Chapter 20: From Bad to Worse

“Mama?” A frightened Carrie was standing in the hallway. Sophie flew to her and cuddled. Over Carrie’s shoulder, Sophie glared at him.

“Baby, it’s OK. Don’t worry. Mr. Garcia was telling me a scary story. But I’m all right now. It’s fine. He’s fine. And you, my precious baby, are fine too.”

Sophie kissed her nose, which made her giggle.

“Now go put on your pajamas, and then you have an hour to play with your new Lego set. That’s like two whole TV shows! OK? Now off you go.”

Carrie scampered away.

Sophie turned on Roberto, still angry. He was a mixture of shame and confusion.

“I’m making allowances since you are so young. But God! So much drama. In front of my kid, who can’t handle it. I can’t either.”

“It’s our first date, Roberto! In the space of an hour, you put me on a gigantic pedestal, declared yourself unworthy, unlovable, and tried to slink away pre-defeated.”

“Listen, Mr. Overwrought Drama King Garcia. You are going to calm down and slow down.”

“Calm down. And slow down. Take a goddamn breath.”

“I’ve just fed you a first-class dinner, and you’ve befriended my greatest accomplishment, my daughter. All this happened because when we met, you were interesting, generous, and very good-looking. Woof!”

“Once you got here, you showed a kind heart, intelligence, and humor. And still very good-looking. Nice outfit. Carrie liked you right away, even without that thoughtful gift.”

“And then suddenly you launched the S.S. Titanic of Self-Pity Parties. You decided our embryonic ‘relationship’ had hit the iceberg and you were headed out the door.”

“Are you getting the picture? You’re right about one thing, I’m a good mother. I’m a strong independent woman taking care of my little girl. Part of that is the mother should get out and date. Find a sweet good-looking guy to have fun with.”

“I want to see you again. Don’t question me about that decision. Accept it. Because you clearly want to date me. I can decide for myself whether you are suitable. Your self-criticism implies I can’t make smart dating decisions.”

“I’m not going to argue anymore. You’ve had your three strikes. So here are your new rules.”

“First, we’re going to have dates. Some here, sometimes you’ll take me out.”

“Second, you can keep admiring me. But reasonably. I like compliments, sure. But you’re going to control yourself. No pedestals. No more of that goddess talk. Worship me if you must—but be silent about it.”

“Third, sauce for the gander. I am going to compliment you, as well. When I do, you will smile and say, ‘Thank you, Sophie.’ If you argue, I’ll slap you silly. ¿Comprende? By the way, I’m pissed right now, but I’m also crushing on you. A lot. Don’t screw this up!”

“Fourth, if our dates go smoothly and we click, we will become exclusive. Girlfriend/boyfriend. At least, I hope so. I’m not good at sharing, be warned.”

“But don’t be carrying on like cosmic destiny drives our eternal love and inevitable marriage. You’re only 18, and jobless, for pity’s sake. For now, don’t smother, no grand gestures. Calm down. And slow down. Got it?”

“Sophie, I got it.”

“You are absolutely right. I commit to rules one through four, without reservations. Thank you for talking me down off the ledge and giving me a chance.”

“I have an idea how, and why, I got so wound up and out of hand tonight. It’s about my family, call it ‘Pedro’s story.’ And we’ll talk about it next time we meet. Can we have lunch on Saturday (two days from now) at the Olds Dealer?” (That restaurant’s building had once housed a dealership for Buick and Oldsmobile).

“Oh yeah, I know that kitchen at Olds’—it’s a good place. Pick me up here at 11:30 Saturday.”

“Now you and I will go say goodnight to your new little friend. Let’s make sure she knows you’ll be seeing her again.”