Chapter Text
“CAKE! CAKE! CAKE!” Adrian, the little gremlin, stands on the armchair, chanting as Pilar passes by him.
His dress shoes (and, ugh, Mom) lay on the carpet, and at least that means there won’t be any more cleaning. The entirety of yesterday was spent making the apartment spotless, and Pilar's patience for dealing with her mother's new obsession with cleanliness ("Is next to godliness," she heard all day prior) was clocking in at zero.
“Stop it,” she shouts at him. She fixes her hair for one last time before opening the front door.
"Happy birthday!" Felix gives her a kiss on the cheek, then hands her a gift bag. "No peeking at the gift — And, wait, are we chanting? Cake! Cake! Ca — "
"Don't encourage him," Pilar says, torn between rolling her eyes or smiling, a struggle she’s had these past couple of weeks. “There won’t be any cake for hours. We have to sit through an excruciating family dinner first. Are you sure you're ready for that?”
Felix makes a dismissive noise. “I’ve had dinner with your family loads of times.”
“As Victor’s best friend,” she reminds him, “Not my boyfriend.”
“Your family loves me!” And as if to prove it, he goes over to Adrian, and they enter a complicated handshake.
Sure, he is Victor’s best friend, has managed to win over Adrian in two weeks, and even Mom has gotten used to him, but her Dad…
Speaking of, “Mr. Salazar!” Felix exclaims to the man who enters the apartment. “So nice to see you,” he says, going in for a hug before being met with a firm handshake. “The building’s been missing a certain je ne sais quoi while you’ve been gone.”
“I don’t speak French.”
“Ha,” Felix laughs, continuing to shake his hand vigorously, “Neither do I!”
Pilar buries her face in her hands.
Mia has eleven tabs open on her computer: websites for Neiman Marcus, Zola, and Etsy, along with a bunch of different product reviews for the new battery-powered stroller that’s supposed to launch next year. Helping Veronica make the wedding and baby registry is a lot more time-consuming than she first anticipated. But rather than being upset, Mia is glad, because it keeps her from thinking.
“Are you sure there isn’t a party you want to go to?” Veronica asks as she walks into the room, holding a plate of snacks. “Or invite Lake over?”
“Nope,” Mia replies. “No parties and Lake’s on a day trip with her mom.”
“Maybe a walk around the neighborhood?”
Mia closes her laptop and looks at her father’s girl — fiancée. “If you want to get rid of me, I can just go to my room.”
“Honey, that’s not it. It’s just...you haven’t left the house since school ended.”
‘Honey’ and ‘sweetheart’ and ‘peach’ are the new things Veronica has been calling her lately. Ever since she basically fell into her arms and cried all night through Spring Fling, their relationship has gotten...well, let’s just say they have a relationship now. It’s still not quite a mother-daughter sort of vibe, at least not yet, but it comes with the addition of terms of endearment. Mia has tried not to let on how much she likes it, but she thinks Veronica can tell by the way she hasn’t told her to stop.
“I’ve been to the grocery store!” Which Mia can admit to herself, at least, is really bad after a month.
“To satisfy my late-night cravings, and I thank you for it. But I meant going out. Partying. Having fun. Not just babysitting the pregnant old lady.”
“You’re not old.”
“Mia,” she says soothingly, and it has such a parental tone to it that she immediately cracks.
“I had an offer to be a camp counselor in Ohio. But I didn’t go. Because it felt like running away. Taking the coward’s way out. But now that I decided to stay...I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay,” Veronica stands up, “this situation calls for ice cream.”
Mia feels herself brighten a little. "That would be nice."
"Great, get your coat. There's a new place I want to try."
"Are you sure you should be behind the wheel?" asks Mia, stumbling to find an excuse.
“Come on, I’m only fourteen weeks pregnant. I can still drive. I think I’m feeling a fudge ripple, maybe?” She slides her feet into the Crocs that Mia had gotten her ironically but which Veronica loved unironically, and adds, “With raisins.”
"Mia," she says, and the tone's back, "you have to get into the swing of things sometime."
She gets her coat.
Pilar shoots Victor an accusing glance. “They didn’t show baby pictures at your birthday party.”
He smiles cheekily in reply. “I was a cute baby.”
“Yeah, what happened?”
“That’s fourteen,” Victor says warningly, “You’ve got two more birthday insults before I tell the sriracha story.”
