Page 50 of Bastard Bartender

I’ll even stop at the bakery and get some treats.

He gives me his address, and I drive to get a box of the best oatmeal chocolate chip cookies he’ll ever have and head toward his place. It takes me a few minutes to get there and find a spot to park at his complex. Checking my text for which number apartment is his, I make my way to the second floor.

I knock on the door, and when I hear a woman’s voice inside, I pull out my phone to make sure I have the correct apartment. Before I can check, the door swings open, and Nic is standing there with a debonair smile on his face, and an older Hispanic woman is standing next to him.

“Hey there. Come on in.” He opens the door wide, grabbing the cookies from me and heading toward his kitchen as the woman smiles sweetly at me, obviously waiting for our introduction.

“Mijo, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she says when she sees Nic is way more interested in my cookies than telling her who I am.

Nic talks with a mouthful, “Ma, this is my friend Evette. Evette, this nosy woman is my mother.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I clench the neck of the champagne as I smile broadly. I wasn’t expecting to be meeting parents today. Perhaps walking in with booze isn’t the best look.

She waves him off. “Oh, stop. I’m not nosy,” she says.

Nic gives me an expression that says otherwise as he takes another bite.

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m Isabel. Come in.”

Nic pops the remainder of the cookie in his mouth as Isabel and I head into the kitchen.

“These cookies are amazing.” He walks to the box to get another one. “Would you like one, Ma?”

“You know I won’t turn down a good cookie. The problem is going to be keeping them away from your father.”

“Keep what away from me?” a man says as he enters the room from the back door I didn’t notice.

“Pop, this is my friend Evette. She brought me cookies. Not you. I’ll share one with you, and that’s it.” He hands him one and hides the rest of the box behind his large frame.

Isabel laughs as his dad wraps his arm around his son, trying to get to the box. The boisterous sounds coming from everyone shows me this is a normal thing for this family, which instantly puts a smile on my face. My own family has always been super playful with each other. Seeing them like this reminds me of how much I miss them.

His dad grabs the offered cookie and then turns to me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Pedro.”

I smile instantly at the mention of his name. When I first met Nic, he mentioned that he wished he were named after his father when he found out I was looking to meet someone with a P name. Seeing now that he was being serious sends butterflies through my stomach.

There’s an end table next to the sofa in the living room. I place the bottle down and wipe my hands on the sides of my shorts.

His apartment is nice. Neat yet with little clutter. It’s seems like it’s more a place to hang his hat, if you will, than a home to create memories in. Still, it’s nice and big with an open kitchen. It’s all part of the contradiction that is Nicolás Santiago—half-man, half-boy.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say in an apologetic way. “When I texted, he didn’t tell me he had company, or I would have come by later,” I say, hoping I didn’t interrupt their family visit.

“Nonsense, mija,” Isabel says. “Any friend of our Nicolás is a friend of ours. We love meeting his many friends here, especially the women. The boys are wonderful, but we need to know there are strong women in his life who will tell him what to do.”

“You’d think, living in Ohio, they wouldn’t know any of my friends but not these two. This is what, your fifth visit this year? They keep tabs on me.” He wraps his arm around her tiny frame, kissing the top of her head.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t want us here.” She pats his stomach as he winks at me, and I know what she’s saying is true.

“Is this for us?” Pedro grabs the bottle off the end table and appraises the Veuve Clicquot label with an appreciative expression.

“I had a great day at work and thought it was worth celebrating.” I try to shrug it off, but Pedro doesn’t seem to accept this.

“Let me put this on ice, and we can pop it open later,” Pedro announces as he walks farther into the living room.

It’s a simple room, modestly decorated with a freestanding bar near a sliding door that leads to a patio outside. Pedro is opening a mini fridge while Isabel playfully pushes Nicolás away as they laugh at some sort of inside joke. I smile at the closeness.

Isabel proudly looks up at her son, who towers over her. “Do you know this guy used to hate to hug me? I’d have to get him to literally pay me with hugs.”

“Pay you? How do you pay someone in hugs?” I ask.