the reason. You love me. I love you." Her face broke into a mischievous smile. "And you take me to good restaurants."

"I could chain you to the stove and make you cook."

"That's fine," she said. "Chain Carlie here, too, so she can show me how to cook like she does." Carlie was a great cook. My brother had gotten lucky in that regard. My sister, on the other hand, was okay. As the saying goes, 'damning with faint praise'.

It was something Brindy laughed about, telling me "Carlita is a better cook than Pat. And I don't know why."

"I don't know either. But she does well."

"Yeah," Brindy said. "She gets into it. She asked Mister Garland if he'd give her some leaves off his banana tree so she could make tamales. Then she brought him a plate of 'em."

Carlita's head popped around the corner. "You're talking about me and I am not there to defend myself," she laughed.

"We're saying good things," Brindy countered. "Talking about your cooking."

The ringing of the doorbell announced the arrival of Pat for dinner.

We were safe together, two unconventional couples, so socializing between us was frequent, as were visits to the brother's house.

One night in bed, though, those questions about Brindy and Pat were answered.

"Dave?" Carlita said.

"Yes, angel..."

"What do two women do in bed? I did not want to ask nor did I want to look on the Internet. Brindy says that she and Pat sleep together. What do they do?"

"What do we do?" I asked, taking her close for a kiss.

"Mmmmm, yes ... that..."

"The things I can do with my mouth..." I moved down to her chest, loving those pert titties.

"Oh, yes, that would be good..."

And I kissed my way lower, landing a dozen little kisses on her pubic mound, disturbing that sparse dark hair. She purred, then gasped as I moved lower, kissing those tight lips that were becoming very engorged, opening slightly to reveal pink wetness.

"Yes, that would be very enjoyable..." she managed to take a breath. "But Dave ... inside ... there is a need for something inside..."

I slowly inserted two slick fingers.

"Ahhhhh ... that is very good, but ... I know there is better ... you have better..."