Pilar moves to hit him on the shoulder, but he dodges, drawing the attention of the rest of the room.
“Oh my god, look at that smile!” Felix exclaims, “It’s adorable! You still have the same one.”
Pilar feels herself flush. “Right, okay, enough of the photographs. Mom said fifteen until dinner, and it’s been fourteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds.”
“This looks delicious, Isabel,” her father says after they’ve said grace. His fork gleams in his hand, but his eyes are blank.
“Why, thank you, Armando.”
They dig into the most exquisite paella ever, and Pilar tries to forget she asked for pizza.
“Why are Mom and Dad acting like we’re having dinner in a Norman Rockwell painting?” Pilar mutters to Victor on her right.
“Maybe they think strangely formal is better than uncomfortable silence?”
Pilar wonders if it’s bad that she would have placed the blame of an awkward dinner on Felix rather than her parents. He sits between Mom and Adrian (in what used to be Victor’s spot), most of his food is untouched on his plate as he alternates talking her mom or Adrian’s ear off.
“Adrian seems genuinely happy, at least.”
“Of course,” says Pilar, “he’s wired for cake.”
“Shouldn’t a confetti cake have more colors than red and black?”
Pilar shoots her youngest brother a look as she cuts into her birthday cake, hoping she looks intimidating with the knife in hand. “If you don’t want to eat it...”
Adrian mimes locking his mouth with a key, and she rewards him by shoving the slice she cut towards him. (Besides, it’s a much better way of getting him to shut up.)
And to prove her right, her younger brother complains, “What, no ice cream?” after inhaling half the slice.
Pilar can tell by the look on Felix’s face he wants to invite him to the parlor with them, so she steps on his foot.
“Ow!”
Dad looks at them suspiciously. “No footsie at the table.”
“We weren’t — I wasn’t —” She kicks him, gentler this time. And Felix takes the hint to eat his cake silently.
“We’re off,” Pilar says after he finishes.
“Be back by 10:00,” Dad says.
“Yeah, whatever,” Pilar mutters under her breath. She doesn’t have to take orders from someone who doesn’t live here anymore.
“Pilar!” Mom insists before they’re out the door.
“Oh my — ”
“Don’t worry,” Felix says over her, “we’ll be back before ten, or I’ll turn into a pumpkin!” He grabs her hand, and they finally make it out the door.
“You’ll turn into a pumpkin, huh?” Pilar asks him.
Felix winks, well, blinks one eye slower than the other at her. “Some people have a face for radio, I have a face for a jack o’ lantern.”
Mia hears the doorbell of the parlor ring as she digs her spoon into her scoop of strawberry shortcake. It’s the loud voice that comes after that sets her on edge, though. It’s Felix, which means Victor isn’t far behind.
Except, Victor’s not the Salazar with him, but Pilar. Oh, she had heard through the gossip (read: Lake) they had finally made their relationship official.
Mia waves politely at her. But once Felix notices her, she realizes there isn’t a quick way out of the conversation she’s about to be bombarded with.
“Guess who's birthday it is?” Felix says excitedly.
“It's mine,” Pilar says flatly. "Sixteen, yay."
“I remember on my sixteenth birthday,” Veronica starts, then catches the look Mia is giving her. “You know what? That’s probably not a story I should tell in polite company. Oh, and look. The nectarine is pressing against my bladder again.” She gets up, waving off Felix’s help, abandoning Mia.
“Happy birthday,” Mia says at the exact same time Pilar says, “Please don’t let him convince you to sing.”
Felix lets out an offended gasp. “I haven’t made anyone sing 'Happy Birthday' to you!”
“But you did encourage my mom to add four runs to the song. It’s supposed to take 20 seconds to sing that song. Not a full three minutes.”
“It was actually pretty good,” Felix pretends to tell Mia covertly.
“I’ll tell her you said that,” says Pilar, “Anything less than a review of otherworldly will put you out of the running as her favorite.”
And Mia feels ready to jump out of her skin at this meet-the-parents talk, especially with how bad she felt when she had her turn over at the Salazar’s. And the feeling of third-wheeling is hitting her hard.
“Have you guys ordered yet?” Mia interrupts before Felix can reply.
“No,” Pilar says and casts a significant look at Felix, "But we should go do that."
"Enjoy your ice cream!" Felix shouts at her, waving as Pilar basically tugs him away.
Victor offers to help Mom with the dishes after dinner, but she just waves him away. It's been like this for a month now, Mom refusing his help, and pushing him away, not even able to stand being in the same room as him. As if his sexuality was a monster in a room set on devouring her. He has this guilt, laying right across his chest every time he looks at her, even though she’s the one rejecting him. But he keeps trying and wishes she didn't have to at all.
"Want to walk me to my car?" Dad says, interrupting his musing. He has his keys in hand, and a concerned look on his face.
"Sure," Victor answers, needing an escape.
"Your mom... she has a lot on her mind. I know we haven't really talked about...everything. But I don't want you to think…" Dad presses his hand on his shoulder, and says meaningfully, "Your mom and I, we love you."
Victor almost chokes on his next words, "Thanks, Dad."
He stands outside and watches his father drive away. Victor feels warm at the thought of his father's words, but feels bits of himself remain cold at the knowledge that this was the first time a parent had intentionally given him comfort in weeks.
“Your ice cream melted,” Mia tells Veronica after her return.
“It’s fine,” she says, “I don’t think pickles and Wasabi peas were a good idea anyway.”
“Well, I’m finished.” With her ice cream, the night, and Veronica’s meddling.
The older woman just nods back, looking somewhat queasy. “Do you think you could drive back? And really, really, slowly, as well?”
Mia sighs, nodding, as she helps her out of the booth. “Should I ask for a paper bag?”
“Just a little morning sickness. Night sickness. I’m not going to be sick.”
“It’s for me,” replies Mia, “so I can hide my face from how embracing it will be if you puke on my new shoes.”
“You were wearing those when I met you.” But she relents. “Ask for the bag.”
“So,” Pilar says, “You did notice Mia didn’t want to talk to us, right?”
“She wants to talk to us.”
She swallows another bite of ice cream. “I see you're dead set on ignoring reality.”
“Listen,” Felix says, chocolate at the corner of his mouth, “After everything that happened, it’s going to be awkward until it’s not. So why not just push through and say hi to a friend.”
“That's weirdly brave, in a way,” Pilar says sincerely. “By the way, you have chocolate sauce on your face.”
“What? Come on. Every time!”
Pilar reaches out to hold Felix's hand as they leave. She brushes her thumb across his knuckles and smiles at him in a way that would surely be sickening if she were to look in a mirror.
“I’m surprised your mom didn’t make us take pictures.”
“Don’t remind me. I agreed to do a photoshoot.”
A startled expression crosses his face.
“She started tearing up, guilt-tripping me — ”
Knowingly, he says, “And when that didn’t work.”
“We negotiated. I get to skip back-to-school, Halloween, and only have to sit for the family portion of Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“Wow.” Felix leans forward. “Are these going in the photo album too?”
“I’m burning the photo album.”
"So," Benji says over the phone, "How was tonight?"
"I'm still sane at least," says Victor. "Mom and Dad were basically strangers."
"At least they weren't fighting?"
"Yeah, I guess." Victor rolls over. "My dad talked to me."
"Yeah?"
"I think he's coming around to me being gay faster than my mom."
"She's still not talking about it?"
"No," Victor admits. "My dad said she's having trouble...with everything."
"And, what, you're having a picnic?"
"No," Victor scrubs a hand over his face. "But, it's my mom, Benji." He heaves a monumental sigh. "I just, I really miss you right now."
"I miss you, too. Over a hundred, even."
"Who are you talking to?" Victor jumps, the smile forming on his face falling apart at the seams.
Adrian jumps on the bed excitedly, "Is it your girlfriend?"
"No, um, it's another friend." Which is a paltry way of explaining who Benji is to him. "And, you know you shouldn't eavesdrop."
"How else am I supposed to train to become a spy?"
"I thought you wanted to be a Youtuber."
"Not enough anonymity. I need to be able to drop off the grid."
"Adrian, you might not be as sneaky as you think."
"Why not?"
"You've still got a bit of frosting on your cheek."
"What? Come on — Every time!"
Victor hides his smile before saying, "You better brush your teeth before Mom notices who ate the rest of the cake."
That gets his little brother to leave the room quickly, and Victor turns back to his phone.
"Your brother is hilarious."
"He's on a sugar high right now." His voice grows softer, "I wish you could meet him." The 'as my boyfriend' goes unspoken over the phone.
He hears Benji sigh over the phone. "I wish I could scream how I feel about you from the rooftops."
Softly, so that no one overhears him, Victor replies, "I wish that too."